#if its someone i know flirting is NOTHING like yeah whatever

[prettyboykatsuki]

heyyyy mr ladies man can you give us some more flirting advice please my awkward ass is STRUGGLING

MR LADIES MAN PLEASE. i thought it was funny bc im bitchless is what i mean! but most of my advice is just like.

if ur woman adjacent or a woman or enby etc and ur flirting with another woman you want to avoid approachability and focus on being visible. like as a romantic partner and not a Friend. for most women you sort of default to being very... Bright to appear as non-threatening as possible.

but when you're flirting you want to avoid being uber friendly and be intentional with how you direct your attention. eye contact helps tho ik A Lot of people dislike it, but also keeping your tone of voice even, making sure you're very responsive and engaged to what she's saying.

there's a lot of social dynamics it can involve so it takes a bit of practice and a lot of observing. spitting game is mostly just knowing how and when to insert flattery so that it doesn't feel very forced.

don't lay it on too thick and don't be too familiar. just making your interest clear and showing some sense of authenticity is normally enough. being able to pull flirty one liners will take some more practice.

if it were me, i normally start w a compliment and gauge her reaction. its normally one of three. first being just a thank you which normally means im gonna duck out, second being a thank you + some kind of tidbit for me to keep talking to her (best case scenario) or third, a thank you + a compliment back. if she gives a compliment back she's normally just shy but it can go either way w that one so you'll have to decide for yourself.

in any case, if it's the second ill normally keep trying to talk to her. if i compliment her outfit and she tells me about it, i'll make a joke or two and see how she reacts. i am often accused of being flirtatious (something i actively avoid doing now lol) but i just have a propensity for teasing and im comfortable calling people cute without any sense of embarrassment or shame lmaoo

AFTER that it's just conversation. ask about her and what she's into. you have to be a little more forward and steer the conversation while letting her think she's guiding it. be engaged in what she's saying and listen carefully. throwing in a few carefully placed compliments will get easier over time. once she's comfortable and there's a lull in conversation - assert that you like talking to her and that you'd like to talk to her more (or offer to take her somewhere more secluded if you want to hook up 👍)

be confident is bad advice but it DOES take a lot of balls to put yourself out there. it helps if you can take rejection on the chin and duck out when you feel like she's not feeling you back etc.

it's a big and kinda messy process but all flirting is about intent, attention, and attraction. if one of those three things is out of order it will be a lot harder to do. it's a shallow interaction by nature if it's a stranger so be okay w that also.

[pumpkinbxtch]

— sorry i curved you (i'm not)∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠° headcanons

how HoO boys reject a person who tries to flirt with them ft. apollo

who's here: leo valdez, percy jackson, frank zhang, jason grace & apollo / lester

warnings: well, it implies that the reader is female and language.

a/n: heyooo, its friday of headcanons yummy.

— leo valdez:

— leavin' my hot girlfriend for you?, hell nah.

He's speechless. yeah he is a flirtatious boy, yes, but when he is so in love with you, committed to you, literally nothing else exists. The moment another person tells him or hints at him, he will tell them a joke and is probably the one who takes a sip of a non-existent drink and then leaves laughing (like, out of pity).

— frank zhang:

— uhm, i'm taken, like... seriously taken.

Frank is sweet, we all know that, but when they make that kind of mistake, they're dead to him. At that moment he leaves without tell more, talking with themselves. Frank will probably be embarrassed but for him you are the only one and he thinks he is yours so bye.

— percy jackson:

— wha- what do you mean? brooooo, buu. shoo-shoo, or whatever. I'M MARRIEEEEED.

This man is literally loyalty walking. He would never let someone else in if they tried to flirt with him. For that he would have to realize that they are doing it and surely Percy is too distracted for that.

— jason grace:

— i have wife.

No more comments. That man already imagined you a entire life so If another person pounces on him, he is one of those who steps aside and lets the other person fall flat. Unapologetically, like: "You brought it on yourself for thinking that I'm going to move on from the love of my life"

— apollo / lester

— You would look better under a mountain than actin' shitty. I make a few calls and you could be.

Being Lester, he'll probably step back all blushing and walk away. He feels sorry for someone noticing him but in the end he knows that the only person who matters to him is you.

Being Apollo, he will surely do the same but without looking so pathetic. He leaves and laughs in denial like "ah ah, my lady is mine and I'm hers. I already swore it." Also, if they try again he will use them like his horses' shoes.

[4unnyr0se]

❥ messin' with the pretty setter squad | toru oikawa & tobio kageyama

warnings: timeskip! characters, fem! reader, jealously, marking, breeding, doggy, missionary, soft! oikawa

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 650

a/n: okay so the first time i posted this it got flagged so it better work this time...also lmk if i should do more pretty setters or other chars!

Toru Oikawa

Toru fucks you like he’s trying to prove a point. Not to anyone else, but rather to you and himself. He wants to prove to himself that he’s the only one who can make you feel like you’re floating on a cloud whenever you fuck, whenever his head is buried in your neck, whispering sweet nothings as his cock gently moves in and out of you. Whatever you want, he’ll give it to you. You’re his perfect little princess, his one and only. Sometimes, you get jealous that he’s a player and shamelessly flirts with his fangirls after his games. Sure, it’s just for appearances, but you doubt that sometimes. So he fucks you like he’s yours because he is yours. His soft hands trace up and down your sweaty, naked body as his cock thrusts in and out of you so gently, like you’re made of glass. His lips are bruising, yet they’re so delicate and soft, complimented by coconut-flavored chapstick. He leaves bruises on your neck and stomach as reminders that you’re his, and he is yours. Toru welcomes your markings, especially when your nails claw on his toned back as he fucks you just the way you want him to. He relishes in your candied cries of pleasure as your second orgasm of the night washes over you, knowing that he’s the only one who can make you feel that way. 

“Shh, eyes on me, baby,” Toru peels his head from your bruised neck, grasping your jaw as his milky brown eyes bore into yours. His hips roll against yours so expertly, his cock hitting the most sensitive part inside of your aching core over and over again. “Look at me. Look at who’s making you feel so good.” he hisses as your pussy clenches around him, trying to drag him impossibly deeper inside. “Fuck, you like that? Yeah, yeah, you do. You’re my girl, princess. Are you gonna cum again, baby? Oh, fuck, that’s it, cum for me again. Good fucking girl. My fucking girl.”

Tobio Kageyama

Tobio fucks you like he’s angry. Not angry with you, no. He loves you too much to be angry with you. In his gunmetal eyes, you’re perfect. What he’s angry about is other men. Other men shamelessly hit on the setter’s well-known girlfriend because they’re bored, or maybe their management tells them to create drama to cause a scandal and sell more game tickets. He fucks you because he’s angry at other people for flirting with you, flirting with his girl. So he fucks you from behind, with your hands desperately clawing at the silken sheets as his fat cock bullies its way in and out of your pussy until it’s painful, but he doesn’t care. You like the pain, don’t you, sweetie? You like when he slaps your ass until there’s a handprint, treating it like a volleyball he’s serving. You like arching your back so perfectly for him as he fucks your brains out because he’s angry, and you like it. Normally he’s so sweet and awkward with you, but not when he’s jealous. Not when someone doubts for even a second that he isn’t making you feel so fucking good every single day.

“You fucking belong to me,” Tobio grunts as he forces an orgasm out of you, slapping your ass and then quickly massaging the stinging flesh. Your thighs are trembling from the assault of pleasure resonating in your core, your stomach feeling full as his cock fucks in and out of your cunt relentlessly. “You’re fucking mine, you understand that? Those assholes think they can get with you? Fat fucking chance.” Oh, how he adores your precious little cries as his cock presses against your cervix, throbbing as he feels his release coming on. “Gonna cum inside, yeah? Fill you up nice and good so those fuckers know who you belong to, baby.”

[fic-over-cannon]

Part 7: The Friend

part 6 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x fem!reader

summary: you confront jason for disappearing as soon as he’d gotten you into bed. it does end the way you’d hoped.

tags: angst, implied sexual content, drinking as coping mechanism, vomit

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 1.9k

a/n: this was a dialogue heavy update, so of course i struggled with it. i rewrote and reworked this a few times and i think this is as close to happy as i’m going to get. i’d love to know what you all think about it!

The diner’s too hot, warm air blasting directly onto the back of your neck. It’s the first time you’ve felt warm all weekend since stepping into Rei and Lina’s apartment what feels like a century ago. Fingers twitchy, you straighten the cutlery on its paper napkin. The minute adjustments do nothing to quell the nerves wriggling in your belly. Since the moment you woke up to a lonely bed, writhing, thrashing somethings had taken up residence in the pit of your stomach and the hollow of your throat. Your red dress sits crumpled at the bottom of your hamper, out of sight but not even close to out of mind. It’s not– it’s not just the leaving that had hurt. Everything before – the flirting, the kindness, the goddamn food – that was what stung. Jason hadn’t just been a ‘first name only forgotten in the morning’ hookup, he’d been your friend. He’d been someone you had trusted despite all your reservations with the messy bleeding parts of yourself. And he had left you behind. Fucker.

Jason slides into the booth across from you, silent. He looks...tired. Broad shoulders drooping, hair wild from fingers running through it, and bags the size of quarters heavy under his eyes. He stares back at your own dishevelled appearance. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it with a snap. You lean back onto the plastic coated cushion behind you and cross your arms. It’s hard to be angry when exhaustion is suffocating you both, but every moment that stretches out in the silence drips more venom into your veins. 

“I’m sorry,” Jason croaks, breaching this strange detente between you. “I’m– I’m sorry about Friday. You’ve been a good friend an’ I took advantage of that, took advantage of you, when you were vulnerable,” he takes a deep breath and soldiers on. “You’d been drinkin' and then the fucking mugger happened and– and that wasn’t a side of me I wanted you to see. Ever. You weren’t in the right mind for– for any of that and I knew that and I still kissed you back. I was supposed to look out for you an’ be the responsible one but I just took advantage without thinkin’. It was shitty of me to do that. I was a shitty friend and you deserved better– ” He pauses for breath and you interrupt him, incredulous that this of all things is what he is fixating on.

“That’s what you think I’m pissed about? Jason, I kissed you first so stop with whatever– ” you gesture at him “–this is. Yeah, I had a few drinks but I was already sobering up by the time we got to that alley and I was definitely sober after having a gun waved in my face. So get off your pyre of self-martyrdom because if anyone was taking advantage of the situation it was me. Jason, I’m angry because you’re my friend. You’re my friend and you left like I was just a random fuck.” Defeated you slump back in your chair. “I thought I– I thought at our friendship meant more than that to you but I guess not.” 

“Hello and welcome to Doris’s Diner, what can I get you started off with?” The waitress interrupts, cheerful voice a bucket of cold water. She looks back and forth between the two of you expectantly, pen tapping at her notepad. Her fixed smile starts to slip as she starts to notice the tense atmosphere.

“We’ll uh, just have water and we’ll let you know when we’re ready to order,” Jason intervenes. The two of you sit there in tense silence, unable to look each other in the eye but unable to look away, until the waitress returns with your drinks. Her smile is noticeably more forced. Perspiration beads on your glass, a fat droplet sliding down one side. Your fingers start twitching again and you grasp the paper wrapper of your straw. It shreds so easily under your nervousness.

“You are my friend, yeah?” He begins. “You’re maybe the best friend I’ve ever had. Us bein’ friends means everythin’. I was a coward, okay? ‘Cause I was afraid that you were gonna wake up and hate me and then I would have fucked up the only stable thing I’ve got goin’ for me.” Jason takes a breath and you glance back down at the pile of torn paper in front of you. Your heart feels about the same. “I think I fucked it up anyway.” Jason says wryly. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll do whatever it takes so we can be friends again.”

Friends. Friends. Friends. Every time he says the word another nail hammers home in the coffin of the faintly burning desire to one day mean something else. For all the little gestures and kind words to suddenly materialize into something more than platonic affection. You’re angry, now, but even that burning bile hadn’t been enough to kill that little bit of hope kept carefully safe in the recesses of your mind. When he had kissed you back, lips chapped and warm under your own, that hope had sparked, caught fire. Maybe the warmth in your chest hadn’t been one-sided after all. Friends. God, you wish he’d stopped saying that. You wish he’d told you that the real reason he ran away was because he was overcome by emotion, like the Byronic heroes you study finally feeling true emotion. You should have known better than to wish for anything you couldn’t make happen with your own two hands. 

“So what, then? Where does that leave us?” you ask, hands balling into fists in your lap. “We just forget the whole thing? Put it all behind us and just go on like we never even slept together?” Jason doesn’t manage to suppress the flinch at the reminder but his pasted on grin doesn’t slip. 

“If you’ll give me a second chance, I’ll make it up to you, make it like it never happened, yeah?” 

No matter how badly Jason wants to pretend as though nothing has happened, neither of you are good enough actors to pretend that nothing has changed. There’s an awareness of each other that hadn’t existed previously. An awkward self-awareness of your own bodies in relation to each other. The gulf between you yawns cavernous, despite Jason’s smiling attempts to paper over it. This bell can’t be un-rung. But Jason’s trying. So maybe things between you aren’t working out into the fairytale ending you had wished for. Maybe the attraction between you really is one-sided, that Jason had just slept with you out of pity and then regretted that decision. You aren’t going to get what you want. The question is, what are you willing to settle for?

“Fine, whatever, we pretend the sex never happened,” you agree, taking a perverse kind of pleasure in twisting in the knife, “But your ‘night job’? You bet I’m still pissed about you practically stalking me and using that as an excuse,” you say. 

A muscle in Jason’s jaw twitches. Good. Maybe, maybe if he grovels a little more you two can resettle the equilibrium of your friendship but that doesn’t mean your heart your ego still doesn’t feel the hurt. 

“Is it– is it gonna be a problem for you?” he asks, voice suspiciously boyish. “It’s not– it’s not something I can stop being.” 

“Okay, first of all, you’re focusing on the wrong thing again. I don’t give a shit that you’re the Red Hood as long as all that of that business stays far, far away. You don’t think I remember how bad the neighbourhood was when I was a kid? You think I don’t notice how much better it is now? Jesus Christ, at least give me some credit.” This has to be a side effect of too many hits to the head. How is he not getting this? “Two, the part that I’m actually freaking out over, is the part where you knew all the pass codes to my specific unit. You know, the part where you invaded my privacy?” your voice rises on the last word, other diners turning to stare at you. You shrink back down into your seat at the attention. 

“I do give you credit,” Jason says slowly, eyes puppy wide. “You’re one of the cleverest people I know.” 

“Oh yeah? Then what was all that bullshit about ‘ooh I’m the Red Hood an I know where everyone in the Alley lives’ huh?” you retort, throwing his words back in his face. 

“I do!” he exclaims. You scoff and cross your arms over your chest. “Okay so I don’t. But you’re my friend!” he hurries to add. “And you walk home from the bus stop late at night sometimes so I, you know, swing by sometimes just to make sure you got home safe.”

You stare at him in shock. “You know that’s both incredibly sweet and creepy, right?”

“I’m uh, I’m aware that I’m not the most well-adjusted,” he says sheepishly.  

You turn and wave down the waitress. “Hi, could we get the number eight breakfast combo for him, the blueberry brioche french toast for me, and a side order of the breakfast sausage and whole wheat toast for the table. Thanks.” You hand the menus back to her and smile sunnily at her shell shocked expression. She walks off and you turn back to Jason. “I’m not explaining personal privacy and boundaries to you on an empty stomach. And you’re paying.” 

It’s frighteningly easy to fall back into the regular rhythm of your friendship. Jason nods in all the right places and tries to make you laugh, butters your toast for you before sliding it on to your plate. He asks questions, good questions, so he’s clearly listening. All of it feels just like the time Before. Before you knew what he tasted like, the solid heat of him over you. Before you knew the full heavy stretch of him and the way his brows furrow when he comes. It almost feels likes before, except for his eyes.

Jason won’t look you in the eyes as you talk, will barely even glance at your face. Oh he’s attentive enough, doesn’t miss a word or an expansive gesture. But you notice these things, just like you’ve always noticed the little things with Jason. You had noticed that Jason had turned to you the most, out of all of your mutual friends, paid attention to you most often, yet you hadn’t noticed just how much his gaze had weighed on you until it’s gone. You miss it, that comforting weight. It also makes something clear to you. 

Your friendship will never be the same, but if you’re willing to accept that, accept that you’re not going to get what you want, you might have something close to your former intimacy. One day. So you smile and you laugh and accept the olive branch with gritted teeth. You promise all can be forgiven, forgotten, that this whole morning hasn’t cost you anything but your heart and dignity. Waving down the waitress again, you order a mimosa and add it to Jason’s tab. If he’s gonna break your heart at 11:00 in the morning, well, his wallet can take the hit. The bubbles carry you through the rest of brunch, through your goodbyes and see you laters. Jason walks away, hands in his pockets, shoulders noticeably lighter. 

You turn to walk home, breakfast churning in your stomach, and promptly throw it up in the gutter. Swiping the back of your hand over your mouth, you straighten up and stagger onwards. Fuck your weakness for Jason Todd. And to think you had been so close to just laying out your feelings on a plate and serving it up to him until he’d opened his big mouth. Friends. You scoff. Friends.

part 8

[cowgurrrl]

Keep the Wolves Away

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: Dedicated to my real life Andies. Thank you for making me feel easy to love.

Summary: The worst decision [5.2k]

Warnings: platonic threatening, discussions of bad mental health, so much flirting that (spoiler alert) might be real, possible THE shittiest ex I ever could've written, all the southern pet names, alcohol consumption, the resurgence of an old nude of readers, gaslighty behavior, smoking cigarettes (don't smoke kids), Joel talking reader out of a spiral, two (2) kisses

"So, it's a date." Andie declares once you're done explaining everything to her over FaceTime. You pause your blush application to roll your eyes at her. 

"It's not a date!"

"I'm sorry, so I'm just supposed to believe you when you say you're going to be just friends with the hot, sweet single dad who sounds like he's head over heels for you?"

"He is not head over heels for me." You sound a little petulant, and Andie laughs like she did when you were in high school and trying to hide a crush from her. 

"Babe, he willingly went on a high school field trip just so he could see you."

"His daughter was there. I'm sure he wanted to spend time with her."

"I'm sure he did because he's a great dad, but he also wanted to see you in your element. It's sexy watching someone do the thing they love." 

"Yeah, yeah." You brush her off, and she scoffs. You toss your makeup brush back into its bag and check out your outfit in the mirror. It's nothing insane— just a plain black slip dress— but now that Joel's arrival is getting closer and closer, you're rethinking everything. "Do I look okay?"

"You look stunning!" Andie chirps. "I'm sure your not boyfriend will think the same thing."

"I'm going to get a plane ticket to Austria just so I can choke you out with my own two hands." You threaten, but she laughs so hard you can't stop smiling. Once the trans-Atlantic giggling dies down, the line goes quiet, and you take a deep breath as you pull your mascara out. 

"Are you nervous to see him?" She asks gently. Andie came home for the summer dubbed The Dark Days. She stayed over when the one-bedroom apartment felt too big and got you out of the house when you couldn't stand the four walls anymore. She took whatever he left behind to his new apartment so you wouldn't have to (and gave him a piece of her mind while she was at it). She made you believe in love again. Not sticky, frustrating, unpredictable romantic love but pure, easy, all-knowing love that can only come from long-enduring relationships such as yours. 

For a long time after he left, you thought you were hard to love. Too loud, too bright, too much. Until you were out at a bar with her one night, trying to find the remnants of your independence and self-esteem tucked under sweaty beers and cracked leather chairs, when someone pointed out how similar you and Andie were. "Like two sides of the same coin," the woman told you. Andie is one of the easiest people in the world to love with her quick wit, creativity, and smile. And you realized for the first time if you had even a shred of that, even if only by dint of knowing and being loved by her, then you must be easy to love too. You must be worth the mess and heartache and stained fingerprints. 

So, yeah, Andie was less than pleased to hear that all that hard work could be undone by seeing him again, but she was supportive. 

"I don't know," you sigh. "I'm not a kid anymore. I've had more years without him than I did with him, but it's still scary."

"I know." 

"I don't even know what I'm gonna say to him."

"He'll probably be too busy with the gallery and everything. Maybe you won't even have to." She says, and you groan at the uncertainty of everything. 

"God, why did I say yes?" You ask as a knock interrupts your whining. You end your call with a quick "I love you, thank you, I'll text you" before throwing your phone down. "Come in!" You yell from the bathroom as you rapidly finish doing your makeup. There's a pause on the other side before he jiggles the knob and finally comes in. "I'm just finishing up in the bathroom. Give me a minute." 

"D'you always leave your door unlocked?" Joel asks. The sound of his unsure footsteps reaches your ears, and you smile at the thought of him looking around your apartment like a lost toddler. 

"Only when I know someone's coming over," you say. "Sorry, it's a mess."

"Oh, this is nothin'. You should see Ellie's room." He says, his feet pacing the floor. You swipe on a cute lipstick you never wear and finally step out into the living room where Joel is waiting. He's wearing a black button-up shirt with nice pants as he stands with his back to you, looking at some of the things on your wall. 

"Well, don't you look nice?" You compliment, making him turn around with a shy smile. His eyes roam over you, taking in every detail or sliver of skin he hasn't seen before. His intense gaze reminds you of how he looked at you in the bar when you were sure his eyes would melt you. He looks dumbstruck, and his Adam's apple bobs when his eyes finally settle on your face. 

"Wow… you look-"

"Choose carefully." You tease to take some of the tension out of the room. 

"Beautiful," he says, thwarting your efforts. "You always look beautiful." 

"Thank you. Not so bad yourself." 

"You like it? Ellie helped me pick it out," he anxiously fiddles with the sleeves of his shirt. "Feels weird." 

"What specifically feels weird?" You ask, stepping closer to him to examine his outfit. He smells like aftershave and the cologne he's prone to wearing. Why the fuck do you have his cologne memorized, you think to yourself. 

"I dunno. I think I just feel outta place." 

"Well, you don't look out of place," you say. "These might be what's doing it, though." You tap the top buttons of his shirt, the ones buttoned all the way up to his chin like a toddler going to Christmas mass. 

"Ellie said I should do all of 'em since it's a fancy art thing."

"Well, you should stop taking fashion advice from a fifteen-year-old," you laugh. "I promise it's not fancy enough to justify being uncomfortable." 

