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reignpage · 2 months ago

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Vice President!Sukuna

Hanssen: disasters all around

Word count: 5.4k Contents: cursing, violence, alcohol use, general dumbassery at parties, references to sexual assault/harassment, bts of Gojo's '4Justice' party, misuse of ChoCHo

“Why am I here?”

Sukuna inhales deeply, leaning against the dirty brick wall, one foot propped behind him, scuffing his trainers. Between his fingers, he holds a lit cigarette, dangling precariously as he bore a half-smirk, barely there, eyes smouldering when he meets the confused gaze of his cousin.

He scoffs. “Because you owe me a favour.”

The younger man grumbles a complaint but remains squatting on the floor, legs tired from standing for so long. Having been creeping around the side of some frat house for half an hour now, he’s grown restless. Refusing to explain further, Sukuna huffs silently at the pout his accomplice is sporting.

Suddenly, a click jolts the artist awake, eyes darting to the mastermind, who’s tense and jerking his head to signal it’s time to go. Unfolding himself, Choso mimics Sukuna’s position, directly behind a huge hedge, away from street view.

A silhouette steps out from a widening door, yawning loudly as it stretched.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” it yelped, burping loudly before walking away to get into its shitty car.

Sukuna watches the car splutter away, disappearing beyond the curve of the road, and makes his move. He rounds the hedge and climbs up the stairs to feel for the door handle.

Unlocked.

“Dumbass Theta Chis,” he mutters. They never lock their damn doors.

The night is still and both cousins’ shallow but even breaths are the only things that can be heard as they slink inside the house.

Aware that he could have simply paid off one of his family’s goons, Sukuna feels absolutely no regret when, as he switches the light on, he bumps into a vase. It shatters on the ground. Choso winces, feeling bad for said vase, but nonetheless walks in, hiking a duffel bag up; who is he to feel guilty about the destruction of property?

Empty as expected, they eye the place. Sukuna scowls in disgust over the pigsty they’ve walked into; empty beer bottles lay scattered all over the floor, chairs and tables askew, streamers limp over almost every surface, and yeah, in the corner that’s undeniably used condom. The soles of their shoes stick to the floor and neither of them want to make guesses on why that’s so.

Still, they look over at the one unsoiled spot in, likely, the entire house, standing side by side. Sukuna has a smirk, eyes glinting. His cousin on the other hand is wincing again, catching a glimpse of that deranged expression on the ringleader.

How did he let himself get caught up in his theatrics, again?

There, above the grand staircase —not quite as grand Alpha Phi Delta’s, well, most certainly not as grand — hangs an obnoxiously large portrait of the founding fathers of the fraternity.

It’s Theta Chi’s Holy Grail.

But tonight, it’s the cousins’ personal playground.

With a heavy sigh, the sleepy sidekick drops the duffel bag on the floor, the rattling of metal all too familiar to him, and he gets to work. As much as he loves art and creating art, being used by his stupid cousin who sports seniority by less than a year never feels great.

“Don’t rush, Choso,” an excited snarl pierces him, and he dares not look back, already exhausted of his antics, “I want this to be just perfect.”

………………………

At the centre of campus, the night is not so quiet.

Lights are beaming and flashing, blinding the moon itself. There’s a deep thumping rocking the ground and it vibrates through every pole, every cup and every person. The Quad is packed full of people from all years and all practices, with a solid chunk consisting of students from other universities, friends of friends. Anyone who is anyone is here tonight, but who they are doesn’t matter. Everyone moulds into heap of gyrating bodies, swaying and jumping to the beat.

Huge speakers line the perimeter, and drink stations have been practically robbed. Everyone has one thing on their minds tonight and that’s to get totally wasted.

Just a hair’s breadth away from the first blade of glass, there you stand. You’re breathing out, itching at a spot on your wrist subconsciously and it’s turning the skin there red.

Your thoughts are racing. You shouldn’t be here; you’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through and it’s against the rules and the police could come and so many things could go wrong.,

But when was the last time you went to a party?

Not a charity event or an end of the academic year staff party, but a real party, drank cheap but strong alcohol, and danced to music with no lyrics.

When was the last you had even danced?

You scratch harder.

Most people are passing by you like you’re invisible, but one or two people would smile or wave, in a rush to get into the throngs of thoughtless pleasure. Maybe this was a bad idea — it’s unlikely you’d even enjoy this. You’ve always been a homebody, after all.

A flash of black catches your eye. A figure blanketed in woven darkness is standing around, clearly anxious about the noise, the mess, the consequences. She picks up a random red cup lying on the floor and throws it into a bin.

Is that the Treasurer?

Just as you’re about to take a step towards the girl, a voice reaches you, somehow clear despite the deafening noise of inscrutable music. You whip around and almost stumble at the sight of a person you’ve been trying not to think about the entire night.

He’s in a plain white shirt, jeans hanging low on his hips, flashing a Calvin Klein band, and hooked over his fingers is his varsity jacket strung over his shoulder. Head cocked to the side as he gives you a once over, whistling at the sight of your bare legs.

You suddenly feel cold in your skirt.

“Hey, prez,” he drawls, “been waiting for me?”

Your eye twitches. Then you turn away, facing the writhing mass of bodies surging with energy, fuelled by mixed concoctions and techno beats. You feel even more afraid.

This is definitely not your crowd.

“How was the press conference and everything else?” You don’t even know what you’re saying, just feeling a need to distract yourself with conversation. It’s easy to talk to Sukuna when you’re not looking at him. It hurts to look at him. Somewhere in the back of your mind, there’s a desire to wear that jacket he’s