"I'm takin' your word for it." He says as he reaches up to undo his top two buttons, revealing freckles across his chest and collarbones and the tiniest sliver of a gold chain resting against his throat. For some reason, you can't tear your eyes away from the veins in his neck or the delicate necklace stuck to his warm skin. "What, it really looks that bad?" He thankfully breaks through your thoughts, and you try to recover by shaking your head.

"No, no. Not at all. You look really nice," you say, clearing your throat. "Let me get my purse, and we can go." You don't even wait for him to respond. You just turn on your heels and walk to your bedroom. In the security of your bedroom, you let out a long exhale and try to get your mind back on track. 

You're just nervous. He's being nice. You're being nice back. It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing, you mentally chant. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you almost have to laugh at the fierce blush on your cheeks and the distracted look in your eyes. "You better get it together." You say, pointing at yourself in the mirror like it's gonna do anything to make tonight smoother.

The gallery is packed when you get there. Joel curses under his breath as he tries to find a parking spot, and you try to keep your anxiety at bay. All you have to do is show your face, look at the paintings, and leave. Maybe you can manage to steal a bottle of the cheap wine they're undoubtedly serving. It'll be an hour. Two tops. You can do this. 

You're so in your head that you didn't notice that Joel parked the car or that he was looking at you until he bumped your knee with his. 

"You okay?" He asks. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Just need a second." You mumble. You fiddle with your earrings, your dress, anything to keep your hands busy as you psyche yourself up. 

"When's the last time you saw this asshole?"

"He wasn't always an asshole," you try to redirect, but he raises his eyebrows at you. "Since I graduated college." 

"We don't have to go in." He offers easily, and you give him a look. 

"Yes, we do. My name's on the list and everything." 

"So?" He shrugs. "The world's not gonna end just cause one person didn't show up."

"But you drove all the way here."

"And I can drive you all the way back. Besides, it's nice having a pretty girl in my truck. It wouldn't hurt to have you here next to me for a little while longer." He says, and you laugh, feeling some weight lift off your shoulders.

"You get many pretty girls sitting in your truck?"

"Just my pretty girls." 

"Right." You say, and he smiles, creating familiar crinkles in the corners of his eyes. They look a little deeper in the moonlight, but his eyes shine differently. Your fingers itch to draw them if only to critique your work and find the answer to why he has such an effect on you. You're aware that you're staring, but you also can't find it in yourself to look away. Not when he's staring back at you so fondly. 

"What can I do to help you?" He asks. You feel like you could cry at the sincerity in his voice. You've talked to Ellie about her anxiety, so you know he has some practice in dealing with it, but he's acting like it's second nature. Like this is what he was meant to do. He bumps you again when you start messing with your purse. "Do you want this to be like at the bar? Do you want me to take you home and pretend like we were never here? Do you want me to go in there and crack some skulls? You say the word— any word— and I'll do it for you, darlin'." 

Darlin’. It's what he called you when you promised revenge for almost kissing you at the bar. Normally, you'd be against any form of pet name. Henry was not openly affectionate in that way, and you learned not to expect it from him. But here's Joel, dropping the term of endearment almost every time he's been alone with you. It could be that cowboy accent or his knee pressed against yours, but the nickname fills your chest with warmth and pushes away your anxiety. 

"Any word, huh?" You ask, and he chuckles. 

"My mama raised me not to make promises I didn't have every intention of followin' through on." He says. "What'll it be?"

"I think… I just need you to be there with me." 

"Then, that's what I'll do." 

"Okay." You mumble, and he smiles as a new wave of comfort washes over you. 

"Okay." He says.

"Okay." You take a deep breath and look at him in the driver's seat one more time. "Let's do this." Finally, you open the door and step down from his truck. He's quick to come to your side and offer you his arm before he can even finish locking the car. You smile, tuck your hand under his bicep, and let him keep you upright as you walk in. 

The gallery is full of people who look way more qualified than you— art critics, journalists, and other artists who can actually sell a piece. They barely glance at you and Joel when you breach the doorway, which you're silently grateful for. When a waiter walks by with champagne glasses, Joel quickly snatches two glasses from the tray and hands you one. 

"Here's to us." He says, and you cock an eyebrow at him. 

"Us?"

"Well, we're sure as hell not toastin' to that asshole, are we?" 

"I guess not," you laugh as you clink your glasses together. "To us." You each take a sip, and Joel tries to hide his reaction to the champagne, but you see right through it. "Not your speed?"

"Not at all." He groans as he chokes it down. 

"Don't worry, maverick, we'll get you something else later." You promise and tuck your hand back under his arm as you start walking through the gallery. 

A lot of his newer work resembles his work from college— normal portraits of things like fruits, beds, or people but with unexpected lines of colors lining them like they're vibrating. You even recognize some from your college days. You just never expected them to actually be displayed in this way, not even when you were dating and telling him what a good artist you thought he was. Some have vague titles like "$12" and "Jack," while others are untitled. You can see why it would get taken in by a gallery. There's a very clear skill in how he paints and manipulates everyday objects into something new. It would be impressive if it was interesting. 

Maybe you're just used to the way he paints. Maybe this is exactly what you expected of him. Maybe you thought he would've grown, if not in attitude than, at least, in skill. But it's clear that too many people told him good things about his work, and he saw nothing he needed to change or fix. Somehow, it makes you feel better, not worse, about your own art. 

"So, are these supposed to be good or bad?" Joel whispers to you as you get closer to the next section, and you laugh a little too loudly. The people around you give you nasty looks, but you can't find it in yourself to be sorry.

"Like I said at the museum, I can't tell you that, but…" you glance around to make sure nobody's listening to you. "As someone who saw him make a lot of art, this is definitely not his best."

"Okay, that's what I thought," he says before pointing at a specific part of the painting. "The shape is really weird right there, like he ran outta space or somethin'." You let go of his arm and step between him and the painting, smiling knowingly.

"Did you study for this?" You ask, and he nervously plays with the chain around his neck. 

"I may have… snuck a look at Ellie's notes." He admits sheepishly, and your eyes widen. 

"You were actin' like you were gonna have to rely on me this whole time! You don't need me to tell you what good art is!"

"Yeah, but I want you to." 

"Oh, whatever. C'mon, I wanna hear what else you think." You pretty much drag him to the next section of the gallery, but he's pliant and almost giddy at your hold on him. You take more time in the next part, and he ducks so his lips are near your ear to point out little things he notices. He said he was scared of being wrong in front of people "smarter than him," but all the observations he makes are valid and accurate. He lets you add your own analysis to his and watches you with a smile when you start talking with your hands excitedly. Suddenly, you're not nearly as miserable as you thought you would be, and you're even laughing together as you jump from painting to painting. 

"See, this isn't so bad!" You say as you move to the final part, but your smile and enthusiasm die when you step over the threshold. There, staring at you unashamedly is the painting Henry did of you when you were twenty and topless. He told you it was for his own artistic development, and you were more than happy to do it for him. You just never thought he would've kept it after all these years. Thank God your face isn't visible in the painting, but your rigid posture tells Joel everything he needs to know. He politely turns his back to the painting and steps between you and your likeness. 

"You wanna go?" He whispers at the same time someone calls your name. You take a deep breath and grab Joel's hand for support as you turn around and face Henry. His wavy blonde hair frames his face like it did in college but he's matured. His beard is a little more filled in, and he's gotten a little broader. Other than that, he's still the same person you met freshman year. 

"I'm so glad you could make it!" He says as he approaches. He doesn't try to hug you, and you don't move to let go of Joel's hand. "You look great. I mean, you always looked great, but you know what I meant," he says, looking over you. Only when Joel clears his throat does Henry even look at him. "Oh, sorry, man! We're old friends. I'm Henry." He holds his hand out for Joel to meet halfway, but he doesn't. You think it probably took fighting every single bit of southern hospitality in his veins to stop himself from shaking Henry's hand.

"'M Joel." He says, and Henry awkwardly drops his hand. 

"Nice to meet you, Joel. How are you enjoying the exhibition?" 

"'S alright." Is all Joel offers, not willing to gas up Henry's ego anymore, and you have to stifle a laugh at the expectant look on Henry's face. "Well, I think we were just goin'."

"Oh, so soon? You haven't even seen the last few pieces."

"Are those any better than the thirty identical ones I already saw?"

"Joel," you scold quietly, and his jaw flexes when you look at him.

"It's okay. Not everyone understands art enough to enjoy it." Henry says. 

"Oh, I understand everythin' just fine." You swear Joel would've punched him if he wasn't holding your hand so tight. You step in between them and raise your eyebrows at Joel. His shoulders are squared, and you can feel the molten anger rolling off him, but it softens just a bit when he meets your eyes. You squeeze him twice to let him know you're okay, and he nods. 

"Can you get me a refill on champagne? I think they're still walkin' around with some." You suggest. He gets the hint, but he obviously doesn't like it. He glances between you and Henry like he's trying to make a decision but folds when you mouth, "please," at him. 

"’Course," he says through gritted teeth. "Anythin' else I can get for you, baby?" Baby, that's a new one, you think. 

"No, I'm alright. Thanks, though." You say. Without thinking, you let your other hand rest on his jaw and kiss Joel's cheek. His jaw unclenches when your fingertips graze his stubble, and his shoulders relax when your lips make contact with his skin, but you know he's still upset because you're still upset. Joel smiles and walks away before you can get a good look at the blush creeping up his neck, and you're resigned to watching him disappear into the crowd. 

"He seems nice," Henry says the second Joel is out of earshot, and you have to resist the urge to laugh. 

"He is." 

"How'd you two meet?"

"Through work." You say, knowing that bringing up teaching will make his skin crawl. He sucks his teeth and nods, the champagne in his glass sloshing slightly.

"Ah," he says. "That's nice."

"Yeah," you agree. An awkward silence falls over the two of you quickly, and you're itching to find Joel in the sea of people. Henry notices your lack of attention on him.

"It's really good to see you," he says. "I feel like I haven't talked to you in forever."

"Yeah, that's usually what happens when you leave someone." 

"That's kinda why I invited you here tonight. I wanted to apologize for the way things ended," he acts brokenhearted and torn up about it, but he's years too late for the pity party he's expecting. "I should've talked to you about what was going on. We were just... becoming so different, and it felt like you were always talking to Andie or other people in the program, and there was no way to reach you."

"What are you talking about? I asked you multiple times if we were okay, and you said yes every time. I was talking to Andie so much because I needed someone who would understand me and be able to help." You say, and he waves his hand like he's swatting flies.

"Let's not do this. My therapist says it's not healthy to rehash the past like this. I just wanted to make amends and let you know I'm sorry for how you felt." It's not an apology. Not a real one, anyway. Jesus Christ, what did you ever see in him? Before you can even open your mouth to say something, he gestures to the gallery. "So, what do you think about all this? Crazy, right?"

"It's... something," you say. "Wish you would've given me a heads up about that one before I brought someone with me." You point in the direction of your half-naked body on the wall, and he gives you a confused look.

"I thought I did in the email." 

"Nope, I think I would've remembered if you said something about a half-naked painting of me from college being displayed," you shake your head. "Why do you even still have that? I thought you would've thrown it away or painted over it or something."

"Why would I do that? It's a good piece."

"I know it's good because it's my body. What's weird is you leaving me without a word one day and then keeping a naked picture of me all these years." 

"I didn't even think of it as your body. After a while, it was just a body," he says with no remorse, and you think you might hit him yourself. "Besides, you should take this as a compliment. Not many women get the opportunity to be depicted as art. It's a wonderful thing. You might even thank me one day when you're older." Finally, you see Joel walking toward you with a glass of champagne, and you take refuge in the fact that he's returning for you. "But, from what I can see, they've definitely stayed the same, so you probably don't have anything to worry about." He says like it's a secret or a compliment. You don't even wait for Joel to say or do anything. You just grab the wine from him and throw it in Henry's face. The people in the immediate vicinity gasp as you slap him and shove the empty glass into his hands. 

"Out of all the stupid things I imagined for myself when I was younger, thinking I would marry you was the stupidest," you spit. "Don't you ever try to fucking contact me again."

You feel like a fucking idiot. What did you expect? An apology? Repentance? Regret? He barely apologized when you were together. Why would he start now? God, was he always that bad? How could you have been so blind? How could you have shed so many tears over him? How could you have let yourself be so vulnerable with him and for so many years? It's a miracle he didn't call the cops and try to get the two of you arrested, even though Joel didn't do anything. You think, at least. The second you finished your sentence, you ran to the bathroom to cry and then snuck out through the back to wait outside Joel's truck. For all you know, Joel (rightfully) beat his ass and is on the run from artsy Austin hipsters. 

You put the lit cigarette back in your mouth and take a long drag, the familiar burning in your lungs a sick relief. You quit during The Dark Days because smoking was something he did, and you wanted to rid yourself of any reminder of his impact on your life. Apparently, at the same time you were scrubbing his fingerprints from your bones, he was in possession of and doing God knows what with the visual reminder of your vulnerability and love-sickness and acted like it was nothing. Like it was a compliment. Like it was just an object instead of your body. Andie would be pissed if she were here but especially if she saw you smoking after she braved all those shaky days and nights of nicotine patches and dried fruit and whatever other remedy recommended to help you quit smoking. You half-expect the same anger when you see Joel walking toward you. 

"Before you even start, I know I shouldn't, okay? It's a bad habit from when I was a kid, and I've mostly kicked it. I just... had a lapse. I'll be back on my best behavior tomorrow," you say as he stops in front of you. He doesn't look angry or upset. He just looks concerned and maybe even a little sad. Suddenly, you regret running away from him when all he probably wanted to do was help. You probably wouldn't have bummed a cigarette from a busboy if you let him. "Don't tell Ellie." You plead. His eyes flick over your face before he takes the cigarette from your fingers, puts the lipstick-stained filter in his own mouth, and inhales deeply, making the ember glow in the dark of the night. When he exhales, he blows the smoke away from you and lets the wind carry it in the opposite direction. A considerate smoker. You should've guessed.

"Don't tell Ellie," he says, handing the cigarette back to you. "Are you okay?"

You shake your head and take a long drag. It's quiet between you two for a while, the only sound being the cicadas and the distant chatter of the gallery. They're probably still talking about the psycho bitch who threw her wine in the artist's face. You don't really care. "I'm sorry for tonight. I don't know what I was expecting, and I sure as shit didn't know that painting was gonna be displayed. I swear, if I had any idea how bad this was gonna be, I wouldn't have invited you." 

"Why are you apologizin'? It's not your fault." 

"I shouldn't have roped you into this. I should've just said no, ignored the email, or came by myself. It's not fair that you got put in the middle of all this, especially when you were just trying to be nice. You're the parent of one of my students, and for you to see that side of me is just inappropriate. I just-" he stops your rambling by putting his hands on your shoulders and making you look at him, the cigarette falling to the pavement in the process. 

"Hey, hey. Stop. Take a breath." He says. Your head hurts from crying, and part of you wants to crawl into a hole and stay there until these feelings go away, but his eyes are gentle, and his hands are warm. You think he might be the only reason you're holding it together right now. "None of this is your fault, okay? Not the painting, not the conversation, none of it. We're both adults, and we can handle these things rationally. I'm not scarred for life just 'cause you lost your temper."

"But I-"

"No, buts. You told me the situation, and I didn't care. You warned me bout the art people, and I didn't care. You threw a drink in that asshole's face, and I didn't care," he says. "The only thing I care bout right now is makin' sure you're okay. Fuck everythin' else." You search his face for anything to tell you what he's telling you is going against his inner monologue but find none. He's completely and wholly concerned about you and nothing else. Not how fast he can get out of this. Not how this might look. Not what other people might think about him. Nothing. You take a deep breath and nod.

"Fuck everything else." You agree. 

"Now, you're gettin' the hang of it." He jokes, and you roll your eyes at him. He takes it in stride, his smile never fading as he looks down at you. You stop messing with the hem of your dress and let yourself relax for the first time all night.

"Thank you for being here, Joel. I really appreciate it."

"Not our best not-date, but definitely a memorable one." He says, and you laugh. You seem to realize how close you are at the same time because you both fall silent. His curls are beautifully draped over his face, and you can't stop watching his tiny expressions. An eye squint. A purse of the lips. A bite to the inside of his cheek. You want to blame your bad night or the emotions, but you can't. There's something more there. Something that's been brewing beneath the surface since he came into your classroom. Something that will kill you if you don't act on it.

You let your hands come up from your sides and tentatively brush against his waist as you stare at him, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. He just stares down at your lips, and the hands on your shoulders slowly move across your skin and up your collarbone— leaving goosebumps in his wake— until his hands are on your jaw and your pulse is thrumming against his palm. You pull him closer by his belt loops, and he doesn't hesitate to crowd your space, pushing you into the side of his truck with his body. His lips ghost over yours, just barely touching, and his nose bumps yours. 

"This is a bad idea," you breathe, tightening your hold on him. He nods and presses his forehead against yours. He's still close enough to breathe the same air as him, but the distance feels like miles. You lean forward a fraction as a test, and he doesn't move. If anything, he seems annoyed you didn't kiss him.

"D'you want to stop?" He asks, sounding just as breathless as you feel. You shake your head and swallow hard when he brushes the hair off your shoulder, and you can feel his heavy hand holding you. Your hands skate over his ribs, feeling muscles and a crazed heartbeat, and his jaw clenches. "Then you better do somethin' cause you've been drivin' me fuckin' crazy for weeks." 

Finally, you catch his lips with yours. He tastes like nicotine and smoke, and you know it's going to take a lot more than patches to get you to want to stop doing this. It's gentle and sweet, all relieved sighs and shy touches until you pull away for just a second to second-guess yourself or ask him something. You don't even start to form the words before he's back on you with more fervor. Suddenly, it's like he's everywhere but not nearly close enough. He nibbles at your bottom lip and tests a hand on your sternum, long fingers grazing your throat. The metal of the truck digs into your back, but you stop caring when a little moan slips from his lips when you pull him closer.

This is a bad idea. A horrible one. A bad habit you're gonna need to kick. 

But he might just be your favorite bad idea so far.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

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“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn��t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

[daisies-daydreams]

HIYA BABES 🥰✨ ITS ME AGAIN. Ready to sin 🙏. Bimbo reader with hobie brown..SOMETHING ABOUT THAT IDK..recently my page has been nothing BUT bimbo reader and i fell victim to them. Maybe something fluffy and airy? But def smut with it..but like in the beginning it can be that reader is getting ready to go out and obviously her outfit is bimbo core (I LOVE dressing like that.) short and pretty but definitely too revealing for outside, so hobie goes out with her (with consent). He’s like a guard dog but not to an overbearing point..hobie definitely knows he has nothing to worry about. Not when reader looks up at him like he hung the stars in the sky. The outfit definitely does things to hobie and yeah. Just a cute little date thing. Idk where the smut comes in from 😭 ALWAYS FEEL FREE TO HOLD MINE OFF IF YOU GET TOO OVERWHELMED. LOVE YA MUCH 💙✨ SO GLAD YOURE BACK

Juicy (Hobie Brown x F!Bimbo!Reader)

Pairing: Hobie Brown x F!Bimbo!Reader Category: Fluff/Smut Warnings: Depictions of Drinking/Hangovers, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Swearing, Hickeys, Oral Sex (F!/M! Receiving), Face Sitting (Reader on Hobie), 69, Nipple Play, Unprotected P in V (You Know the Drill), Missionary Position, Mating Press, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Aftercare Word Count: 6.6k+ A/N: Hello hello! Thank you so much for your request! I’m so glad someone suggested Bimbo!Reader (the thought of that pairing has been eating me alive lol 🤭😳). I hope you enjoy! The reader's outfit is similar to this with a few changes

You paused when you stepped out of your room, your hoop earrings jingling softly as you tilted your head. You smiled gently when you saw your friend, Hobie, passed out on your couch. He’d usually come and crash at your place after long nights of playing shows or whatever mischief he found himself in. You hummed quietly as you grabbed one of your blankets and draped it over his lanky form. 

“Sleep tight,” you whispered. You continued to hum to yourself as you sashayed to your bathroom, your hot pink crop top just barely hiding your tits as you reached into your medicine cabinet. You grabbed your lip gloss and mascara before shutting the mirrored cabinet. You swayed your hips side to side as an upbeat song played inside your head. You pursed your plump lips as you swiped your glossy, pink lip gloss across your mouth. You rubbed your lips together before puckering them out, smiling to yourself giddily as you set your lip gloss aside. 

“Where you goin’ lovie?” Hobie hummed from the doorway. You gasped and dropped your mascara, the bottle hitting the porcelain sink with a loud “clink!”. You glanced over to see him lingering in the threshold of your bathroom. 

“God, Hobie! You scared me!” you giggled. Hobie chuckled as he leaned on the doorframe. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said with a lopsided grin. 

“Mhm,” you said with a suspicious, raised brow. You turned back to your mirror and unrolled your mascara. You arched your back a little as you leaned forward. “Anyway, I’m just heading to the pub down the street to watch the match. My stupid TV’s broken again,” you sighed as you brushed the thick, dark makeup across your lashes. Hobie pursed his lips. 

“I told you I’d fix it for you,” he replied. You frowned and fluttered your lashes before applying a bit more.

“I know…but I don’t want to be a burden,” you said as you gazed at him with a slight frown. Hobie sighed before taking a step forward. 

“You’ll never be a burden to me,” he said as he gently cupped your cheek. Your heart fluttered as he caressed your face with his warm palm. You laid a hand over his and smiled sweetly. 

“Thank you, Hobie,” you beamed. The tall man before you nodded as he let his hand fall back to his side. 

“No problem, love,” Hobie said. You tapped the tip of your white boot against the plush bathroom rug. His eyes scanned you up and down. “Would it be alright if I came with you tonight?” he piped up. Your eyes lit up as your heart glowed. 

“Are you kidding? Of course you can come!” you giggled and wrapped your arms around him, your plump breasts pushing against his chest. Hobie chuckled as he patted the middle of your back. 

“Sounds good. I’ll be waitin’ for you at the front door,'' he smiled brightly before slipping away. Your heart leapt as you finished getting ready. You slung your cute, pink purse over your white, fluffy jacket before walking into the living room. Hobie parted his lips as you walked out, your bra and thong peeking out of your crop top and short jean skirt. 

“You ready to go?” you asked while biting your lip. Hobie swallowed thickly and nodded as he opened the door for you. “Why, thank you,” you beamed. The lanky man cleared his throat before he came up behind you. You raised a brow as he popped his elbow out. 

“My, my. Aren’t you a gentleman,” you teased before slipping your arm into his. Hobie chuckled softly as the two of you walked out of your flat. 

“What can I say - Nan raised me right,” he shrugged. You giggled as your hips swayed while the two of you began to make your way towards the pub. The cool night air washed over your form, goosebumps raising over your exposed skin as your boots clicked against the cracked pavement. You hummed as you pulled a cherry sucker out of your pocket, crinkling the wrapper and tossing it into a nearby bin. 

“Not gonna eat there?” Hobie asked. You shrugged as you popped the sweet candy between your glossy lips. 

“I might. I just like having something sweet before I drink,” you smiled brightly. You noticed Hobie’s gaze softened as he looked down at you. “What’s wrong?” you asked, the white stick poking past your plump lips. He opened his mouth to say something but suddenly grabbed you. You gasped as the lollipop fell from your lips when he pulled you back against his chest. A car honked loudly before barreling down the street, the vehicle swaying back and forth before making a sharp turn. 

“Wanker,” Hobie scowled as he squeezed your arms. You blinked as you slowly turned towards him, your hands trembling as you placed them on his chest. 

“T-Thank you,” you breathed, your heart still racing at the thought of being nearly squashed by that car. Hobie nodded, his hands slowly dropping from your arms as he smiled gently. 

“You’re welcome, lovie,” he murmured. The tips of your ears warmed as you realized how close the two of you were, your hands still splayed across his chest. You bit your lip as you looked both ways. 

“Right…guess we should head inside,” you grinned. Hobie returned your expression as both of you made your way into the crowded pub. The sounds of people charming and shouting erupted from the slightly cracked door. Your cheeks flushed as Hobie ghosted his hand over your lower back as you walked up to the front stand. 

“Two for tonight?” a blonde hostess asked as she popped a bright pink bubble of gum. You nodded. 

“Yes, please!” you chirped. The hostess checked a piece of paper before her eyes lit up. 

“You’re in luck - a booth just opened up,” she beamed. You smiled as she grabbed two menus for you. You looked up and furrowed your brows as you watched Hobie remain strangely still, his eyes scanning over the crowd as his jaw tightened.

"Are you okay?" you whispered and nudged his arm. Your friend blinked and hummed.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Just spaced out," he shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets. The hostess cleared her throat.

“Follow me,” the blonde grinned. You tugged on Hobie’s arm, slipping your own through the crook of his elbow as you followed the hostess through the crowd of people.

“Sorry!” you whispered loudly as you squeezed past several men. You noticed Hobie turned his head towards each man you passed before you finally stopped at a small, empty booth. 

“Your server will be out any second. Enjoy!” the hostess chirped. 

“Thank you!” you smiled brightly. The woman nodded before shuffling back to her post. You grinned as Hobie slid into the seat across from you. You sighed and squeezed your hands together, your glossy nails rubbing against the inside of your hands. 

“So, how’s the band doing?” you asked excitedly. Hobie drummed his fingers on the table as he pursed his lips. 

“They’re doin' well. Done a lot of shows recently, so we're taking a break for a bit," he said while scratching the back of his head. You hummed.

“That’s good,” you replied. "Where's your next show going to be?" you asked. Hobie pursed his lips as he drummed his fingers against the table.

"We're thinkin' of doin' it at Slotts' in a coupla weeks...but you don't know that," he whispered with a wink. You giggled and gave him a short nod.

"Of course," you winked back. You glanced down at your menu before the crowd erupted with cheers. You shifted your gaze to the TV: Chelsea just scored, several players jumping on the field and tackling each other. 

“What ‘bout you? Haven’t seen you in a while,” Hobie piped up as he rested his hand over his menu, his silver rings shining beneath the dim light of the pub. You sighed and closed your menu. 

“Nothing much. Still working as a bank teller these days,” you said in a bit of a despondent tone. Hobie nodded. 

“So that’s where you keep getting that candy,” he chuckled. You giggled. 

“Yeah. It’s become a real problem - I need to switch to something less hard soon,” you joked. The man across from you laughed, the corners of his brown eyes crinkling with mirth. 

“You’ve got a real good sense of humor, (Y/N),” he chuckled. Your body flushed with heat as you rubbed the back of your neck. 

“Aw, shucks, Hobie,” you giggled. A server suddenly appeared in front of your table, his mouth curved into a perpetual frown as he stared at you. 

“What can I get you?” he grunted. You smiled as you shuffled in your seat. 

“Could I have a tall old speckled hen, please?” you asked. The man scribbled down on his notepad before turning to Hobie. 

“Same f’me,” the tall man across from you replied. The waiter gave a silent nod before making his way over to the bar. Hobie turned his attention back to you. 

“Old speckled, eh?” he raised a brow with an amused grin. You snorted. 

“I’ll be able to handle it,” you said with a flippant wave of your hand. 

Two Hours Later… 

You met Hobie’s wide eyes as he stepped out of the bathroom. 

“Hey, Hobie!” you giggled as you wobbled on your table. Several men were mesmerized by the way you swayed your hips to the music playing on the jukebox. 

“Mamaaaaa! Oooooooh!” you belted, a few of the patrons joining in with you. You blinked as Hobie quickly pushed his way through the crowd, his brows knitted together as he flashed you a concerned look. 

“Hobie!” you squealed before your ankle suddenly gave out. The man beneath you quickly steadied your standing; his large, warm hands bracing your legs as you hiccupped. “Come up and sing with me, Hobie!” you said as you wiggled your hips, the men around you hypnotized by your movements. You blinked as he squeezed your hand. 

“C’mon, love. Let’s head on home,” Hobie sighed, his beautiful lips parted. You whined. 

“But I’m having such a good time!” you pouted and started to stumble around on the tabletop. Hobie frowned as he brushed his thumb against the back of your palm. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he urged you with a pleading expression. You pouted before eventually sighing. 

“Okay,” you murmured. Hobie kept his hands on your legs as you squatted down and started to crawl off of the table. The manager soon came out and gave you a deadly glare. 

“The bloody hell is your girlfriend doin’?” he scoffed. You glanced down at your white boots while Hobie held you close to his side. 

“She was just havin’ some fun, no harm done,” Hobie snapped back as he slung one of your arms over his shoulder. The manager sputtered as your friend guided you through the sea of swaying, drunk patrons. Your face grew hot when you realized the manager called you Hobie’s “girlfriend”. The thought made your body shiver slightly as your heart leapt beneath your sternum. You clumsily walked (more like dragged your feet) across the street, Hobie remaining by your side the whole time he guided you to the sidewalk. 

“You’re so good to me, Hobie,” you cooed. He shifted his gaze over to you and smiled. 

“I know, lovie,” he sighed softly. He gasped when you started to fall forward, your legs wobbling as he caught you. Hobie sighed as he threw one of your arms around his shoulder and hoisted you up. He studied your features before he parted his lips.

"What were you drinkin' so much for, anyway, hm?" your friend asked as he carried you towards flat. Your head spun as you frowned, your heart sinking a little even in your intoxicated state.

"I...I guess I just wanted your attention," you hiccupped. Hobie blinked, his features softening as you stumbled onto him. He grabbed your waist as you face planted into his chest. Your heart pounded in your ears as Hobie gently helped you back up, his large palm cupping your cheek as your vision began to fade.

"You've always had my attention, love”.

+++

You groaned as your head pounded, the room around you spinning as you slowly blinked your eyes open.

"Ugh, what the hell happened?" you asked groggily. You tensed when you felt someone's arms wrapped around your torso, their warm breath falling against the back of your neck. You swallowed thickly as you slowly turned your head, your body relaxing when you saw Hobie fast asleep beside you.

Hold on-

"HOBIE?!" you gasped as you scrambled onto your hands. His eyes instantly shot open as his breath hitched.

"(Y/N)?" he asked before drawing out a loud yawn. Your heart raced as his arms slipped away before he rubbed his eyes.

"What are you...how did we-" your mind was reeling as you tried to sort through your memory of last night. Hobie blinked a few times before he leaned on his side, his ripped, red shirt riding up his torso and revealing his lean abs. You bit your lip as your friend grunted beside you.

"You were completely smashed last night, so I carried you home," he explained nonchalantly. You slightly lowered your shoulders as you slowly nodded.

"Okay...but how did we...I mean, did we?" you made a few hand gestures while awkwardly glancing down. Hobie chuckled softly as he shook his head. "No?" you asked while perking your head up.

"No...you just asked me to stay with you," he said with a warm smile. You sighed and fell back onto your bed, your heart melting at his kindness.

"Thank God," you breathed. Hobie quirked a brow at your words. "No! I mean, not that I wouldn't, you know-" you groaned as you covered your face with your hands. Hobie remained quiet as he shifted beside you, his warm body barely caressing over yours.

"Do you want to?" he murmured. More heat rose to your cheeks as your throat tightened.

"You mean...have sex?" you breathed, each word growing more quiet with the last as your chest tightened. Hobie nodded as he leaned his head on his palm, his expression soft and inviting. You felt a spark of arousal light in your core as you gazed at his alluring, parted lips and down his dark, scruffy happy trail.

"You don't have to do anythin' you're uncomfortable with. I just-" Hobie's eyes widened as you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a heated, wet kiss. You closed your eyes and cupped his face as an insatiable hunger overwhelmed your body. Hobie sighed as he smoothed one of his hands over your hip, his other brushing over your face as he tilted his head.

You squeaked as he pulled you against his lithe body, something hard suddenly rubbing between your thighs as you moaned softly. Your lips glistened with your combined spit as you gulped for air. You shivered as Hobie stared into your eyes, his pupils blown wide and breath ragged as he squeezed the supple flesh of your hip.

"I thought you'd never ask," you confessed. You heard a low rumble rise from his throat before he dove back in. You trembled in his hold as he pressed his lips to yours, tenderly brushing over yours as he played with the band of your short skirt. You squealed as he slipped his warm tongue past your swollen, parted lips - his wet muscle eagerly dancing with yours as you bucked your hips forward.

"Fuck, you drive me wild, (Y/N)," he gasped before swiping his tongue along your lower lip. You panted and squeezed your thighs together as he kissed your chin and along your jaw, his fingers tugging on the thin band of your hot pink thong. "Every time I see you in one of these outfits, I have to stop myself from takin’ you right then and there," Hobie groaned before puckering his lips over your sensitive pulse. You pulled back a little as you laid your hands on his chest. He paused and deeply looked into your eyes.

“Please…don’t stop now. I never want you to stop,” you confessed with a low moan. A spark of lust ignited in his dark eyes as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” he murmured. Hobie quickly crashed his lips against yours, hungrily devouring your mouth in a passionate, sloppy kiss. You keened as he pecked along your jaw as his hands slid beneath your shirt and push-up bra. A soft moan escaped from your lips as he tenderly massaged your tits and brushed his calloused thumbs over your hard nipples.

"Bet your pretty pussy tastes just as sweet as you," he moaned into your ear before puckering his lips over your sensitive pulse. You nearly choked as he squeezed your nipples between his fingers, tugging on them gently as he ground his hips against yours at a faster pace. "Would you like that, sweet girl? My face stuffed between your perfect thighs?" Hobie grunted, his lips dancing over the fresh hickey on your neck.

"God, yes," you mewled as your walls fluttered at the thought of his thick, juicy tongue parting your puffy lower lips. Hobie grinned against your wet skin before slowly rolling onto his side. Your whole body trembled with anticipation as you watched him lie on his back, his eyes raking over your barely covered body. Your thighs shook as you slowly pulled your slightly soaked thong down your legs and kicked them aside with your short jean skirt.

“Take your time if you need to, baby,” he gently reassured. Your cheeks warmed at his caring voice while you bit your lip. You slowly raised your skirt up as you slotted your thighs across his lithe waist. Hobie groaned lowly as you crawled on top of him, his hands falling over your waist as you wiggled your hips.

"God, you're so fuckin' gorgeous," he murmured as he slowly slid his palms up and down your hips. You froze just before you reached his face, shivering as his warm breath fell over your slick folds.

“A-Are you sure about this?” you asked him with a gulp. "What if I break your neck or suffocate you?" you muttered and looked away. He raised his brows before leaning up and puckering his plump lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasped and gently bucked your hips forward as he moaned against your dripping, warm sex. He released his mouth with a loud “pop” before gazing into your eyes.

“I want nothin’ more than to feel you sit-no, ride my face until my mouth is completely soaked with your cum,” he said lowly while licking his already glistening lips. A soft moan escaped from your throat as your cheeks swelled with heat. “C’mon, lovie. I won’t bite…unless you want me to,” Hobie smirked before licking a bold, sloppy stripe along your slit.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped as he pushed your hips down on his rugged face. You grabbed the headboard of your bed as he messily dug his tongue between your puffy labia, his nose grinding against your engorged clit. Your eyes rolled back as he audibly groaned into your cunt, his nails digging into your thighs as he voraciously devoured your sweet juices.

“God, Hobie,” you whined while gently grinding your cunt over his face, smearing your arousal across his lips and chin. Your jaw went slack when he swirled his wet muscle around your puffy bud, his fingers gently caressing your supple thighs as he flared his nostrils.

Your knuckles turned pale as you squeezed the headboard, your thighs quaking with every eager swipe of his soft tongue across your aching pussy.

“Yes,” you threw your head back and sobbed. Hobie’s eyes rolled back as you continued to rub your dripping cunt against his mouth, a low groan sending shivers through your quivering sex. The lewd, slick sounds of his tongue painting over your labia drive you further into a lustful frenzy.

“S-So good, baby,” you panted and nearly fell forward when he slipped his thumb over your swollen clit. The bed creaked as you thrusted a little faster, the feeling of his lip ring rubbing against your entrance making your head spin and thighs clench.

You squeezed your eyes shut as he massaged your tender button while sliding his tip past the rim of your tight entrance.

“Fuck!” you moaned as you felt the muscles in your lower stomach start to twist into a tight knot already. The way his tongue flicked and caressed your sex, his hot breath fanning over your clit every time his thumb came up - it was all too much.

“H-Hobie!” you cried as you fully sank down on his face. You heard him suck a sharp breath through his nose as your pussy pulsed against his smooth lips. Your breathing grew ragged as you white-knuckled the headboard, your bed creaking and groaning as he sloppily made out with your cunt. A sharp smack of his lips and swipe of his thumb finally made you tip over the edge. You cried and babbled incoherently as your jaw went slack, your legs shaking around his puffy wicks as your body grew rigid with bliss.

“S-Shit, Hobie,” you choked as your walls pulsed, your puckering hole gushing with your slick. A shiver ran down your spine as Hobie voraciously slurped up your juices - his tongue darting out and capturing every drop he could. You moaned as he continued to tenderly swipe his thumb across your bundle of nerves, his sharp chin supporting your perineum as he slowly blinked his eyes open.

It took a few moments before you slowly pulled your hips away from his face. Your jaw dropped when you saw how soaked his face was. Hobie chuckled as he swiped his tongue over his lips, his eyes half-lidded and completely mesmerized by your fucked-out expression.

“I-I’m sorry,” you said as you reached over to grab a tissue. You paused when he rested his hand over your wrist, a lopsided grin written over his sharp features.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it…I like it when my girl makes a mess,” he purred before pecking your swollen nub. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his warm lips glide over your sensitive bud before he swiped the tip of his tongue over it. But even more so…the fact that he called you his girl made your knees weak and legs turn to jelly. Hobie smirked as he smoothed his thumbs over your hips.

“You like it when I kiss your pretty clit like that, hm?” he chuckled before pressing a few more quick, wet kisses to your bundle of nerves.

“M-Mm yes,” you keened and squeezed your thighs against the sides of his head. Hobie furrowed his brows when you suddenly slid down his lithe body. You sighed as you pressed your breasts together and rubbed your fingertips over the button of his jeans.

“Lovie?” he murmured, his hickory eyes fixated on the gentle sway of your hips. Your heart skipped a beat as you played with the band of his pants.

“Please, Hobie. I wanna make sure you feel taken care of, too,” you breathed while trailing your hands down his dark happy trail. Hobie groaned as he propped himself up on his forearms.

“Alright…on one condition,” he said with a mischievous smirk. Your eyes widened as he suddenly flipped you around, your face hovering above his hard, throbbing, cock while his lips just barely grazed over your raw, swollen pussy. “You let me have a second serving,” he blew a puff of air over your labia. You squeaked as a pulse of heat swept through your core while he nibbled and tugged on your folds. You arched your back and let your legs rest over his chest.

“Please, Hobie,” was all you could manage, your mind growing more and more foggy with arousal. You whined when he suddenly pulled his face back.

“‘Please’ what, (Y/N)? Use your words, sweet girl,” he teased. You could practically feel the smirk on his face as he spread your asscheeks apart, his lips mere centimeters from your weeping sex. You keened and threw your hips back as you clutched the band of his jeans.

“Please let me suck your cock while you devour my pussy,” you moaned and wiggled your hips. Your jaw dropped when he suddenly dove between your supple cheeks, his tongue vigorously swirling around the seam of your tight hole. “S-Shit,” you groaned as you hastily unbuttoned his pants. The sound of his zipper mixed with the wet, sloppy noises of him indulging in the sweet flavor of your pussy. You gasped when you pulled down his black brief, revealing a long, veiny cock.

His dick throbbed as a thick bead of precum slid down his mushroomy tip. You licked your lips as you wrapped one of your hands around his base, the sudden feeling of his breath on your asshole making you whimper and twitch above him.

“Fuck, you taste divine,” Hobie growled before enveloping his whole mouth over your raw cunt. You squeezed the base of his cock, drawing a deep groan from your lover as you slowly swirled your tongue around his aching tip. You flared your nostrils as you slowly sank your mouth down on his bulbous head, your nails digging into his thighs as he parted the seam of your entrance with his long, writhing tongue.

You moaned around his dick as he gently thrusted his slick muscle into your hole, his hands squeezing and massaging your asscheeks as he grunted. You had to take a deep breath through your nose before you sucked in your cheeks and slowly sank your head down on his length. You flinched above Hobie when he gave a sudden, sharp thrust deep inside your core as your soft mouth glided along his veiny cock. You couldn’t help but lightly grind against his chin, your engorged clit deliciously rubbing against his warm skin as he pumped his long muscle along your velvety walls.

You only sank down halfway and already had to suppress the urge to gag, tears forming at the corners of your eyes as your throat tightened. You shifted above him, resting your arms across his upper thighs before wrapping one of your palms around the base of his cock. Hobie groaned into your pulsing heat while you stroked his length in time with bobbing your head.

“Fuck, just like that,” you heard his voice muffled into your folds before he dove back in. You squealed and dipped your head down a little faster while he slide his tongue back inside your tight little hole. The sweet smell of sex and sweat wafted through the air as the two of you moaned against each other.

“Can’t hold on much longer,” you thought as your eyes watered while he curled his pink tongue inside your slick, gummy cunt. You whined as you squeezed his shaft while slobbering over his hard, throbbing sex. Both of you grew more sloppy with your movements as you felt your body shiver and tense with pleasure. You squeaked when he dug his nails into the plush of your ass and slid his face back and forth, smearing your slick across his mouth and massaging your bundle of nerves with his chin.

You moaned and opened your throat up as your second orgasm crashed over you, your body trembling with bliss as you nearly choked on his long dick. Hobie inhaled deeply as he eagerly slurped up your juices, his tongue lashing in and out of your pulsing walls as your legs shook around his head.

“Yes!” you screamed internally as you squeezed the base of his heavy shaft. Your head spun as you sucked hard on his cock, drawing a deep growl from your lover. Your eyes shot open when you felt long, heavy ropes of his cum paint the back of your throat. You relished in the way his dick twitched against your tongue, the small groans that left his lips while he desperately bucked into your soft mouth.

You kept your cheeks hollowed and lips curled around his shaft as he panted beneath you, his body shivering and balls tightening under your hold. You gasped when Hobie suddenly slid his tongue out of you, his breathing ragged as he pumped his ups up.

“Mmm, baby girl,” he moaned as the last stream of his cum splashed against your raw esophagus. You let his dick rest against your tongue for a few seconds before you slowly pulled your mouth away with a wet “pop”. You gasped for air, your lungs burning a little as you trembled above him.

“How you feelin’?” Hobie asked as he smoothed his hands over your hips. You licked your slightly swollen lips before eyeing a thick bead of white leaking from his tip. You smirked and pressed your lips to his head. Hobie’s breath hitched when you swiped the tip of your tongue across his slit before swirling it around his entire head.

“Good,” you replied as you peeked over your shoulder and wiggled your hips again. Hobie’s chest rose and fell below your stomach as he rubbed your waist.

“God, you’re incredible,” he suddenly praised before pecking your cunt for the last time. You tried to steady yourself as you climbed off of him, your limbs shaking like leaves on a tree while you rolled beside your lover. Hobie’s eyes sparkled with affection as he gazed at your flushed face.

“Lovie, I know that was a lot…but do you think you’d be able to handle one more?” he panted while slinging one of his arms around your back. Your eyes widened a little as he mindlessly traced his fingers along your hip and lower back, his eyes soft and half-lidded as he eyed your body. You took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yes,” you whispered while wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You sure?” Hobie asked, his voice still dripping with lust yet carrying a gentle tone with it. You grinned and nodded.

“I’m sure, Hobie. But…won’t you need some help getting…you know-“ you blushed and looked down at his now soft cock between his legs. Hobie chuckled and kissed the tip of your nose, the smell of your arousal clinging to his face making your cheeks swell with heat.

“Don’t worry about me...right now, all I want to do is make sure the world knows your mine,” Hobie’s breath hovered over your neck as his hands slid up your stomach. He sat back on his knees and tossed his shirt aside before kicking his pants on the floor. You gasped when he pressed his body against yours and began to grind his cock against your swollen folds. You moaned and spread your legs a little more as he unzipped your jacket, letting the puffy fabric fall open to reveal your hot pink crop top.

“Mmm look at you,” Hobie kissed your ear as he rolled your shirt over your shoulders. You shivered as his nimble fingers expertly unclasped your bra and tossed it on the floor. You blushed and turned your head as you laid completely exposed beneath him, your perky nipples hardening as he sucked in a sharp breath. “God, you’re perfect,” Hobie murmured as he slid his fingers up your sides. Your face flushed as you bit your lip.

“H-Hobie,” you breathed. You felt him smile against your skin while he brought his hands back up to your breasts. You flinched as he suckled on your neck while tenderly squeezing your tits. He rocked his hips forward, drawing a high-pitched moan from your lips as his cock glided over your sopping wet sex.

“Fuck,” you hiccupped while Hobie tilted his head and licked a long stripe over your raw hickey. You kept your arms wrapped around his neck as he squeezed and pinched your sensitive nipples. Your mind grew fuzzy as the tip of his dick rubbed against your swollen clit, his veiny cock spreading your slick labia apart with every stroke.

“Makin’ such cute noises f’me,” he chuckled lowly before lightly tugging on your buds and sucking against your neck again. You snapped your head back and arched your spine as you felt his wet, warm lips curl over your skin, his dick starting to twitch and harden against your aching sex.

“Mmm!” you whined as the bed began to creak and groan beneath his rutting. You dipped your head into his thin shoulder as he bunched the supple flesh of your breasts within his large palms. Your breath stuttered as he sloppily kissed down your neck and nipped at your collarbone.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Hobie growled. You whined when he suddenly pulled away, his cock slipping from your sex as he panted wildly. “Need you now, baby. Please,” he grunted. Lust brightly flickered in his eyes as he grabbed your waist, his thumbs squeezing the plush of your hips as he breathed heavily. You felt a spark of pleasure rush through your core as he lined the tip of his dick to your weeping entrance, your legs falling on either side of his hips as he squeezed your waist. Your breasts jiggled as you sucked in a deep breath and leaned forward.

"Make this pussy yours, Hobie," you moaned into his ear. Your jaw went slack when he quickly sheathed his length deep inside you, his cock pulsing as your pussy squeezed him in a tender, vice grip.

“Oh my God,” Hobie groaned as your juicy walls sucked him in, enveloping his long shaft in a warm, vice grip. The two of you remained still for a moment as you adjusted to his size. He furrowed his brows and breathed heavily before opening his eyes again. “Just let me know when you’re ready,” Hobie whispered, his lips dancing over yours as his cock twitched inside you. You took a deep breath and slid your ankles over the back of his thighs.

“Y-You can move,” you breathed as you gripped onto him. Hobie gave you a warm smile before he slowly pulled his hips back. A rush of pleasure ran down your spine as he stretched your hole wide open, his cock massaging your soft walls as his tip bumped into your cervix.

“God, you feel so good around me,” Hobie sucked in a sharp breath as he pumped his hips in a steady rhythm. You whined as he crashed his lips against yours, the heady taste of your arousal slipping against your tongue as he moaned into your mouth. Electricity danced across your skin as goosebumps rose over your body each time his hips came into contact with yours.

“H-Hobie,” you spoke up right as he pulled away from your sloppy kiss. He grunted in reply as he continued to thrust into your snug sex. You swallowed the lump growing in your throat as tears of pleasure rolled down your cheeks. “It's okay - I don’t want you to hold back,” you reassured him while cupping his sharp cheek. His pace slowed as he furrowed his brows.

“You sure, lovie?” Hobie asked, his voice laced with concern. You nodded before gasping as he pushed your legs up, his hands squeezing the back of your knees before he snapped his hips forward.

“Fuck!” you cried out as his tip slammed against the plug to your womb. The bed shook beneath his rough, heavy thrusts while his plump balls slapped against your asscheeks.

"Yes, s-shit you feel so good," Hobie panted as he nearly folded you in half. "So fuckin' hot and tight," he groaned while pistoning his hips forward, his cock sinking deeper and deeper inside of your clenching hole. You cried and thrashed beneath him, your pleasure bordering on pain as your cunt tightened around his cock.

"Gonna be a good girl and cum f'me, yeah?" Hobie breathed as he squeezed the back of your legs. You nodded as you moaned and babbled incessantly.

"Yes, please, k-keep going!" you cried out as his thick tip massaged your soft, sensitive g-spot. Stars began to dance in your field of vision as the muscles in your lower tummy grew unbearably tight.

"Hobie!" you screamed as you snapped your hips forward, your cunt violently pulsing around his shaft as a pure bliss pierced through your core. White flooded your vision as your entire being trembled, your pussy soaking his throbbing dick with your sweet cum while he moaned into your ear.

"Shit, baby," he gritted his teeth as your walls clamped down on his length. You sobbed uncontrollably as your legs trembled in his hold, your mind numb with an indescribable pleasure. "Grippin' me so fuckin' tight, such a good - fuck - girl," Hobie rasped as his thrusts began to falter. You parted your lips and gasped as if breaking free from drowning. Your body glowed with euphoria as your lover's breath grew short with each pump of his cock.

"W-Where do you want me?" he shivered while gazing into your tear-filled eyes.

"Inside!" you squealed as his taut lower stomach brushed over your clit. Your jaw dropped when he buried himself deep inside your core, his moans reverberating inside your ears as his cock swelled and throbbed.

"G-Good girl," Hobie rumbled as he shallowly pumped his hips while shooting streams of his thick, heady seed against your swollen cervix. You dug your nails into his glowing skin as he nearly choked, your walls greedily sucking him in as he drenched your walls with his cum. You felt like your body was drifting in the heavenly waters of a warm ocean as he gently thrusted into you a few more times, your sex squelching wetly as his cock deliciously rubbed along your raw walls.

"Christ," Hobie panted as his hold on the back of your knees softened. You slowly blinked your eyes open, tears falling past the rim of your eyelids. Your love swallowed thickly before he kissed your calf, a patch of goosebumps breaking out over the small area as you gulped.

"Please tell me we're doing another round - I think I need a breather first," you sighed. Hobie chuckled as he slowly helped you lie your legs back onto the messy sheets.

"We could just stay here if you'd like," he said with a bright grin. You nodded and took a deep breath, your heart still pounding against your sternum and body shivering with bliss.

"Yes, please," you murmured. Hobie smiled softly as he slowly pulled out of you, his cock drenched with your combined juices and inner thighs caked with slick. You sighed as he shifted behind you, wrapping one of his lanky legs over yours and sliding an arm over your stomach.

"Do you think we could do this again sometime?" you asked. Hobie hummed against your neck, his puffy wicks tickling your ear as he tilted his head.

"Do what, lovie?" he murmured before kissing over the blanket of hickeys laid across your pulse. Your breath hitched for a moment as he pulled you against his warm body. You slid your hand down and threaded your fingers through his.

"I guess I meant to ask...are we an item now?" you said aloud. Hobie squeezed your hand as you glanced over your shoulder, his smile soft and melting you to the core.

"I mean, I figured that the second my lips hit yours was the moment that sealed it," he chuckled. You giggled and shifted a little more to softly peck his lips. Hobie sighed as you fully turned around, your front pressed against his as he brushed his long, nimble fingers through your hair. Your heart skipped a beat as you parted, your eyes dancing with a warm love you haven't felt in so long.

"I love you, Hobie Brown," you whispered softly while rubbing his upper back. Your boyfriend returned your gentle smile as he kissed your forehead.

"I love you, too, (Y/N) (L/N)," he grinned ear to ear.

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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[juyeonszn]

CLUMSY

PAIRING ju haknyeon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 6.03k

GENRES smut ﹒fluff

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, reader and juhak are bio lab partners, juhak is lowkey a bit of a loser BUT DW HE REDEEMS HIMSELF, mentions of alcohol, a game of rage cage…, he’s down insanely bad, the flirting goes kinda crazy, someone calls the cops, they run from said cops, reader is Nawt wasting any time, pet names (juhak calls reader princess), tbh they’re both switches in some ways, kitchen sex, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, edging, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie lol

SUMMARY when haknyeon ran into you at a tbz party for the first time, he didn’t think he would fall for you so quickly. or literally. or both simultaneously. but there’s a first time for everything, he supposes.

MORE andddddd here we go 🫡 second fic of the black out or back out collab 🙏 i forgot to link the masterlist in the last one so im gonna link it in this one in case u wanna read any of the others!! ANYWAY i had such a fun time writing this one, any excuse i get to write for juhak, i will take trust <3 if u enjoyed, don’t forget to reblog! and pls check out the other fics so far!!

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies @vernyangel

TAGLIST @millksea

SERIES MASTERLIST

Okay. So maybe trying to secure a girlfriend at a party wasn’t exactly Haknyeon’s best idea.

But, hey. You had to give him some credit. At least he was making an attempt. Most of his other frat brothers weren’t even making an effort. They seemed perfectly satisfied with charming their ways into random girls’ pants every weekend. Unfortunately, or fortunately considering he was a gentleman, Haknyeon wasn’t into that sort of thing.

It was just a little embarrassing that Kim Sunwoo’s love life had more progress than his own. Sunwoo was literally the resident loser bitch boy of the TBZ house. How was he closer to getting a girlfriend than he was? It made absolutely no sense.

Ju Haknyeon thought of himself as a catch. He was pretty neat, his room was cleaner than most guys’ his age. He knew how to cook basic meals, again, more than the average college sophomore. His car wasn’t on its last leg. (Cough cough… Kim Sunwoo, I’m looking at you.) He was a decent dude. He supported women’s rights and wrongs!

Apparently that was not enough these days.

“…And I need you to make sure the fridge is stocked completely. I’m not trying to drink my coffee without cream tomorrow morning because some idiot drank it while they were drunk.” Sangyeon commands, typing something furiously on his phone as some of the other guys move around the furniture.

“Bruh, I was in charge of buying everything last time. Why can’t someone else do it?” Kevin groans. Something else that wasn’t Haknyeon’s best idea? Walking into the kitchen during this very conversation. “What about JuHak? He looks like he has nothing better to do.”

“Yeah, whatever. That’s fine. Hak, I’m airdropping you the list.” Sangyeon waves his hand in dismissal, returning to his extensive presidential duties.

The sophomore deadpans, but doesn’t have the energy to argue back. You know, the usual fraternity was just a bunch of rich guys with more money than the tuition of each TBZ brother combined. However, the Tau Beta Zeta house was not your usual fraternity. It really was just a bunch of normal dudes thrown together. Though, Lee Sangyeon ran it like it was the fucking Navy.

Haknyeon accepts his defeat and grabs his things, heading out to the supermarket to shop for tonight’s party. Alcohol duty sucked more than door duty, in his opinion. You were sent out all alone, tasked with bringing back enough liquor and beer to last until early hours of the morning. It was a near impossible mission, unless you were Kevin Moon and good at practically everything in the world.

He pushes around the shopping cart mindlessly, though he knows he’ll have to make another trip. A long sigh leaves his lips as he enters the alcohol aisle. He fills the bottom of the cart with different cases of beer until he thinks he may drop one, and then starts to place things in the basket. He feels like a dumbass hauling it over to the registers, like everyone can see right through him.

He has to remind himself that this is for a good cause, that it’ll be worth it when everyone is enjoying themselves at the party. His actions won’t be in vain. Even after the second trip with another cart full of beer and various liquor bottles, Haknyeon keeps repeating affirmations in his head. This has to be the party.

In fact, he thinks his thoughts have manifested into reality when he sees you walking into the grocery store at the same time he’s leaving. You’re his pretty Bio lab partner. He’s always too nervous to hold a substantial conversation with you, so he settles for the bare minimum, which is unfulfilling small talk during your labs. It’s never what he needs though. Aside from your name, Haknyeon knows nothing about you.

“Y/N?” What he wants right now, however, is to shoot himself in the foot for sounding so unsure.

You glance up from your phone, a smile lighting up your face when you recognize him. “Haknyeon! Hey! What’s up?”

“Last minute preparations for the TBZ party tonight,” he gestures at his shopping cart with pursed lips. “You?”

“That’s so funny that you say that! My friends and I are going—“ You eye his cart with confusion. “Wait, I didn’t know you were in Tau Beta Zeta.”

“Yeah…” Haknyeon laughs awkwardly. “Surprise!”

You giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem like the frat boy type. Then again, TBZ isn’t your average frat so, I guess that kinda adds up.”

Haknyeon’s not sure if he should take that as a compliment or not, but since it’s coming from you, he decides that he will. The realization that you mentioned you’d be attending the party finally sets in at that same moment. “So, I’ll see you later, then?”

You nod, smile widening. “Yeah, I’m just grabbing a bottle for us to bring with. But I’ll be there. Maybe we’ll bump into each other.”

God, he hopes so. This is the perfect opportunity for him to swoop in and learn everything he’s been dying to know about you. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know… I’m a busy man. It might be a little hard.”

That cute little laugh of yours makes another appearance. “I’ll be on the lookout, don’t worry. See you tonight, Haknyeon.”

Ju Haknyeon thinks that he must’ve done something monumental in a past life, like saving a dog from a burning building or stopping a world war. How else would the universe reward him this kindly? All he can do is wave as you maneuver around an elderly couple passing by into the store.

Maybe Kevin Moon wasn’t that bad. And maybe Lee Sangyeon wasn’t as big of a tyrant as he made him out to be. He could actually kiss the ground they walked on for forcing him into alcohol duty. If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t have ran into you and he wouldn’t have known you were attending the party. Now he has something to look forward to that isn't getting shitfaced.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

Haknyeon looks away from his mirror, Hyunjae standing in the doorway. He has a cringe on his face at the sight of his outfit. It wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever worn, but it was… a bit too much. A black button up and black slacks was admittedly not the best frat party fit. The only good thing he had going for him was his hair that was styled for once, parted so his bangs framed his face nicely.

“This girl I’m kinda into is coming tonight. I need to look irresistible.” The younger explains, arms flailing at his sides.

“Okay, well you won’t accomplish that in this,” Hyunjae snorts, digging through his closet. “If she’s into you too, she won’t care what you’re wearing. Just throw on something you’d normally wear. Like… this! This is nice.”

Hyunjae holds up a black t-shirt and a black-washed denim jacket. Haknyeon hums. It was simple, but also once he put it on he wouldn’t feel like a douchebag, which was the whole goal here. Paired with some khaki cargo pants, he’s found a winner. He begrudgingly thanks his senior for the assistance, shooing him out of his bedroom so he can mentally prepare for the night ahead of him.

He doesn’t even know what to bring up now that he really tosses the idea around in his head. Yeah, he wants to learn more about you and what you’re like outside of your Bio lab, but specifically what he couldn’t say. Haknyeon was starting to feel like a lost cause. He had to clutch up tonight. He had to woo you so much that you had no choice but to fall for his cute face and endearing personality. But how was he meant to do that if he couldn’t even come up with topics to talk with you about?

Maybe he was just thinking too far into things. Perhaps he should just let it all go with the flow. Moving at an au natural pace was probably his best bet in comparison to Sunwoo’s soccer ball plan. (He’s still confused how that worked in his favor.)

Before he knows it, the party is swinging into full effect. This is the first time Haknyeon’s ever been so socially aware of his surroundings. He had a habit of blurring his atmosphere at these things, more interested in getting drunk with his buddies than paying attention to the attendees. As he stands in a corner of the living room, listening to Chanhee complain about treasurer stuff, he watches each and every person who enters the house.

When you finally do walk in, he has to physically stop himself from choking on the beer in his cup, biting the rim of the plastic in a weak attempt to sedate himself. If he thought you were gorgeous before in a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, he doesn’t know what to call you now. You’re laughing at something one of your friends said, dolled up in a black mini skirt and a black cropped halter top while hugging a bottle of Pink Whitney to your chest. He could probably pass out right here right now.

He almost does, but then Chanhee is slapping his back aggressively. “Wipe the drool off of your chin. God, am I the only one who still has a brain?”

“Shut the fuck up, Chanhee, go cry about your life somewhere else.” Haknyeon dismisses his senior, downing the rest of his drink for some liquid courage. Though he is, he doesn’t want to seem too desperate, so he’s not going up to you this quickly. Instead, he heads into the kitchen to get another drink, rolling his neck like he’s preparing for the biggest win of the century.

It’s as he’s pouring some jungle juice into a fresh cup that you see him. A smile similar to the one from the store graces your features. There was only one person with a back like that, and it was your cute lab partner. You keep an arm wrapped around your bottle, tapping his shoulder lightly. He spins around confusedly, but the expression morphs into pleasant surprise immediately after.

“Pink Whitney? Easy choice,” he points at the bottle in your grasp. “Are you a lightweight, Y/N?”

Your cheeks warm up at the teasing remark. Upon first meeting, Haknyeon’s been an awkward mess around you. You can only assume the confidence stems from the fact that he’s within his element. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were implying that you want me to get you drunk.” He tucks a hand into one of his jacket pockets, the other bringing his cup to his mouth. He’s unconscious of the source of this sudden bravery, but he prays it doesn’t fade off anytime soon.

“Maybe I do…” You bite your lip, undoing the seal of the Pink Whitney bottle to take a sip. It burns your throat slightly. “I’ve never hung out with a frat boy before. I kinda wanna see what the hype is all about.”

Haknyeon thinks he might pass out again, because if he wasn’t so acutely aware of your entire interaction, he would think you’re flirting with him. Friendliness was a double edged sword in this day and age. But who knows, maybe you are flirting. You showed up with your friends but they were nowhere to be found now. He needed to take advantage of the opening.

It’s around this time that Younghoon and Juyeon are bringing out the fated beer pong table, a crowd already beginning to form nearby. He feels sorry for the poor suckers who have to play Changmin and his girlfriend.

“We should play beer pong!” You suggest, watching the pair of taller guys setting up the cups over his shoulder. Haknyeon can sense the color draining from his face. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve shut the idea down insanely fast, but because it was you, he was genuinely contemplating. Those who went up against the infamous TBZ party beer pong champions were in for a rude awakening, but if you wanted to...

“Uh—“ He starts but then he’s interrupted.

“Yo! Who’s down to play Rage Cage?!”

Juyeon’s voice is somehow louder than the music, carrying into the kitchen where the two of you stand. Haknyeon wasn’t the greatest Rage Cage player, but he enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than beer pong. Especially when he stood beside people who didn’t understand the concept of the game.

You chug some more Pink Whitney, batting your eyelashes up at Haknyeon. “I’ve never played Rage Cage. Is it fun?”

“If you’re next to the right people it can be, but if you aren’t, then it’s a whole lot of drinking. We haven’t played Rage Cage at a TBZ party in a while, but the last time we did Eric Sohn almost had to get his stomach pumped.” He laughs a little at the memory of his friend spending the rest of his night cuddling with a toilet seat. The mental picture overshadows how enticing you look right now.

“Do you think you can teach me?” You ask sweetly, hoping that he takes the hint. He seemed like the type of guy who wouldn’t make the first move unless you forced him to, so it appeared that you had your work cut out for you.

“You wanna play?” He turns to you with wide eyes, almost as if he hadn’t expected you to show interest in the game. You give him a small nod, tucking some hair behind your ear. The truth of the matter was that you were a fucking liar. You’ve played Rage Cage plenty of times in the past. You were actually pretty decent at it, too. You just needed an excuse to spend the night around him.

“We better head over there now. It looks like the table is filling up.” You jab your pinkie in that general direction. Haknyeon blows a raspberry and leads you that way, his hand resting on the small of your back so he won’t lose you in the pack of people surrounding the table.

“Forewarning, my rap sheet doesn’t really read World Class Rage Cage Champ,” he laughs nervously, the anxiety beginning to eat at him all over again. “But I promise, I won’t let you get stacked.”

When Haknyeon said he wasn’t the worst, but wasn’t good at Rage Cage, you took his word. Except he severely overplayed his own skill. Maybe he was just extremely on edge and it threw off his game, but the amount of times he was stacked on was a little comical. At the very least, he kept his promise. You hadn’t got stacked once, but that was also only because Haknyeon would drink for you every time you almost did.

The room is sort of spinning by the time the first game has finished. Playing a drinking game while he’s trying to get to know you better was probably at the higher portion of his ‘BAD IDEAS!!!’ list. If he wasn’t so eager to please and followed along to each of your suggestions, perhaps he’d be having a different conversation. That was not the case, though.

You can’t help but feel a little guilty for the turn out. All you’d wanted was to flirt with your lab partner, possibly end the night with some making out. As it was looking, that’s not the path you were heading down, but rather towards the kitchen for some water to sober him up some. Your bottle of Pink Whitney is long lost, replaced with a bottle of H2O. You hold his chin, tilting it back slightly to pour some into his mouth.

If he hadn’t already had the fattest crush on you, he definitely did now. Pretty and nice? You were the total package. Here you were, nursing him back to sobriety when you could’ve been out and about enjoying yourself with your friends. Up this close, he gets a detailed look at you. It’s so weird for him to think about how much he’s pined after you since the start of the semester, how much he’s admired the face that’s looking at him with this unfamiliar tenderness. He never thought he stood a chance. You know, that whole ‘nice guys finish last’ pick me boy vibe.

“Y/N—” He’s cut short, Juyeon’s voluminous voice resonating throughout the house again, sans the music.

“Everybody who isn’t Tau Beta Zeta, get the fuck out! Someone called the cops!”

Of course. Nobody ever calls the cops on a TBZ party but of fucking course the one time Haknyeon gets shoot his shot with you, someone narcs. He actually thinks he might die. He might keel over and die in the middle of this party while the cops are raiding the place. Lee Sangyeon is gonna be thrown in the back of a police cruiser for letting people drink underage and then send them his way because he bought all of the alcohol. This was just his luck.

Without a word, you grab his hand and drag him out through the back door. You follow the flock of other party goers escaping the wrath of the police. It’s difficult to run in a mini skirt and strappy heels, but you don’t really have room to whine about it. Haknyeon doesn’t know if there’s ever a right time to tell you that you could’ve just gone up to his room, but figures it’s too late when you're hopping the short fence that goes out to the main street of Greek Row.

One would think that he’d sobered up at this point since he was, you know, on the run from the law. Yet for some reason Ju Haknyeon himself doesn’t even know, he’s still feeling the effects of the alcohol, tripping over that stupid fucking fence and falling flat on his face. Thankfully, he lands on the grassy part just before the sidewalk, but it doesn’t make the situation any less embarrassing.

You don’t give him recovery time, pulling him to his feet. He holds a hand to the side of his face that received the harshest of the impact, expecting to wake up to a nasty bruise tomorrow. He’s also unsure where exactly you’re taking him, but is afraid of asking out of fear that you’ll send his ass back to the frat house and have him arrested or something. (He had a bad habit of over complicating situations and coming up with the worst possible scenarios.)

Once the commotion has died out and there’s no one else around, you slow your pace. You turn to face him with a grin, holding both of his hands in yours as you walk backwards. “Are you cool with staying the night at my place?”

Truly, Haknyeon needs to know what act of nobility he committed in his previous life. He needs to go back in time and thank himself for whatever it was. Even with fumble after fumble, he was somehow bouncing back and receiving major compensation for sticking it out. He swallows thickly, nodding dumbly when he realizes he hasn’t given you a proper response.

“Um… Yeah— I mean— yes. That’s fine. That’s totally fine.” He word-vomits, stumbling over his tongue rather than his feet. Being down bad was one of his strongest personality traits. And being clumsy was second strongest, so you don't even have to imagine how terrible a combination of both would be.

The walk to your apartment knocks any lingering inebriation out of his system. He’s entirely too hyper aware of what’s happening as you guide him in that direction. It’s cooler out, the temperature dropping in the nighttime as the end of the semester approaches. If there was another reason to be grateful for this party, it was because he no longer had to worry about not making a move before your last lab together. As much as he despised Biology, he’d take it every day if it meant getting to see you.

He actually feels like he may throw up as you reach your place, his hands sticking into the pockets of his jacket to hide the clamminess of his palms. His nerves are creeping up on him once more, a dark cloud looming over him. He shouldn’t be this jumpy at this point of the night. He should be composed, prepared to sweep you off your feet after spending so much time with you. Why the hell is he sweating bullets right now?

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you curtsy. “Would you like something to drink? Water, maybe?”

“Th-That would be great,” Haknyeon forces out, waddling behind you into the kitchen like a baby duckling following its mother. “You have a nice apartment.”

“Really? Thank you!” You can’t help but giggle at his jitters and the way he keeps rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. A sense of déjà vu rushes over you when you pass him a cup. “Living alone has its perks, I guess. I like that I don’t have to argue with anyone about how to decorate and things like that.”

“It sounds a lot more enjoyable than living with a bunch of men in their early twenties,” he smiles weakly as he accepts the glass of water from you. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how thin the walls are in that house.”

“Do they have sex often?” You ask him bluntly, head cocking to the side almost innocently. He chokes on the water he just sipped, nearly spilling it onto the floor.

“W-What?” He sputters.

“I’m assuming that’s what you’re talking about,” you shrug, facing away from him so you can grab yourself something to drink, also. “We should get back at them.”

You don’t know how many more bones you can throw for him to understand what you're insinuating. Even the frat boy comment you made earlier was intentional. Haknyeon’s mouth goes dry and his eyes widen like a cartoon character’s. What the fuck?

“I’ve never brought a girl back to the house before, because I don’t want them to make fun of me or something— not that I’m saying I would take you back to the house! I mean I just would feel bad if you also got made fun of— not that I’m referring to having sex with you or anything!” The glass in his hands is on the verge of slipping from his grip. “Not that I don’t want to have sex with you— oh my god— um wow, that’s a very lovely fruit bowl you have there I—“

“Hak,” you interject his rambling, wearing a mischievous smile.

The nickname drives him fucking insane. Scratch him possibly dying. If he isn’t dead by the end of the night, he’ll be shocked. Perplexed. Perturbed. Puzzled. Any shock-adjacent synonym you can think of. That will be him. “Y-Yes?”

“Can you shut up and kiss me already?”

Honestly, you don’t have to ask him twice. His lips are on yours in seconds, fingers fisting the material of your skirt at your hips to steel himself. You moan in response to the sheer frenzy behind his actions. It’s so easy to lose yourself in the haste of it; the way you tug at his hair, the blunt edges of his nails digging into your sides, the near clashing of your teeth. He nibbles at your bottom lip, sighing when you allow his tongue to permeate your mouth. He’s content to do nothing but this, kissing you is enough to satiate the desire he’s harbored for you for months. However, with the franticness of your kiss, he knows you want more.

He inches you both backwards until your lower back hits the counter, and then he’s cupping beneath your thighs to hoist you up. His strength sends tidal waves pulsing throughout your whole being, hurriedly pushing the material of his denim jacket off of his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor without a care. Your hands travel south as his lips trail along your jaw and neck, sucking and biting your supple skin wherever he feels fit. He hisses into the dip where your collarbone meets your shoulder when you palm him through his pants.

“Fuck, babe, you want me bad, don’t you?” He mutters into the column of your throat, teeth sinking into the flesh after.

“Mhmm,” you whine, craning your neck to give him more access to the surface. It’s like a switch has flipped in him and it turns you on unbearably. This is what you’ve been trying to coax out of him all night.

Haknyeon pries apart your legs, slotting himself between them so he can sneak his fingers beneath your skirt. His thumb rubs tight circles into your clothed clit, the lace of your underwear damp with your arousal. He connects your lips again, groaning into your kiss when he moves the fabric aside and slides his knuckle through your folds. You buck up your hips, whimpering when he holds them down with his forearm.

“Want more,” you gasp when he applies a bit of pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“‘More’ what? Use your words, princess,” he instructs, tracing your entrance with his ring finger.

You shake your head because you’re not even sure what it is that you want. You just know that this isn’t enough to quell the hunger burning at your chest. It’s not nearly sufficient to fan the flames in the depths of your heart or the ache in the pit of your abdomen. You need him everywhere. It’s beyond him being your cute Bio lab partner now.

He urges you onto your elbows, pecking the plane of your stomach. He pushes up your skirt and discards your panties, baring you to the cool air of your apartment. Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your clit gently. Your head is light and airy and it’s like you’re on cloud nine. Haknyeon hums against you, pulling off to scold you.

“Eyes open, baby,” he nudges his nose on your pelvic bone. “Want you to watch me eat you out.”

The moan you release is strained, like it had been confined in the back of your throat for ages until this moment. He flattens his tongue and licks a line from your hole to your clit, suckling the engorged skin and repeating. Your eyelids are heavy, keeping your intense gaze on him as he all but makes out with your pussy. He focuses his mouth on your clit and slips his middle finger into you. He pumps it in and out languidly, setting a rhythm that matches each swirl of his tongue around your clit.

The whole scene still feels unreal to both of you, like you might wake up from a wet dream or something. How was it possible that Ju Haknyeon was finger fucking you on your kitchen counter? Just a couple days ago, you were sitting side by side in your Biology lab, too nervous to initiate a substantial conversation. You’d think it would be harder to slob on someone’s knob than it would be to talk to them while wearing a fuckass lab coat and goggles.

Haknyeon works his forearm up, pinning down your thighs so your cunt is fully accessible. He adds a second finger to the mix, thrusting them at a higher speed and increasing the unrelenting sucking of your bundle of nerves. He can tell you’re creeping closer towards your climax with the way your walls clench around him and your hips continue to jerk up. And considering the kind of person he was, you figured he would aid you rather than hinder you. But you figured wrong.

He slows his assault, removing his mouth from your clit and leaving the stimulation at just his two fingers. You whine, lip quivering when he looks up into your eyes.

“W-Why are you— what are you doing?” You plead, hating the tone of your voice. The tables have turned, with you sitting beside desperation. This is so unlike you— so unlike the usual domineering aura you exude during sex— your body reacting differently to the power falling through the cracks within your grasp.

“Don’t you wanna savor the moment, princess?” He sounds so cocky, a far cry from the wavering confidence you’d always seen out of him. He kisses the skin of your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the area you need him most, all the while he continues curling and uncurling his fingers.

The precipice of your orgasm is right there, you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. But Haknyeon holds it just out of reach, dangling it in your face like teasing a dog with a chew toy. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, a false sense of hedonism building and building, then slowly ebbing away each time he retracts. You open your mouth, but no sound comes out.

Just when you’ve given up hope, he adds a third finger and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly. The sudden and unexpected intrusion snaps that familiar cord in half, blinding you with white hot pleasure. The groan that escapes from the base of your chest is guttural, echoing throughout the kitchen. You don’t have it in you to worry about waking your neighbors, especially not when you feel the curve of a smile against your cunt, such an uncharacteristic response from Haknyeon.

Your legs spasm as the height of your orgasm calms. You pull him down for a wanton kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair. He laughs at the role swap, hands flat on the counter to hold him over you. “Feel good?”

“So good, Hak,” you murmur into his lips. “Think you can fuck me like that next?”

“So impatient,” he snickers, pecking along your jaw once more. “But since you’ve been so good for me, I think it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

You clumsily undo the button and zipper of his cargoes, pushing them down with your foot. He steps out of them and kicks them away while simultaneously removing his t-shirt. You take your top off and shimmy out of your skirt, raising an eyebrow at the narrowed look in his eyes. “What?”

“Do you have a condom?”

“No,” you poke your cheek with your tongue. “But, I don’t care if you wear one. I’d rather feel you raw, anyway.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder. “God, you’re killing me. Okay.”

He shoves down his briefs and you have to stop yourself from gawking at his size. While he wasn’t the biggest, he was definitely bigger than anyone else you’ve ever been with. He pumps himself a couple times, guiding his length to your entrance and throwing his head back when the tip presses into you. This was really happening, holy shit. Ju Haknyeon was actually having sex with you.

Your toes curl and you stab your nails into your palms to distract from the stinging stretch. He eases into you with the occasional grunt, minding your expressions for any signs of discomfort. When all he sees is your features contorted to display pleasure, he resumes. By the time he’s bottomed out completely, both of you are moaning messes. You feel so full, stuffed to the brim with the weight of his cock.

“I’ve wanted to be inside of you for so fucking long,” he admits, speaking the words into your sticky skin as he drags himself out only to piston back in. The action throttles you a bit, your eyes tempted to roll to the back of your head from how fucking good it feels. You can’t conjure coherent thoughts to properly convey how many endorphins are coursing through your veins.

Haknyeon sets a pace that combines the perfect amount of speed and depth, the tip of his cock brushing that spot deep in your cunt. Your brain is hazy and your vision blurs, hardly able to see anything in front of you. His mouth attaches to the pulse point on your neck, ensuring he bruises the area.

“Y-You’re— fuck— you’re s-so deep, Hak. I can feel you all over,” you wail, bringing one of his hands to tamp your lower stomach. The pressure contributes to the growing tension of your second orgasm, something you know will collide into you with even more exertion than the first.

“Yeah? You’re taking me s-so well, baby. No one else has ever fucked you this good, right?” Sweat beads on his hairline, dripping down his temples with every thrust of his hips and every drive of his cock into your sweet pussy. Even if he really did somehow manage to die tonight, he could do it with integrity. He could go out with the honor of a fallen soldier knowing that he got to experience this at least once in his life.

He hikes one of your knees up to your chest, burying his dick deeper if humanly possible. You arch your back, pushing into his chest to minimize the space between you, antsy at the promise of another release as mind blowing as the last. He brings you to the edge of the counter so you’re now hip to hip. Haknyeon snakes a hand in the middle of your bodies, using his thumb to rub circles into your clit. That stimulation coupled with the depth of his cock encourages the fluttering of your walls, in turn drawing out the state of bliss you’ve been chasing.

Your vision goes blank, stars painting the behinds of your eyelids. A second orgasm crests upon you and evokes a moan so pornographic, it sounds far away from you. It’s a dreamlike euphoria, an almost out of body experience that puts every other orgasm to shame. The surface of your skin is hot to the touch.

“Where do you want me, princess?” Haknyeon asks breathily. In the calamity of your own release, you nearly forgot about his until you register the twitching inside of you. It pauses the static in your ears, returning the volume of the world to its normality.

“Cum inside of me,” you whine, the overstimulation becoming too much to handle. He doesn’t need to be told another time, grip tightening on your thigh as he spills into your cunt.

The two of you stay still for a moment, allowing clarity to flow into your brains. You wince when he finally has half the mind to pull out, his nose scrunching up at the sensitivity. He slides his underwear back on, extremely conscious of how naked he is right now. He has an inkling that you were anticipating that this would happen, because why else would you ask him to stay over tonight? But, he is the Ju Haknyeon that you’ve sat next to this entire semester in your Biology lab. So he couldn’t just march forward without a little overthinking and self deprecation.

“Do you still want me to stay?” His voice has reverted back to that small, unsure tone. You sit up quickly, alarmed by the twinge of disappointment underneath it.

“Of course, I do,” you pout, kissing his cheek and lacing your fingers together. “I’ve had a crush on you since the beginning of the year, Hak. Sure, maybe I skipped a couple steps in between, but I have wanted this so badly— I have wanted you so badly— for you don’t even know how long.”

He chuckles, tucking some hair behind your ear. He leaves a sweet kiss on your lips, softer and gentler than the ones from earlier that night. He’s intentional with the way he glides them in harmony, like he was following the melody of the most beautiful song. “Oh trust me, I think I have an idea.”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[somethingsomethingwords]

Good whatever-time-of-the-day-is-over-there. Here's a new thing. I played a little with their characterisation in this one. Stay safe out there. Enjoy 💜

Lance is bothered. And what's worse, Fernando is bothered that Lance is bothered. Not that caring about someone is wrong or strange and, while personally it isn't his MO, neither is caring about your teammates.

No, Fernando cares because of reasons that are still not clear. And that's what is driving him mad. And also the frown on Lance's face, but he'll face one problem at a time.

First point on the list, why does he care about this kid.

It had been easy signing the contract, even when Lawrence had heavily hinted at his mentor's duties.

He obviously had heard about Lawrence's son, about his achievements in the minor categories, and his average results in Formula 1.

And he couldn't escape the rumours about his rich spoiled kid behaviour, his lack of a strong personality or his evident disinterest in the sport.

Hell, he had even met the guy in the paddock before arriving at Aston Martin.

And then he met Lance, with his goofy smile, his sweet personality, his seriousness about the job, the fire that burnt when getting inside the car and the evident hard created persona for the media that completely melted when in private, the spark of a prankster spirit with Mick and Esteban.

(Ugh, he already couldn't stand the Frenchman when they were teammates, and now it was even worse when he saw how close the two young men were.)

The point is, when he started he didn't think highly of baby Stroll, and now here he is, knocking on the door of Lance's hotel room, because there is something wrong with the Canadian, and that meant Fernando cares because. Just. Because.

So, here he is, ready to find out what's going on.

He hears some muffled words behind the door, and then it's opened by Lance, his hair really messy and his shorts really short.

He is slowly losing his mind, when the younger one starts talking.

"Hey, Fernando. Do you come here often?" he says, languid and with those big doe eyes of his.

Fernando is completely baffled. They don't flirt, that's not how they are. He is usually the one that lightly teases Lance, just to see him blushing, and jokes around, just to see his smile and make sure that he is happy, but nothing more than that. He doesn't understand this sudden change.

Lance must see his confusion on his face, because he chuckles and shakes his head.

"Sorry, just the painkillers, they are kicking my ass. Also I'm tired as fuck and I'm really thirsty" he says, with an adorable snort.

Lance isn't exactly shy, but he has always seemed to like keeping to himself, and to contribute to a conversation rather than starting it. All this openness and honesty are very surprising, and somehow even a little bit worrying.

"Don't worry. You ok?"

And Fernando is winning dumbest person ever, because the answer is staring right at him, eyes glassy and unnaturally red cheeks, the aura of sweat and sick all over Lance. But the younger doesn't stop smiling.

"Yeah, it's all good, just high temperature and sore wrists"

And that's what Fernando had first noticed. Lance had been particularly careful with his wrists all day, never actually wrapping them in bandages, but massaging and rubbing them continuously, discomfort clear on his face.

ok, now you know, now you can leave he thinks, but something won't make him move. He had always been attentive, after all.

"You have a fever?" he asks, starting to worry.

Lance shrugs, but everything about him is screaming tired and sick.

"It's nothing serious, really" as he says this, Lance has to grip the door because of the sudden dizziness.

Fernando, now seriously worrying, just stares at him, until the other sighs.

"Ok, it may be a little bit serious, but everything is fine. I just need some sleep. Goodnight" and goes to close the door, but Fernando is faster. He puts his foot in between the door and its frame.

"Let me help you" he simply says.

He finds himself being looked through as if he was inconsistent by Lance's unfocused eyes. And then they refocus, and they are starting deep into his soul.

"Why?" Lance says simply, and Fernando feels like this is a test. Lance won't let him in if he fails, and Fernando has no intention of failing.

"Can see you're not well. Want to help. Because... I care" the admission tears something in him, something that has been hardened after all the years on track. Something that starts feeling warm and light and bright when Lance smiles softly and lets him in.

He enters and then closes the door, leaving behind the last vestiges of embarrassment and doubt. He has a job, a mission, and he won't make mistakes nor disappoint.

Looking around, the only sign of life is the crumpled blanket on the couch.

"You were sleeping on that?" ask Fernando, looking at the small sofa and his tall teammate.

"It was closer to the door" answers the other, shrugging again.

"Must have been uncomfortable" because even if it was of the right size, which it wasn't, it still looks stiff and leather cold.

"What's a little more pain when your whole body tingles and your wrists feel on fire?"

It's the simplicity with which Lance speaks, as if nothing bothers him, as if pain is inevitable and he shouldn't complain. That doesn't sit right with Fernando. Lance deserves the world's softest blankets, its warmest beds and its coziest socks. Fernando could give him everything. Fernando wants to give him everything. That's terrifying. But admitting it is also freeing, somehow.

soul shattering revelations later, nurse duty now he thinks, not without fondness.

Fernando follows Lance to his bed, and when the taller man just falls into the bed, not bothering with his clothes or the sheets, Nando realises he's going to have to work hard. He's always loved a good challenge.

Fernando reaches for the other's luggage, easily finding his pajama and fresh underwear. Then he returns to the side of the bed.

"Now, get up. Take a shower, dry, new clothes and bed. Can you do it?"

He infuses a bit of a challenge at the end, just to rile the man up.

What he doesn't expect is Lance's laugh at his words.

"Dude, I can't feel my legs. I'm not gonna reach the bathroom on them. I think I'll just skip everything and just go to bed" he says, burrowing further into the covers, which still aren't actually covering him.

"Ok, I'll help you" he says, as if it's something they do normally.

Fernando basically drags Lance to the bathroom, sitting him on the closed lid of the toilet. When he looks at Lance's face, he worries. It is redder than before, and his eyes are strangely focused on his arm for no apparent reason.

"Lance, everything ok?" he is starting to feel like a mother hen, but Lance's behaviour is really messing him up. And his answer really doesn't help.

"So strong" says Lance, completely spaced out and lightly stroking his bicep.

The caress is absolutely doing nothing to him, no sir.

Fernando gently takes Lance's hand, and waits until his eyes are focused on him.

"It's ok. Just a quick shower and then to bed, no?"

Lance nods, but Fernando can tell he's not completely there. So he quickly removes his clothes, leaving the underwear, and after turning on the water at a lukewarm temperature, he guides him into the bath.

It's not even ten seconds later that Lance starts shaking. Fernando is immediately grabbing his hand.

"What's going on, Lance? What's wrong?"

"The water... Is hot... It hurts" he is shivering and biting his bottom lip so hard Fernando can already see blood.

"Lance I need you to listen to me. The water is not hot. Your body is not feeling it right. Let me wash you and then it's the bed" he says, feeling like he is kicking a puppy, but he knows the lukewarm bath will help Lance in the long run. So he washes him as fast as he can, and then turns off the water. He starts wrapping the younger man in the preheated towel, gentle and careful.

He can see the other is losing himself faster than he'd like. So, when Lance seems dry enough, he wastes no time taking off his boxers and putting on a new pair, without peeking, he swears.

All dressed up, he carries him to the bed, where the other can finally sleep under the covers. He's just about to go get Lance some water, when the other starts.

"Thank you,,, for being here,,, but don't leave,,, it hurts" he says with his eyes closed and a pained frown, his breath moving his chest with a staccato rhythm.

Fernando kneels on the floor, so he is face to face with Lance, and starts stroking his hair.

"Am not leaving. Just going to get some water, then we sleep. I know it hurts, but it's going to be ok. Trust me" and the last sentence came out more like a question, and he worries for a second. Then he sees the other relax before opening his eyes and looking him in the eyes, whispering "Always" and closing them.

Fernando feels a weight lifting from his chest, but also a growing responsibility. For the first time in a while, he isn't scared of committing to whatever this is.

He shakes his head, a soft smile gracing his face, before standing up and retrieving two bottles of water from the mini fridge in the kitchenette.

He deposits them, one on each of the nightstands, and lies on the free side of the bed.

He tries to keep a modicum of distance, but Lance is having none of it. He simply turns towards him, and hugs him, reminding Nando of an overgrown squid.

He is out like a light in five seconds flat.

cute, he thinks, and for the first time in what seems like months of their dance, Fernando allows himself to properly drink Lance's sight, his long eyelashes and his strong nose and his pink mouth, slightly open in his sleep. He allows himself to think about how he likes being with the other man, how he likes to make him laugh, how he can't stand seeing him upset.

He allows himself to simply be, to simply feel whatever he feels for Lance. And it feels good.

[anqelically-archived]

being extremely flirty headcanons

featuring…! tetcho suehiro

content: no manga spoilers, just mentions of the 5th hunting dog without their name, fluff

navigation | bsd masterlist

constantly flirting with tetcho… i hate to say it, but you’d probably regret it. this man will usually not take the hint and misunderstands what you’re trying to say, or takes it too seriously 😭

“you scraped your knees because you fell for me?” tetcho repeated. he gently grabbed your wrist, “let’s get that cleaned up, then.”

cue you both being annoyed, but also in awe of how kind he was. then it hits you that he’s truly an idiot because you were in uniform, and your pants weren’t messed up at all.

he sincerely wants to understand what you say most of the time, so he’ll go to someone else that’s around. a personal hc, but he often goes to jouno

jouno, being who he is, tells tetcho to figure it out himself. it’s for his entertainment, really. he gets to watch tetcho try to figure it out and you agonize over the fact that he can’t understand that you’re hitting on him

the fact that he does this amuses teruko greatly, as well as fukuchi but not as much. our final hunting dog? well, they sort of pity you because how tetcho doesn’t understand

if you’re the type to flirt more physically, tetcho literally lets you because he just thinks you’re like that… and it also doesn’t really bother him

if you let your fingers linger on his arms longer or sit closer to him than anyone else would, he’d assume that you liked physical touch with anyone more than anything

“so,” you gripped tetcho’s arm with your hands, fingers trailing down his well-defined biceps, “want to go out for lunch? i know a place you’d love.”

you guys had just finished training, the smell of sweat lingering inside of the room. you wanted to grab the opportunity to ask tetcho before you guys headed for the showers.

“i don’t mind,” he replied. he patted your head, “i’ll be sure to ask the others too for you.”

he was about to walk away when you grabbed his arm. you told tetcho that you wanted it to just be the two of you, but he thought that if you knew a place with good food, you might as well just bring everyone along to try.

“just- yeah, whatever,” you exhaled to prevent yourself from getting even more frustrated. “tell me if they’re coming when you finish.”

you knew it was coming, but all the frustration finally came to light one day. even if it was for a day, you laid off in trying to flirt with tetcho. he took notice and immediately knew something was wrong

he’d ask anyone nearby if they noticed that you were off today, but they would say they didn’t. after all, you were only acting differently around tetcho

you should hope that tetcho doesn’t go ask teruko for help in this situation. i can imagine her taking advantage of it and setting him up to turn things around between the two of you. it’s fun for her to mess with people, so don’t be surprised

you’re walking the halls of military headquarters when you suddenly sense an incoming presence. before you could even grip the handle of your blade, a hand holds your wrist back. long, slim fingers slide down slightly, loosening its grip against you.

turning around, you are met with tetcho. his hat was off, so his hair appeared a bit more scattered than it usually did. you liked it like that, nothing resting on top of his head.

“tetcho?” you asked. “what’s wro-“

you’re taken aback by his sudden movement. tetcho let your wrist go before he caged you between his body and the wall. you could only look between his arms in shock.

‘a-am i dreaming?’

“if you want to confess your love for me, just say it normally. there’s no shame in that,” you joke. although you’ve definitely thought of this scenario before, you weren’t expecting it now.

his head, which was facing down, goes up to face you. he looks at you with eyes so serious that your heart skips a beat. you didn’t know what he would say, and a small part of you feared that it wouldn’t be good.

“what’s wrong with you?” tetcho asked.

you could only look at him confused, “what’s wrong with me? what’s wrong with you? grabbing my wrist like that- then there’s this… you’re the one acting odder than usual.”

“i’m acting odd? i’m just asking you,” he retorted, equally confused. you could tell by the innocent tilt of his head.

“then why did you have to ask in such a dramatic way…?”

“oh, teruko-san told me to do this. she said it was the best way to get you to answer. i won’t let you go until you do, y/n-san.”

“and what will you do if i don’t answer?” you gave him attitude. “what, you’ll kiss me?”

he inched closer to you, “if that’s what it takes, yes.”

in the end, both of you happen to get what you want 🤭

note: i’m not sure what format you wanted this in, so i decided to do headcanons and drabbles 🙏🏻 but thank you sm for requesting! i love tetcho and think we need more work about him. request is here

reblogs are appreciated <3

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Left and Returned: Definitely Nothing Wrong

Ao3

Danny Phantom x Supernatural Crossover

Chapter 2

Dean orders the largest burger on the menu, Bobby orders something with potatoes that will absolutely have him commenting that he could make a better one himself. Sam orders a salad. Danny orders chocolate chip pancakes off the breakfast menu and Dean looses any reservations he had about refering to the young man as 'kid'. Realistically he's probably not much younger than Sam, but if he has a problem with it he can start acting like an adult.

No. Dean isn't huffy about the handstand thing. Why do you ask?

"So it's following you, but you haven't seen it. Like haven't seen it like, invisible or like being watched from afar or what?" Then again, the kid was asking good questions.

"Like its invisible, but can't hide its presence, realizes its making a mess then pisses off."

"Because its afraid of being noticed or because it doesn't want to do harm?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Vibes."

"Gut instinct," Sam adds, which makes more sense than 'vibes'.

"It shattered every window in the place. I don't think its scared."

"Fair."

"I know a psychic, a couple hours from here. Something this big, maybe she's heard the other side talking." Bobby suggested.

"Hell, yeah. Its worth a shot."

"A psychic..." Danny tapped the table, "Okay, sure. Why not?"

---

"What the hell is this?"

"An ipod jack... It's been my car for a year, Dean."

And what could he say to that? Instead Dean points sout the part that is far worse than douching up his car with modern niceties. "Its pink."

"Yeah... well, it's not mine, it's Jazz's. She left it in here and if I move it I'll forget to bring it back to her."

"Huh," Dean had no idea what he expected. Maybe some comment about how pink wasn't that bad? He turned the key and some girly romance song filled the compartment. "Really?"

Sam smiled a little at the song, and Dean hit pause on the device instead of throwing it into the back seat.

"Soo, she your girlfriend or what"

"That's complicated."

"Of course it is, the hunting making things weird?"

"No, actually. Her family hunts."

"But not her?"

"Only when necessary, she's in medical school."

"I'm, uh, noticing some parallels, Sammy."

Sam laughs. "Thats part of why its complicated."

"Just part, huh?"

"Yeah,"

"What about Ruby? She still around?"

"Probably. She shows up when she thinks she can make a case for wanting the greater good or whatever... there was a whole thing. When I was still convinced I could bring you back..." Sam trails off, clearly deciding how much to say. Sam had tried to bring him back?And failed? Did Bobby know about any of this? "That's done now.”

"Huh...You been using your freaky E.S.P. stuff?"

"Every time I think its behind me something weird happens."

"What?"

"It shows up at weird times, stressful situations. Afterwards its hard to tell if it was real or not."

"Sam..."

"I know, look, one thing at a time okay? We worry about this for now."

---

"I am curious... why aren't you doing this yourself?" Pamela asks Danny.

"You're a psychic?" Bobby asks.

"...I guess I could count? I tend to only talk to the dead when they're right in front of me."

This, of course, meant Pamela forgot she had been flirting in favor of talking shop with Danny. Which meant he didn't get a chance to chat with the lovely lady, instead got to listen to her quiz him on ‘'energies'' and 'conduits' and other psychic mumbo-jumbo. Like really, he just got outta jail, why can’t he enjoy it? It's probably for the best though, the kid, in his own words, "knew enough to do some incredibly stupid things." So, Dean figured letting Pamela explain the basics of a safe seance was probably saving someone a whole mess.

Not that he thought Danny would intentionally be stupid about it. They'd have done this four hours ago in the back of the kid's van, if he'd thought he could, and who knows how that would've ended.

He's less willing to accept it when Pam decides Danny should be the one touching Dean's shoulder.

"Jesus, kid! You been holding ice cubes?!"

"Don't judge my hobbies." Kid quips, settling his hand back over the handprint. "Just poor circulation, chillax."

Dean immediately regrets glancing at his brother. At least Sammy has the decency to stifle his smirk, but really, taking your not-actually-brother-in-law-because-its-complicated's side over your own flesh and blood: Rude! Just rude.

"Okay." Pam begins, her tone both sharp and comforting. The unspoken command is heard and they somber, close their eyes.

"I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle." She begins, her voice clear and authoritative.

"I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle." She repeats, energy runs between their circle linked hands. Dean couldn't let go even if he tried. What was this?

"I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle." Something turns on, a television or a radio, Dean doesn't know. He's a link in a chain meant to bind, every sense is dull except the feeling of clasping hands and the brand on his shoulders. Accept the single sound that rings in perfect clarity.

"I invoke, conjure, and command... Castiel? No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy."

"Castiel?" Dean repeats, how he says it, he isn't quite sure, chainlinks don't have mouths.

"Its name. It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back."

"Warning, not threatening." Gasps the link that connects Pamela to this link. The static grows, the space beneath them shakes. The world itself wants to tear the links free from the chain, but they hold. Power runs freely between them, they are as much a conduit as they are a chain. They will not break, they cannot break, keeping hands linked is effortless.

"I conjure and command you, show me your face." Pamela chants. The cacophony around them grows louder and more hazy, her voice is clear through each repetition.

Another link says something. This link does not hear it.

"I almost got it. I command you, show me your face! Show me your face n—"

"No," The link between them breathes.

The link in the chain is a body. The body is Dean. The burn on Dean's shoulder ache's with the absence of a relieving cold removed.

Dean crashes backwards. The impact of his back on the floor knocks the wind from his lungs. Sound returns. Breaking glass and splintering furniture, someone is screaming. He gasps. Three, four, five breaths before he's aware of the broken chair beneath him. He grabs a leg of it, and holds it like a weapon as he scrambles to his feet.

Bobby has already gotten to Pamela, she's covering her face and muttering about sight. Dean catches a glimpse and turns to Danny as Bobby shouts to call 9-1-1.

He can hear Sam stumble over scattered items in the direction of the phone. He kneels in front of his brother's friend.

Danny's eyes are closed, but he has eyelids, so Dean thinks that's a good sign for now. Blood is gushing from the kid's nose.

"He's beautiful." The kid whispers, clearly dazed.

"You okay, kid?"

" 'm not'a kid, 'm 24, plus all that time that didn't happen, so I'm even older than I am."

"Right, Sammy's calling the 9-1-1, you're gonna be—"

Danny jerked away like someone had soaked their hands in ice water before grabbing his shoulder. "No hospitals."

Dean remembered that the kid was also a hunter, but a lot more vivid than that, was the image of Pam's eyes seared out. "Okay, okay, let me see your eyes, then we'll decide what to do."

Danny obeyed. He blinked his eyes open, and while bright green irises' surrounded with angry red lines, they were like, normal levels of bloodshot and not 'stared into eye gouging power' bloodshot. So that was good, better than Dean had hoped. "Okay, you come with us while Bobby handles the EMT's."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, promise."

Danny nods. "He's beautiful, Dean. Like something past hoping, like the things that live in the silver."

"Um." Dean regretted his choices.

"Neverborn and Neverdead for sure. But not the embodiment of a concept I dont think. Maybe something like a wisp? If wisps liked to burn your corneas off."

"I don't think it was a wisp, buddy."

"No, Castiel isn't a wisp name. Wisps have names like:" Danny whistled a few notes.

"Are you sure you don't need a hospital?"

He wiped his nose with his sleeve. This succeeded only in smearing the blood around his face and getting his sleeve dirty. . "Yeah'm sure. Don't ask me to do anything with depth perception though."

"Danny, I don't think—"

"You promised." And Dean had promised.

---

"What'd Bobby say?"

"Pam's stable. And out of I.C.U." Sam returned to their table.

"And blind, because of us."

"No, it looked a lot worse than it is, she should retain some eyesight, but we still have no clue who we're dealing with."

"We're dealing with Castiel." Danny muttered from where he was hiding his face from the "oppressive concept of LED lights". Dean was pretty sure the lights in here were normal, but he wasn't gonna argue with the kid who might be concussed about if the diner lights were a reasonable brightness.

"That doesn't exactly help us, though."

"Sure it does, With the right mumbo-jumbo we could summon him, bring him right to us."

"You're crazy. Absolutely not."

"We'll work him over. I mean, after what he did?"

"Pam took a peek at him and her eyes burned out of her skull, Danny's..." Sam looks at Danny, who may as well be a sweatshirt artfully arranged on the table. "You want to have a face to face?"

"You got a better idea?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. I looked, there are signs of Demons in town."

"Okay." Dean doesn't like where this is going, but he's aware of how strongly he doesn't want this to be a demonic plot, so he keeps his mouth shut.

"So, we go find them. Someone's gotta know something about something."

Dean opens his mouth, then shuts it again as the waitress approaches. Ah the awkward silence of 'don't freak out the locals.' They didn't have that in Hell, he doesn't miss it.

Three plates, each with a perfect slice of pie, makes their way to the table. They didn't have this in Hell either, this, Dean missed a lot. The sweatshirt on the table must agree, because it revives into a human person and pulls his plate to himself. It's the first thing the kid did since the seance that doesn't make Dean regret letting him skip the hospital.

Then, before Dean can dig into his own slice with the same intense focus, their waitress joins them at the table.

"You angling for a tip?"

"I'm sorry. Thought you were looking for us." She smiles as her eyes go absent of light. Then the man behind her does the same, then the cook in the kitchen. The front door locks with a resounding click.

"Oh, you will not." Danny hisses. And Dean tenses, for a moment, just a silly, ridiculous moment, he thought the kid was going to throw himself across the table, attack the demon with tooth and claw. Dean tenses, ready to drag the kid off the demon, because not even it deserves his full wrath. But Danny doesn't move, because that would be insane. The kid is not that insane, Dean has seen 0 behavior that would make him expect such a ridiculous action.

The demon locks eyes with the kid, several seconds pass, then moment is gone, and only Danny's half-given threat hangs in the air. The kid goes back to his pie. The demon turns to Dean as if nothing had happened.

"Dean. To hell and back. Aren't you a lucky duck." She tries to play it cool, to pretend that she wasn't just as rattled by... whatever Danny had done— and rest assured Dean will find out what that was— but she was rattled, and the threat of her backup did nothing to help her regain control.

She tells him nothing they didn't already know. Dean tells her nothing she didn't already know. Dean doesn't bluff, because for some reason they don't need to bluff. They finish their pie, pay and leave.

A block down the road, when the feeling of being watched by a predator fades, he turns to the kid.

"What. Was. That?"

"Uh... the demons? I thought you guys dealt with those semi-regularly?"

"No. What you did."

"Ate pie?" Dean pushes the kid against the wall.

"Dean, what's going on?"

"You're telling me you didn't feel that, Sammy?!"

"Feel what?"

Dean searched his brother's face, it was pure worry not a trace that he was hiding something. Danny however, held not a trace of concern, not even the slightest fear that Dean might hit him. Cold blue eyes watch him with morbid detachment.

"Dean, what is it?"

"Nothing." Dean lies. Releasing the kid as his brother tried to pry answers out of him.

There is something wrong with Danny, and Dean is going to figure out what.

---

Dean's plans for investigation are stalled slightly. Because Danny's plan, apparently, was to sleep in the back of his van. As the kid still looked like a walking corpse, and his nose had started bleeding again, Sam had taken pity and insisted he stay in the motel with them.

Dean, now half convinced Danny was in league with the demons from earlier, (yeah the theory didn't make sense but Dean didn't have a better idea at the moment. It had been a long day.) was not thrilled with this plan. Did he have an argument that would stop Sam from being protective of his girlfriend's little brother? No. No, he did not. And to be fair, the kid did pass out the instant his head hit the pillow, so he probably wasn't an immediate threat.

Dean took the other bed so Sam would have to live with the consequences of his actions. He falls asleep thinking of jokes to make for either sleeping arrangement his brother chooses.

---

Dean is shaken awake. He swings the moment he realizes the dark figure is too short to be Sam.

Danny blocks him easily. He grabs Dean's arm to pin him for exactly the time it takes to look him in the eyes and say. "He's here. Castiel's here."

Then he lets him go, but Dean is still frozen, still pinned by the younger man's gaze. Green eyes almost glow in the beam of an outside streetlamp. It is not the same as a shapeshifter's ‘lazer-eyes'

but it is something.

But there's no time to think about it, the television flicks on with familiar static and the radio follows. There is too much glass in here. Between windows and mirrors and why on earth did they choose a motel with a mirror on the ceiling when the thing chasing them shattered glass? He shouts a warning and barely has enough time to throw the comforter over them both before the world explodes.

They huddle between the beds in a haphazard blanket fort that does nothing to stop the whistling scream. It feels too thin to be real protection against the glass either, but it holds, and the kid's eyes are definitely glowing but it's the least of his concerns.

It's not so different from hell. The noise, the danger, the cramping in his muscles as he tries in vain to protect himself. He can't tell the difference between a few seconds and a few centuries. But he's breathing, so he counts his breaths and loses count twice.

Neither of them move the blanket when things seem to calm. Another century that is actually six breaths, and Bobby is rushing through the door, shouting for them.

The glass heavy blanket is pulled away and then they're both being checked over.

"Where's Sam?" Dean demands.

"I don't know, he wasn't here when I woke." Its probably stupid, but Dean believes him.

They have no new cuts or bruises, though Danny's ears are bleeding a little.

They have the hospital argument again, Danny is feeling better(or worse) than before, because he threatens to spit on all of their socks. When that doesn't work, he threatens to not tell them what Castiel said. That does work.

"He says to meet him at the church on south street. He didn't give a time, but he promised he'd be in a form we can handle."

Bobby and Dean share a look, yeah, they're not doing that.

But the idea that it could be a trap seems foreign to the younger hunter. Danny argues that the spirit might be offended and that "A summoning might cause him to lose concrete form, then we'll just repeat the glass nightmare."

Well that was a good point: building with no windows it was then.

Needless to say Danny loses this argument.

---

So Sam is lying to him, they're in some old building marking it up with every religion known to man and Danny's claimed a whole section of wall for the doodles not known to man. Bobby gets sidetracked by it every fifteen minutes, but Danny must have credible sources for the marks because Bobby tells the kid to copy them down for later study.

Dean really needs to decide what to do about the kid. He's been helpful so far... but that was how things started with Ruby.

"This is still a bad idea." Bobby tells him. They're ready.

"I second!" Danny shouts from where he's copying his symbols into Bobby's notebook.

"Yeah, Bobby, I heard you the first ten times. What do you say we ring the dinner bell?"

Bobby sighs, but begins.

---

Castiel tries to knock the kid out, just like he already did to Bobby. It takes everything in Dean to not panic.

"Yeah, no. Not doing that." Danny deadpans to the man-shaped thing.

"I need to talk to Dean. Alone."

"Well, you could've just asked. Going all sleepy magic on a guy is kinda rude. Dean? Want me to sit in the car?"

"Are you nuts?!" He checked Bobby's pulse.

"Your friend's alive." Bobby's pulse is even and strong.

"Who are you?"

"Castiel." "He's Castiel." Both human shaped things say. This conversation was going to be painful.

"Obviously, I mean what are you?"

"I'm an Angel of the Lord."

"Which Lord?" Danny asks before Dean can say something dumb like 'nun-uh.' Danny's question definitely offends Castiel more than any denial Dean could've come up with. The guy actually staggers a bit.

"The One True God."

"You realize like 40% of the gods I've met say that, right?" What? And with that the kid has rendered the angel speechless with indignation, Dean's not gonna lie, he's kinda impressed.

"Quit pulling our legs, angel's aren't real."

"Dean, this is your problem, you have no faith."

Dean's not sure how to describe the fact that he was suddenly aware of Castiel's wings. Not that he saw them exactly, or felt, or heard them, he just suddenly knew where they were, how they unfurled from Castiel's body and were held out in proud display. Then the moment passed and they were gone.

Danny clapped politely. It ruined the rising feel of awe inspired dread and Dean hated how much he was starting to like this kid.

"You burned out that poor woman's eyes." Dean started. He wasn't letting this guy off the hook so easy.

[obsessedwrhys]

Fusdifuufdtyffdykfucuppivsauwerjttjrjth your lorsan angst headcanons were so good I’m going insane. May I request some comfort headcanons for him now (platonic preferably but do whatever inspires you most) a crumb of affection for the bunny boy please!!!!! Thank you in advance!

|| LORSAN PLATONIC HEADCANONS ||

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ fluff/comfort, only an ounce of angst, reader is gn!! (I'm happy to hear you liked the angst post 😚💕)

Friends with this man? Prepare yourself because this friendship is anything but normal.

He would definitely steal snacks from people just for you two to enjoy it later. It's literally proven canon in the game.

To no surprise, ya'll are always bickering with each other. The results being it hard for you guys to ever finish an important task.

There was this one time you guys argued about whether or not if pineapple belonged on pizza.

It's a timeless topic and it gets brought up every now and then.

This also leads to late night conversations, sometimes you guys dont even talk but just enjoy the presence of the other person. Most of the time you fall asleep together because of the calmness in the air.

You know this friendship ain't complete if ya'll aren't talking about your favourite movies, shows or music and sharing it.

"Lorsan look at this character I like, aren't they hot?!"

"Ew 😐"

Expect a lot of surprise visits, like you could be on an adventure to do something important and he would pop out of nowhere with a huge smile on his face. But you don't complain much about it because the sight of him makes you relax.

Just being around him makes you feel like you could be your true self.

Plus, half of the time he arrives just in time to save you from a fight.

Ya'll would definitely hold hands, you know those things where people hold hands and they're just swinging it front and back so happily? Yeah that's the type of thing you two do.

He just loves it, he doesn't care if it's childish, there's nothing wrong with taking care of your inner child.

Of course talking about your feelings is important. If he needs someone to comfort him, you're the first he goes to. The same applies to you.

You always prepare his favourite strawberry candy when he comes over to rant about something, sometimes you don't even need to say anything but just take it out of your pocket and hand it to him.

He appreciates you very much.

The two of you went through some really dark times but with each other's support, you both survived. Whether it be saying dumb jokes or crying late at night together. One wouldn't have made it far without the other.

Respecting the other person's boundaries? Check ✅

He knows all your fears and you know all his. This just leads to an endless circle of pranks.

Lorsan once used Bryon to shield you from approaching him with a frog and you can imagine the level of chaos of the situation.

"Bryon save me!!"

"Uh... did I intrude at a wrong time?"

"COME BACK HERE LORSAN ITS RIBBIT TIME!!"

You guys would have the most weirdest inside jokes that everybody else gets concern at the most random things ya'll crack up at.

There was this one time you both just started laughing when Lyca expressed her frustration about losing the package of peanuts she needed to send to Granny Dahnie.

Trust that she was not pleased.

Brushing each other's hair? Also check ✅

Wearing each other's clothes? Triple check ✅

He doesn't care if it's a hat or a whole t-shirt, he's wearing it and you can't stop him 😈

He loves you dearly but bro can't remember your birthday even if his life was on the line.

Your friendship with him is literally "bae" but platonically.

I'm talking joking flirting with each other but the moment someone says how cute you two would look together, one's gagging out of disgust and the other is glaring the shit out of the person who said it.

So never break his heart because who else is he gonna be his ride or die when it comes to getting into trouble? ☹.

[sprite-writes]

all I want for christmas (is you)

Leonard “Bones” McCoy/Reader (Original Female Character)

Summary: McCoy finds himself wrapped up in the Enterprise annual gift exchange, and for some reason, this Christmas gift feels a hell of a lot more important than just a Christmas gift. 

Maybe it’s got something to do with who it’s for. 

Word Count: 6,463

A/N: guys I swear this was suppose to be a 2000 word drabble for the holidays but its a whole chapter now idk, I hope you enjoy! as always special thanks to @lightning-writes

“Lieutenant, is there a reason you haven’t drawn a name yet?” 

“I need to feel all the papers! That’s how you pick the best one– duh.” She swirls her hand around the bowl once more, rubbing the notes between her fingers. Spock stares patiently. 

“Is there a best one to be picked? My understanding of the secret Santa tradition was to be given a random partner.” 

“There sure is, and it’s... this one!” she says as she finally plucks the blue sticky note. “It was calling to me.” She unfolds the paper like it's about to self-destruct, and it reveals its neat loopy handwriting.  

 CMO McCoy 

She blinks. 

Oh. Leonard. 

She blinks again. 

It’s Leonard! 

She laughs to herself, and Spock raises an eyebrow. 

“I assume you’re happy with your choice?” 

Her heart beats a little quicker. “Oh, definitely.  I told you I had to feel all the papers.” She smiles and rocks on her heels. 

I’m Leonards's secret Santa!

Spock nods politely and returns the bowl back to himself.  “Thank you for your participation, Lieutenant. I hope your exchange goes well.” 

“You too, Spock! Merry Christmas.” 

She pats his shoulder and returns her gaze to the piece of paper. Spock makes his way back to his station when something settles in the pit of her stomach. 

Oh god, I’m Leonards's secret Santa.

-

“I’m not doing a gift exchange.” 

“Bones, hear me out.” 

“No.”

“All the other senior officers are doing it, Even Spock!” 

“And? Good for them.”  

Leonard doesn’t look up from his PADD, and Kirk fitfully shakes the bowl of papers. 

“What will it take for you to do this?” he pleads.  Leonard halts, his eyes narrowing, and his hands folding on his desk. 

“What are you offering?” 

When Kirk sighs, “I mean, whatever if it’s reasonable,” he knows he’s got Kirk right where he wants him. 

“You show up for your next two physicals, get up to date on your vaccines, stop flirting with Nurse Walker – then I’ll buy someone a candle or something.”

 Kirk glare,s but it does nothing to deter his friend. 

“ I think Walker really likes me—“ 

“Jim.” 

“Fine! Fine, you win, just pick a name.” 

The doctor rolls his eyes and plucks the first paper off the top of the pile. It’s yellow, and he hopes to god it doesn’t say Spock.

 It doesn’t; its pristine sharpie work stains the paper. 

Operations Manager A. Sunshine 

He stares and squints, all while Kirk watches him intently. A tight, nervous feeling begins to bloom in his chest. 

Sunshine. Christ. 

“Well?” Kirk prompts. Leonard folds the paper again and shoves it in his uniform pocket. 

“Yeah, I got it,” he waves Kirk off. “You can leave my office now. Not like I got patients to attend to or anything.” 

Kirk laughs, and it’s blindingly bright. 

“I’ll leave you to it, Bones. Remember - two weeks until the exchange!” 

Two weeks until the exchange. God help me. 

-

“Okay, what about a jacket? Or a sweater?” 

“Nyota, we wear a uniform every day. When is he gonna wear a sweater?” 

Sunshine paces back and forth on the sidewalk, chewing on her nails. They’re an hour into their recreational shore leave, with four stores under her belt, and she’s no closer to a gift. 

“You want my help or not?” Nyota crosses her arms and stops Sunshine in her path. 

“Sorry, I’m being mean, aren’t I?” She receives a pointed look. “I don’t mean to, I just really want this to be…”

“Perfect?” Nyota finishes.

 “Perfect?” Sunshine repeats the word, rolling it over in her mouth. “No, not exactly. I just want it to be…  right? I guess? I feel like there's an answer, and I’m just not seeing it.”

She sighs. The entire endeavor begins to feel a bit hopeless, and she wonders if she's doomed to just be the shittiest secret Santa the enterprise's annual gift exchange has ever seen. She imagines Leonard's face opening a sweater he’ll never wear, feigning appreciation, and her stomach flips. 

Nyota locks her arm with Sunshine’s and gives her all the seriousness she would a Starfleet mission. “If there's an answer on this starbase, we’re gonna find it.” 

“You think so?” 

She smiles, “Not a doubt in my mind.” 

-

“Bones, you can’t just get a woman makeup, you have to know her shade,” he plucks the tube of lipstick from Leonard's hands, whose eye twitches. 

“She wears this color every day, Kirk.” 

“She does?” He examines the tube. “Oh, yeah, I guess she does. Still shouldn't get it for her though, what if it’s not her brand?”

“Her brand?” 

Kirk looks at Leonard like he’s a child asking perpetually asking why. 

“Yes, Bones, her brand. This stuff is very elaborate.”

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any bright ideas,” he hisses, shoving the lipstick back into its holder like it offended him. Kirk shrugs. 

Leonard wants to scream. From the moment he unwrapped that damn yellow paper he knew this would be a disaster. Why couldn't he have gotten Chapel? Or Sulu? Or Chekov? Or even Kirk? Instead, he gets Sunshine, who he can't bear to disappoint with the candle that's been sitting in his bedside drawer since two Christmases ago. She deserves more, a lot more… he just has no idea what more looks like. 

“This is impossible.” he concedes, his hope having run dry after four stores and three makeup departments. 

“It is not, we just need to get creative. I think you’re looking at this wrong, Bones,” Kirk begins to weave his way through the retail-maze. “You’ve got to think more… Sunshine. Not just some generic Christmas gift.” 

Kirk's words make their way around his head, and unfortunately, he has a great point. Perhaps, maybe, there is a tiny chance that he was carried away by the daunting expectation of what a holiday gift should be. The answer is staring him in the face now - he isn’t getting a Christmas gift, he is getting a Sunshine gift. This, he could work with. 

“You might be onto something, Jim.” He snaps his fingers. “With me–I’ve got an idea.” 

-

 Sunshine has always been partial to mint chocolate chip, and it's not like there's much of it in space. So, the cone in her hand is indeed a necessity and not a distraction. 

“No more pit stops after this,” Nyota says,  sweet yet stern, as she holds the door open for Sunshine. 

“I completely agree, so quit trying to get us sidetracked,” she quips and takes a long lick of her mint chip. 

Ever the patient one, Nyota rolls her eyes with a smile. “So sorry, Lieutenant. I'll try to stay on task.”

Sunshine laughs,  links their arms, and they walk down the strip. The impending sugar rush raises her spirits, and she is more than ready for the next bout of stores. 

“Okay, so I'm thinking we stop up here and try--”

“Oh, look, It's Jim and Leonard,” Nyota says casually, and nervousness shoots through Sunshine.

“It's what!?”  Sunshine hisses, her head shooting left and right for a store to dive into. It’s too late, Jim is already waving, and nudging Leonard, who does his polite little half-wave—awww.

“Shit, it’s too late, we were seen,” she sucks in a breath. “Okay, okay, act natural, Nyota. Don’t give anything away!” 

She lobs the rest of her ice cream in the nearest trash, straightens her clothes, and skirts backward until her back is against the nearest wall. She has just enough time to pull Nyota next to her and prop her foot against the wall before the pair approach—and just like that, she’s as natural as ever. 

“Hello boys,” she hums. She doesn’t even spare them a glance at first, choosing to stare at her nails, and be incredibly casual. She’s met with silence and the prickling feeling of someone  staring at her. 

They all are. 

“Er—hi, Sunshine,” Kirk says slowly, like it's a question. She inches her gaze away from her hand. Kirk has that crease between his brows that he gets when he’s thinking, and Leonards's arms are crossed over his chest, and suddenly this interaction is anything but natural. She plants her foot back on the ground. 

“Everythin’ alright?” Leonard asks, in his concerned doctor voice that she knows all too well. She prays the interaction is salvageable.

“Of course it is, everything is normal, as it usually is – right, Nyota?” She juts her elbow into her friend's side, who does not take the gesture kindly. With a hard glare, Nyota nods. 

“Just enjoying the day off,” she says tightly, and Sunshine envies her talent for socializing. 

There's a suffocatingly awkward pause, where Sunshine sweats and looks at anything other than Leonard – who, in turn, stares at her like he’s trying to solve a math problem. 

“Well, uh, we should get back to it, I guess,” Kirk breaks the silence, still confused as ever. 

“Yeah! Yeah, of course, us too,” she blurts, and pushes herself off of the wall, “Have fun! Be safe! See you at work!” And with that, she's locking her arm with Nyota once more and hauling ass away from the two. She walks so fast, they’re out of earshot in seconds. 

“You know that went terribly, right?” Nyota says flatly.

“I do, and I’m willing to take some of the blame.”

“Some?”

“Most of the blame, maybe,” Sunshine cringes. “It really was that bad, wasn’t it?” 

She knows the answer already, but instead of a hearty yes, Nyota bursts into laughter, and keeps laughing until Sunshine joins her. 

“It was terrible, awful,” she says, trying to catch her breath. “You’ve really got it bad, huh?” 

Sunshine giggles, and leans on her friend. “Ha, got what bad?”

Nyota pauses, curiously observing her friend's seriousness.  “Nothing. Here, I’ve heard good things about this store.” 

--

Leonard stares at Sunshine's back as she retreats, thinking about what the hell he just watched unfold.

“Any idea what that was?” Kirk asks, his head tilted so far, he could hurt his neck. 

“Not a damn clue.” 

--

Another hour passes, and Sunshine is close to hysterics, and the shopkeeper is hearing all about it. 

“So, I pick the name out of the bowl,” she brandishes the crumpled blue paper, “and I’m like, ‘oh, perfect’ because, like I said, we’re great friends, like super close, but now, I actually have to get the gift. And it’s impossible! Everything is too ordinary or not thoughtful enough or just useless! We’ve been at this for hours, and I’m at my wits end here.” Sunshine’s legs swing from her place perched on the countertop. 

“So, this friend of yours,” the assistant manager, Tina, begins, “he doesn’t have any hobbies? Or interests?” Customers pass, and Sunshine sighs.

“Hobbies? Not really. I mean, all we do is work, and he works a lot– did I mention he’s CMO? Yeah, I mean, he’s passionate about his work! He loves being a doctor, he acts all jaded about it, but he’s actually a huge softie, loves helping people.” She pauses and sucks in a breath, while Tina nods like she’s keeping up. “He doesn’t love doing it in space, though. That’s what he’s mostly jaded about. I mean, he did his dissertation in med school on deep space diseases, so it makes sense but –” 

“Well, where’s he from?” Tina interrupts. 

“Oh, he’s from Earth; I am too.” Sunshine points to Nyota, who is rifling through the cologne section in her stead, “So is my friend.” 

“You know, there’s a little earth-themed shop just around the corner…” 

This piques Sunshine’s interest, and it fills her with hope. 

“Earth-themed?” she repeats. Tina nods while she restocks the shelf behind the counter. 

“It’s an antique shop; they have trinkets from everywhere but mostly earth. Maybe you’ll find something there?” 

Sunshine grins, and she feels a weight being lifted off her chest. “Tina, you’re a godsend, thank you so much,” she hops off the counter with renewed vigor. “C’mon, Nyota! I think we’ve got our answer!” Nyota is halfway through the stack of samples in her hand when she’s rushed out of the store. She fleetingly wonders why she puts up with this. 

—

Leonard barely looks up from his PADD the entire way back to the ship. It takes Kirk, attached to his side, to weave him through crowds and assure no accidents or injuries. The enterprise is quiet upon arriving, and Kirk is ushered into Leonard's office.

“Alright! Game time, Bones, tell me whatcha got,” Kirk claps his hand on Leonard’s shoulder—it reminds him of a high school football coach. 

“Right, we’re gonna need to abuse your authority. “ 

“…for a Christmas gift?” 

Leonard rifles through his drawers. 

“Well, what else would it be for? Listen, go ask the head nurse–should be Nurse Bennet– tell her you need access to the medical imaging equipment, and grab the camera in Drawer B, got it?” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess?” 

Leonard shoos him out of the room. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he uses the moment of solitude to clear his head. 

He really hopes this isn't a stupid idea. 

—

In the antique store, Sunshine elects to not sit on any of the countertops. 

The entire place seems fragile to her, with shelves lined high with old-world things she didn't recognize and floors littered with boxes. It was eclectic, to say the least. To say the most, it was downright cramped. And tiny. 

Definitely no countertop sitting for her. 

Her eyes trail across the room, and she gets an odd nostalgic feeling, like she isn’t quite in space anymore. It feels like her mom's old house.  The feeling sweeps her up like a hug, and she almost forgets why she’s there as her eyes roam. Nyota recenters her with a nudge and points to the back of the store. 

“Hello!” Sunshine calls and catches the attention of the man behind the register. He’s older, with deep smile lines, and an overly large coat. He looks kind, she thinks. He waves in return for her hello. 

Nyota slips between two shelves, already scouring for ideas, while Sunshine approaches the shopkeep. 

“Somethin’ I can do for you?” he asks, his accent familiar, and strikes her with a sudden longing feeling. 

“If it's not too much trouble, I really need some help finding a gift for my friend,”she says, uncharacteristically beginning to feel shy. “And there's a bit of a story to it too, if you have the time.” 

He stares at her curiously, and she hopes she hasn't overstepped. 

“Sure.” He shrugs. 

He gestures for her to come around the counter, and she can see a wooden chair peeking from behind it. She accepts his invitation and makes herself comfortable in the old-looking wooden rocking chair. Dust flies from it when she sits.  He continues counting the register and waits for her to begin. 

“So,” she fiddles with the blue sticky note that has lost its stickiness, “I joined Starfleet like, a little over a year ago, and there's this Doctor…” 

—

The captain clears his throat and clears it again, running a hand through his hair because he’s just not sure what to say. 

“So, I gathered you both here for a reason, which is very important… but I also cannot provide much information about why it’s important - very… classified stuff,  but I assure you-” 

Leonard is too impatient for his own good, and he’s rolling his eyes and grumbling mere seconds into the captain's fake speech. 

“I’ll take it from here, Jim,” he interjects, “I can’t watch you flounder like a fish out of water anymore.”

The captain's patience wavers, but Leonard takes no mind to this. 

“Henly, Donavan, stand next to each other and smile. We’re doing a Starfleet scrapbook or something,” he says, voice filled to the brim with sarcasm. He brings the camera to his face, and the two girls look at one another with confused, pinched faces.

“We don't have all day, Ensigns,” he mumbles. Henley and Donavan turn their confused frowns into tentative smiles, and he snaps the picture. He throws a thumbs up their way. 

“Great. You’re dismissed.” Leonard turns around, sights set on their next stop already. Kirk, however, scrambles to leave this interaction on a politer note.

Kirk calls, “What he means is thank you so much for participating ladies, and you look great by the way, can’t wait for you to see the scrapbook!” but they were already retreating, whispering and giggling to one another.  He sighs. 

“So, now that I’ve abused my authority for the sake of a Christmas gift, do I get to know what the gift is?” he demands. 

“We’re not done abusing your authority, just so you’re aware,” Leonard says pointedly, “and fine, but we walk and talk.” 

That’s fine with Jim, he’ll walk wherever, talk to whoever,  if he finally gets to know what’s going on. 

“One year, for Pam and I’s anniversary, she got me this holoframe, piled high with a bunch of pictures of us. The thing’d flip through them all day, like a highlight reel while our marriage fell apart.” Leonard stays five steps ahead and doesn’t look back at Kirk. It’s an odd place to be vulnerable, the enterprise hallways, and Kirk has no idea how this fits into anything. 

“Okay…”

“I hated the damn thing. Not the sentimental type, but what you said, about getting a more, Sunshine gift, somethin’ clicked,” he snaps his fingers. “Can’t think of anything she likes more than the crew, and I’ll go out on a limb and say she’s the sentimental type.” 

Kirk pauses thoughtfully and suddenly feels touched by the gesture that isn't even for him. 

“So, we are making a Starfleet scrapbook? But of all Sunshine's favorite people?” 

“Do not go around saying we’re making a scrapbook like we’re a couple of grade schoolers.” 

Kirk catches up with his friend with a newfound dedication to this endeavor. 

“Sorry, holoframe,” he grins. 

—

Sunshine and Nyota are both perched behind the shop counter now. Sunshine slumped down into the rocking chair, Nyota rested on the arm of it. 

“...after I told Tina all of this, she sent me here and said maybe you could help—oh, well, actually, she never said that, I just sort of roped you into this on my own accord, sorry about that– but, on the way here, I wrote down this list of facts about Leonard to maybe help find him something?” She pulls out a crumpled receipt with sharpie on the back. 

“You brought…a list?” the shopkeep drawls, and it makes her blush. 

“Yeah it’s—I thought it might help,” she says sheepishly.

“She is very prepared,” Nyota supplies with a comforting pat on her shoulder.

“Alright, then let's see it.” He holds out his hand, and she lays the receipt flat on his palm. It feels like she's handing something over much more important than the record of her ice cream purchase, but she doesn't put her finger on why. 

She waits as the man reads, and she rocks in the chair. She thinks about what a whirlwind of a day it's been but still feels at ease. 

“He’s from Georgia?” the shopkeep finally says. She perks up. 

“Yeah! He’s, like, a country boy,” she cringes. “Well, like, he's from the country, he grew up on a farm, I just don't know what the actual word for it is.” 

Thankfully, the man just chuckles and doesn’t correct her. It's a win in her book. 

“He ever miss home?” he asks, eyes still on the paper. 

“Oh, only all the time,” she scoffs, “ he’s really not a fan of space.” She buzzes with excitement— she can tell he’s onto something. When he finally speaks, Sunshine has to restrain herself from leaping up and hugging him right there in the store. 

“Yeah, I think I got a few things he’d be interested in… Georgians ought to help each other out anyways.”

—

Three fake emergencies and six photos later, both men are exhausted. 

Leonard hopes no one enters the rec room for the next hour. He fears the image of him and the captain sprawled on the couch looking through photos of various crew members may be hard to explain. 

“Are we done now? Please tell me we’re done.” Kirk shifts, really he wiggles, to prop his feet on the chair beside him. Leonard fiddles with the camera as he replies. 

“Just waiting for Uhura to be back from shopping, and that should be it.” Kirk sighs and sinks lower into the couch. Since starting this whole thing, Leonard's anxiety has grown steadily, like a snowball rolling down a hill. Aside from the task of wrangling crew members, and then inventing explanations for his actions, the real challenge is convincing himself that this is even a good idea in the first place. He thinks about that tube of lipstick, and if it was her brand, and wishes this whole thing could be simpler. 

“Do you think Spock’s still mad?” Kirk asks, and Leonard barely hears it over his own thoughts. 

“He’s forgiven you for a lot worse, I wouldn't get too wound up about it,” he replies absently, hands still fidgeting. “Y’know, Jim, I appreciate you running all over hell's half acre for me. God knows you didn't have to.” 

“Bones, I have no idea what that means, but you’re welcome.” His friend smiles, and it quells some deep nervousness. “Totally gonna be worth it, anyway,” Kirk adds.

Leonard isn’t all that sure what he means, but still, he agrees.

“Yeah, I think it will.”  

 Leonard doesn't see the smirk on Kirk’s face, nor does he pick up on the mischievous cadence of his voice, or even the way they're on completely different pages. Kirk thinks perhaps that's for the best.

—

The gift sits on her desk for three days before she wraps it. 

She carefully maneuvers her work around it, avoiding touching the object like it was some precious gem. On occasion, her eyes would drift to it while she sits in her quarters, and her cheeks would heat without reason. She makes an effort not to think about it too much or get too excited, and to definitely not touch it. She finds lately that a bit of effort is required to get her mind off of many things related to the CMO, and it takes even more effort not to think about why that was. 

She wraps the gift on the day of the exchange—because it's the easiest way to avoid thinking about it.

—

Leonard gets the damn thing out of his sight as soon as possible. 

The gift had been finished – pictures uploaded, running on a ten-second loop – hidden away in a gift bag, out of sight out of mind. He is protecting his peace—leaving it out in the open will only restart the cycle of doubt in his head. So, he pulls doubles, up until the holiday party, if only just to get his goddamn mind off of this stupid exchange he shouldn’t have ever done in the first place—

He works until Chapel won't let him in the medbay anymore, and when she doesn't, he slots his time with other tasks. Hell, he even wonders if he should’ve gone back for the lipstick, the day after they leave the port. He goes as far as to bother Nyota about it, who waves him off and tells him she's sure Sunshine will love her gift—her reassurance helps more than he anticipated. 

He almost gets himself to forget the whole thing, lost in the medbay chaos, until he feels the scrap paper crushed in his pocket.

The gift stays hidden away until just a few minutes before he has to meet her, and his palms sweat when he picks it up. 

—

Lieutenant Jameson calls out the day of the holiday party— Dakitoan Flu. 

Without much choice, Sunshine takes his rounds. She doesn’t think she’s ever completed a task faster in her life. Complete is even a strong word—it's more like half-ass. She’s all too aware of how she’ll have to repeat most of the work again tomorrow, correcting her own mistakes. But she doesn't care. She’s been stressing out about this party for two entire weeks, she’d be damned if she misses it. 

When she does finally rush to the rec room, the blue-wrapped gift in hand, there are few people left, and her heart sinks a bit. 

There's a Christmas tree in the corner of the room, with only one present left beneath it, and a few red and green ribbons are strewn about. She spots Spock first, already wiping down tables and cleaning up the festivities. He catches her eye, and he must see how her posture is wound tight with nervousness—or her pink cheeks, or her frazzled hair, or the way she obviously ran here. Spock doesn’t quite smile, but his gaze softens in some way she doesn’t see often, and he nods toward a table in the far corner. She follows, and—

Oh! It’s Leonard!

Spock gets a double thumbs up for his help. 

Leonard sits with Jim, both of them with glasses of some dark liquid in hand. She wishes she could have had a drink before this. She smoothes down her hair before she approaches. 

Kirk notices her first and smiles — it reminds her how nice it is to have someone in her corner.

“Sunny! You made it!” He cheers. She grins back and lets it sink in, yeah I did make it, and the thing she’d been fussing over for weeks is finally coming to an end.   

 Leonard is much more reserved, he always is. He sees her, and his posture relaxes—he does that a lot. Almost like he’s holding his breath for some reason. 

“Captain, Doctor,” she greets the two, still catching her breath. “I’m sorry I missed the party, you have no idea how insane my shift has been —I mean, no idea, but it's over now, and I’m so glad I caught you guys.”  

“We had to convince Spock to leave the Christmas tree up until you got here, he’s been cleaning damn near since the party started,” Leonard tuts, and she laughs. 

“Aw, I’m glad he did…” She looks at the pine tree, which is bare of ornaments and lights, and raises her eyebrows. 

“Well, he sort of did,” Leonard amends. “It was a compromise.” 

“A compromise that leaves me with putting the decorations back in storage, so I’d call it more of a trade,” Kirk complains. 

“Master negotiator, huh?” she teases and has every intention of teasing him more, maybe even calling Christmas his new Kobayashi Maru, but she waits a beat too long.

“Anyways, Jim, don’t you think you should be getting to it?” Leonard says, as if the conversation didn’t just start. 

Jim doesn't say anything at first, just stares at Leonard while Leonard stares at him. It’s all very… intense, she thinks. They exchange pointed looks like they’re engaged in a silent conversation– actually, she’s pretty positive they are. Awkwardness begins to prick at her skin. 

“Is there something—”

“Wow, I didn't even notice the time, better get to it, just like you said,” he springs to his feet with alarming speed. 

“Oh, do you have to go?” she asks with disappointment.

“I do, duty calls, or something.” He holds her by the shoulders looking at her with enough intensity to make her squint. “Have fun,” he says meaningfully, and smiles, and then, he's gone, leaving with a friendly pat on her back. 

She hesitates a moment before taking Kirk's seat. 

“Is he…okay?” 

“That's a loaded question,” Leonard deadpans, and despite her confusion, she laughs. 

“So I have something-”

“Anyways, there's this-” 

Their sentences crash into each other,  and they both freeze. 

“You first,” she offers. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just purses his lips and avoids eye contact. 

“Just—Don’t move, I’ll be right back,” he grits out and leaves her at the table. It's abrupt and leaves her wondering why this interaction is going like this. She wraps her arms around herself and waits. 

Behind her, he picks up the last present left under the tree, which has been waiting there for her all day.  Yellow bag with yellow paper stuffed inside.  He places it on the table, and sits back down, hands wringing together. She wants to ask what's got him so worked up. 

“I’m your secret… Christmas person or whatever the hell it is,” he grumbles and doesn’t meet her gaze. Not until he hears her stifle a giggle, which then bubbles into a laugh.  She doesn’t mean to, but the whole thing just comes together too perfectly for her to contain herself. 

“You’re my Secret Santa?” she asks, alight with excitement, and he nods at her slowly. 

“Yeah, if that’s the name—” He’s cut off with another laugh, and she eagerly puts her gift in front of him—blue paper with a blue bow. 

“Leonard, I’m your Secret Santa!” She beams, “We picked each other! What are the odds?”

He stares at her, then at the gift, and says quietly, bewildered, “What are the odds?” 

She doesn’t catch what he means, but she’s too excited to harp on it. 

“Well?” she prompts and inches the blue box towards him. “Are you gonna open it?” 

Curiously enough, she’s not nearly as nervous anymore. 

He blinks and shakes his head like he’s clearing his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah of course,” he says distractedly. 

He opens the box carefully, it's like he’s doing an operation. When he looks down at the gift, the gift, he pauses and gets this expression that Sunshine doesn’t think she's ever seen on him. 

“Len?” 

“Sunshine, is this…?” 

“It’s a postcard! From Georgia!” She grins, “A real one from Earth, It’s an antique.” She reaches over the table and taps on the glass of the frame in his hand. “See? There's a little stamp of authenticity. Isn’t that neat?”  

Neat. It’s about the neatest thing Leonard’s ever seen. 

She settles back in her seat. “I thought it might make you a little less homesick,” she adds, much quieter, as if the statement itself needed privacy. 

Leonard stares at the postcard. It's got a picture of a peach orchard, on a perfect summer day, he can tell by the blossoms that line the trees. Greetings from Georgia! it reads.  It looks like something he would have seen hanging in his Ma’s house. He thinks of the red door of his childhood home, and how the branches of his family's own peach tree framed it. The smell of his Ma’s cooking and the feeling of coming home— his chest fills with familiarity and longing. He stares for a while and doesn't say anything for even longer. 

He doesn’t realize he’s been silent until Sunshine clears her throat. It feels like he forgot he was on the Enterprise for a moment. 

“Sunshine this is…” Damn near perfect. “Nice. Thank you.” He says it and cringes. There's so many more feelings and thoughts under the surface. He wishes he could make a sentence out of them. But Sunshine, like she knows his inner thoughts, accepts the weak compliment like it's the best thing she's ever heard. 

“Aw, Leonard!” She tucks her hair behind her ear and flushes – or maybe it's the lighting. “I'm so  glad you like it. You have no idea the hell I put Nyota through to find it.” 

He’s not sure what Nyota had to do with it, and he doesn't ask either. “I’ll thank her too then,” he says weakly, but he definitely won’t. With a deep breath to quell his nerves, he pushes her gift toward her. 

“Your turn,” he says with bated breath. 

Being so wrapped up in her own Christmas shopping, she almost forgot she gets a gift too. She tears through the tissue paper with the same unrestrained excitement she had picking her secret Santa just a few weeks ago. 

“I still think it's so crazy we got each other, this makes the gift-giving thing like, ten times better,” she tells him. He nods curtly, and she can tell he’s wound tighter than a spring–or at least that’s how he would say it. 

“Relax, Len, I’ll like whatever’s in the bag– heck, I’d like it even if you gave me a rock.” 

She dives her hand into the bag, the tips of her fingers touching cool metal. At first, she has no idea what she’s looking at. A… little screen? A flat little screen with a cool blue border? She opens her mouth, a question on her tongue, when— 

“The power buttons on the side,” Leonard says. He doesn’t give her a chance to move, leaning over the table and clicking the button for her. 

The screen comes to life with a picture of Sulu and Chekov, both donning awkward thumbs up… and is that in Kirk’s room? She blinks, and it changes again, this time to Scotty and Keenser sitting among a mess of wires in engineering but smiling brightly nonetheless. Another second passes, and she's looking at Spock and Nyota, sitting beside each other in the rec room loveseat looking equally poised yet annoyed. Sunshine laughs before she can stop herself. 

“Len is this—?” The picture flickers again, and the sight of it stops Sunshine's words in their tracks. It's Leonard and Jim, on that same rec room loveseat. Jim’s practically beaming—face lit up and an arm looped tightly around Leonard’s shoulders. Leonard, shit. He’s got that soft and reserved smile on his face—like the one he has when he talks about home or his friends, where his eyes are just filled with this warm something. 

Sunshine’s face turns hot, and her chest becomes unbearably heavy with emotions. 

“Leonard, this is so fucking sweet—” She cuts herself off with a wet laugh, and she realizes she’s got tears in her eyes. 

Leonard, however, looks mortified, as he watches her face become red and tears fall down her cheeks. 

“Shit—Damn it, I’m sorry—You weren't supposed to cry!” he stutters in a panic. Sunshine laughs again and hiccups over it with a sob. 

“They’re happy tears, Len!” she insists, wiping her cheeks. “This… I think this is the nicest gift I've ever gotten.” She can’t bring herself to look away. The pictures are just the slightest bit grainy—like the camera her mom used to take pictures of her. The thought starts the waterworks all over again. 

“It is?” 

She sniffles, scrubbing her tears with her sleeve. As Sunshine traces the edges of the frame, and watches the photos loop again, she knows for certain this is the sweetest, most thoughtful gift she's ever gotten. She thinks about how curious it is that it's from someone she’s known only a year—a coworker, no less. 

Then, she thinks, maybe, it's not all that curious at all. 

“We should do this every year,” she tells him. She’s positive, actually, that, as much of a headache as this exchange has been, she would do it again in a heartbeat. 

“Secret Santa?”

“Yeah, but not so…secret next time, and… just us, maybe.” 

She doesn’t look at him when she says it, for both their sakes. 

“Sure,” he says, and she can hear the tightness in his voice. “I’ll try not to make you cry next time.” 

She laughs, “No, do it! It’s more fun that way. Maybe I’ll make you cry.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

He seems less nervous now, like his smile is coming a bit easier. 

“We should get going before Spock sticks us with the rest of the cleaning,” he says, gathering the discarded paper from the table, “and I know you had a long day, Jameson told me you covered for him.” 

She doesn’t want to leave, but she knows he’s right. She wonders if he feels the same pull to stay.

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” she tries to say casually.  She leaves her chair as he does. “You know me, I don't mind.” 

“Doesn’t make it a good thing, you pull about as many doubles as—”

“As you?” she interrupts cheekily, and he rolls his eyes with a smile. 

“Yeah, as me.” 

The paper goes in the trash, and they’re left with nothing to do but bid each other goodnight. It’s the last thing she wants to do. 

“Thank you again, Len. The pictures—It’s perfect. I love it.” She tries not to cry again, mostly for his sake. 

“No problem, and you too,” he tells her simply. His cheeks are still tinged pink, and seeing him hold the present she labored over in his hands, with all that warmth in his eyes, it's almost more than she can stand. 

Fuck it. She thinks to herself, and before her nerves can stop her, she wraps her arms around Leonard's neck. It's an awkward angle, and she has to pull him down to her height a bit—and she’s still got the frame in her hand and everything. As far as hugs go, it's not great, but in other ways, it's perfect. Leonard doesn’t react for a moment, but finally, his arms encircle her waist, after a fair bit of hesitation. 

It’s really nice, she thinks. 

“No, really, thank you,” she says into his shoulder. The fabric of his uniform is soft, and she can smell his apple shampoo. 

“You too, Sunshine,” he mutters. The sincerity in his voice feels nearly tangible. Leonard pats her back, maybe because he feels awkward or maybe because it's time for the hug to end; either way, she lets him go. 

“Have a good night,” he says, and he can't quite meet her eyes. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she answers softly.

They share a long parting glance, as they head in opposite directions to their quarters. 

Unbeknownst to the pair, their senior officers are perched just around the corner. 

“...and he knew her shade, Spock. The exact shade of lipstick she wears. He was so… dedicated to the whole thing. I half-thought he might give her a candle or a necklace or something but this?” 

Spock nods thoughtfully. “She treated the exchange with similar enthusiasm, from what Nyota has told me.” 

“You’re a genius for setting this thing up,” Kirk shakes his head, “even if I did have to copy Sunshine’s signature on 20 different sticky notes.” 

“Well, it was your influence that caused me to—”

Kirk waves him off. 

“You don’t have to justify it, Spock. Hell, everyone can see how bad they’ve got it for each other. Can’t blame you for wanting to move it along.” 

“Indeed they do, Captain.”

[dreamwritesimagines]

It feels like they will go from enemies to friends to friends with benefits to lovers and i cant wait for that middle part where they hook up and its obvious it isn't just sex for either of them but also- they can't NOT sabotage it. So my hc is that after the first time they had sex (def more than three times in one night, my boy is a giver) she snuck out of his place and acted like it never happened since whatever he did before to hurt her, so he sees her flirting with someone else and-

"I know what you're doing."

"Well, hello to you too."

"You're ignoring me. And trying to make me jealous. If I'd known that what we did was gonna have this much effect I would've just driven you home that night."

"You're miles away from your territory the day after someone blew up your shipment just to spy on me- if someone's affected its not me, babe."

"And why are you so far from home, dressed like- what the fuck is this dress, cover up."

*basically tosses his jacket over her*

"Oh my god, stop it. You're not my- Nevermind. Look, there's no hard feelings, all right? You're Becca's brother and I respect you to some degree but this isn't happening. I was bored and you were drunk-"

"I wasn't drunk."

"You weren't?"

"Or bored. Far from it, actually."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"..."

"..."

"Do you wanna get out of here?"

"That's- yes."

"Good. Lose the boy's number, you don't need it."

I AM MELTING AT THIS I’M TELLING YOU, I’M MELTING RN-

Darliiiiing! You are AMAZING, THIS IS SO SO GOOD?! 😍🥰❤️

Them being friends with benefits is such a wonderful idea yessss! 😍❤️ And it’s so like them to sabotage it, they can’t help it at this point 😂

after the first time they had sex (def more than three times in one night, my boy is a giver) EXCUSE ME HOLD ON WHAT WAS THAT?! 😏😱

Charm saying "You're miles away from your territory the day after someone blew up your shipment just to spy on me- if someone's affected its not me, babe." while Bucky is trying to play it cool I can almost hear it! 😂

HIM TOSSING HIS JACKET OVER HER😂

It’s actually hilarious because he’s not even doing that to like “protect her” or whatever, Charm has bodyguards who’d cut someone who so much as looked at her wrong let alone approach her in that dress😂 He’s doing that because he’s jealous😏

"Do you wanna get out of here?" "That's- yes." "Good. Lose the boy's number, you don't need it." HI HELLO I AM SCREAMING HERE THIS IS AMAZING! 😍❤️ You’re so talented! 😍😍😍

So this totally inspired me and now I’m thinking about how they would be as friends with benefits who have feelings for each other while being in complete denial 😂 They’d be in bed together and Bucky would be like,

“Come on, get dressed.”

“Why?”

“Dinner. I was thinking we could check out that new restaurant in Steve’s territory, he doesn’t shut up about it.”

“Who else is going to be there?”

“Just you and me.”

“Ugh no! I’m not going on a date with you, ever.”

“It’s not a date—”

“Sounds like a date though.”

“Even if it were, in case it has escaped your notice, you’re literally naked in my bed.”

“That proves nothing.”

“Five minutes ago you were begging me to—”

“Still proves nothing.”

“They have great chocolate cake and we can hook up in the bathroom between the main course and dessert.”

“...Yeah I’m gonna get dressed and put some make up on, we can leave in half an hour.”

[photogirl894]

AHHH these are all so good!! Can I be super gluttonous and get another one??

Putting someone behind them to protect them with CROSSHAIR!? OMG or Fives... no Crosshair.PLEASE?

Absolutely, you may send in more than one request! The more, the merrier!

Haha well you ended with Crosshair, so that's who I'm going with, darlin 😜

"Fake Boyfriend"

7. Putting someone behind them to protect them

Pairing: Crosshair x fem reader

***

After coming back from another tiring mission, you were hanging out with your squad and friends, the Bad Batch, at 79's getting some drinks. The bar was pretty crowded this time and it was starting to get hot inside from everyone there. The boys didn't seem to mind as much. You were sitting next to Crosshair, who had his arm draped over the back of the booth behind you. He might as well have had his arm around you with how close his hand was to your shoulder. The two of you had a habit of flirting with each other all the time, but usually in a joking way that wasn't serious. At least, that's what you told yourself. Because unfortunately for you, you had a feeling it was all just fun to Crosshair, even though it was more real for you. At this point, you just figured there was no point in admitting your feelings and potentially making things awkward with him, especially when it already took a bit of work to break through his shell anyway. You didn't want to undo all the work you'd already done in getting him to open up to you.

You stood up and announced to the boys that you were going to step outside for some air for a second and they acknowledged your decision.

Crosshair reached up and tapped your arm, saying, "Don't be gone too long."

"Why? Will you miss me?" you asked back.

He said nothing, but simply gave you a knowing look that said, "Come on, really?" like the answer to the question was obvious...but it wasn't really.

When you stepped outside, you walked just a little ways down the platform 79's was on to around the corner of the building, your hands in your pockets. The noise of Coruscant air traffic buzzed in your ears along with the chatter of Clones and other people also out on the platform.

A few minutes later, a speeder with a human male atop it pulled up and docked next to you, his eyes trained on you as he parked his speeder almost without even looking. "Well, hey there, beautiful," he spoke to you.

With a deadpan look, you replied, "Can I help you?"

He smirked looked you over in a way that made you want to squirm and you didn't get that way very often. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in this part of town?"

"I fail to see how that's your business," you commented. As he started getting closer, your hand slowly made its way around behind you to where your blaster was holstered just in case.

"You shouldn't be out here alone. I could uh...give you some company," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

"She isn't alone," you heard another familiar voice say before you could respond. Just then, Crosshair appeared next to you and he protectively moved you behind him as he stepped forward to face the man in front of you.

The man's suggestive smirk disappeared and he gave Crosshair an unamused look. "Who are you?" he questioned.

Without even hesitating, Crosshair answered, "I'm her boyfriend."

Your body locked up at his response. Did he just say...?

Then he kept going, "She's my girl and I suggest you get back on your speeder and move along...while you still have the ability to drive."

The stranger just scoffed and stated with a dismissive wave, "Whatever." With a huff, he turned on his heel, climbed back on his speeder and sped off.

Once he was gone, Crosshair turned around to face you. "Are you all right?"

You nodded. "Yeah, he didn't do anything. He was just a creep. Thanks for that."

He simply nodded.

"Didn't expect you to pull the 'fake boyfriend' card, though," you told him.

"I thought it's what would get rid of him the fastest," he explained.

For some reason, you had dared to hope that maybe there had been more behind his reasoning, but you should've expected this.

Though, you clearly didn't hide the disappointment in your face well enough because Crosshair then pointed out, "You don't seem content with that answer."

You weren't sure if you could cover up how you really felt at this point, so you admitted, unable to look at him right away, "Well...I don't know, I just kind of hoped that...maybe it could actually be a real thing."

When you looked up at him, his eyes had narrowed slightly. "You...you want that?" he asked, seemingly dumbfounded.

You gave a shy nod and a shrug. "I mean...we flirt all the time and I keep thinking sometimes that maybe you would want something like that, too, but I'm sure it's all been just fun and nothing serious. Which I understand if it is."

"It's not like that."

"Wait, what?"

"I only flirt with you...and I do it because I want to. I'm not good with words and I hoped that maybe I could get my interest across that way."

You were stunned for a moment before saying, "So all this time...you were interested in me?"

He stepped closer to you and took a surprisingly gentle hold of your chin, tilting your head up and touching his lips softly to yours for but a brief moment.

A small sigh left your lips when he pulled back and you replied, "I'll take that as a 'yes', then?"

He snickered. "Was that not enough for you to believe me?"

You smirked back at him. "I might need a little extra convincing."

That was how you found yourself pushed up against the outside wall of 79's and making out passionately with Crosshair...until the rest of the boys eventually came out looking for you both.

"Hey! I thought you said you were coming out to get some air?" Wrecker questioned as you both jumped apart.

"She wanted some of Crosshair's air, it seems," Hunter teased.

The two of you blushed bright red, but the rest of the squad seemed pretty happy about the two of you. You walked back to the Marauder hand in hand with Crosshair...now your boyfriend and you, his girlfriend.

Photogirl894's Physical Affection Prompts

Photogirl894 1,000 followers fics

[justallihere]

im joining the train of being physically ill and your fic giving me the motivation to continue with life (allergies and contact dermatitis are kicking my ass. my eyelids are swollen)

I love how soft these two were for each other in this chapter.

XADEN IS WHIPPED. I feel like if he could live in/under Violet's skin he would 💀

exhibit a

“I can kill him for you,” he offered. 

exhibit b

“No, I don’t want you to move,” Xaden grumbled

exhibit c

“I’ll do whatever you want, my darling wife.”

exhibit d

he was sure his heart stopped beating in his chest for a moment before it resumed its rhythm again. 

exhibit e

Something warm bloomed in his chest at the sight of the ring on his finger, a physical representation of the two of them twined together, from now until they entered whatever life or world followed this one. 

Xaden made Vi blush SO MUCH this chapter and I'm eating it up!!!!!

This line was so funny 😭😭😭. Xaden is such a tease

“Yes, your majesty?” She scowled

Not me my heart breaking for younger Xaden. I hope Vi gives him enough hugs to heal his inner child

Being a dragon rider was one of the only things he had ever chosen for himself, even if, technically, he wasn’t supposed to have it. 

SOMEONE HUG GARRICK PLS. The guilt he probably feels, my poor baby 😭😭

“Can I not be worried about her?” Garrick asked sharply. “She is my queen, Xaden. She isn’t just your wife, she isn’t just Violet. Not anymore. She’s important to all of us, and I have a duty to her. You’re not the only one who failed to keep her safe.” 

EXCUSE ME??? ARE THEY FLIRTING? YOURE HONOR I THINK THEYRE FLIRTING. The second i read that he wanted to take her somewhere outside, I KNEW IT WAS HIS FAVORITE HILLTOP!!!! This moment was so special/monumental for them 😭. Xaden has come so far, from not wanting to share this sacred space/wanting to hate her on principle, to loving Violet and willing to do anything to make her happy (Again, mans is WHIPPED)

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Mrs. Riorson?” Xaden asked in a low voice.  She shivered. “Maybe.” 

HIS RING??? HIS RING????? Of course, Vi noticed how obsessed X is with her hair. nothing gets past her

Xaden's unwavering faith in Vi is so 👌 I dont have words to describe what it is but its top tier husband energy

The fact that Violet reads smut confirms that she's just one of the girls AND Xaden picking the book up to read it ??? Book boyfriend material (Even though he's already her husband)

Questions:

When will Brennan get his head out of the sand and make up his siblings? Stick Xaden on him because B is making Vi and Mira sad!!!!

when was the last time Xaden got drunk/felt comfortable enough to do that?

was the story about malek and his consort's homage to Hades/Persephone but also a reflection of Vi/X's relationship?

She was Amari’s youngest, her most beautiful and most treasured child --- is this foreshadowing to how Lilith views Vi? bc if so... I'm sobbing in a corner

Omg feel better!! Stop being sick!! Why are you all sick!! (normally I’m the one who’s sick all the time 😂)

Waterparks has like dozens of obsessive love songs that I could quote but there’s a line in “I felt younger when we met” (ironically a break up song lol) that says “you moved in behind my eyes and built yourself a shrine” that I think about a lot in terms of how Xaden feels about Violet. Just like, a part of her lives with him permanently now and he can’t and doesn’t want to get rid of it and she’s all he knows and he’s wholly devoted to her

I’m LIVING for the fact that you came with evidence about how whipped he is lmao

They are in fact flirting, can confirm!

To answer your questions: Yes, Brennan will get his act together. The last time Xaden got drunk was, uh. . . so many moons ago I do not have an exact time, but years. And yes! It was a way to say that not only do people see their relationship differently depending on what they’re looking for, but Xaden views himself so differently from the way Violet sees him.

And yeah to that last one as well. I mean she loves all her kids beyond reason, but there’s something in the way she views Violet that’s so special to me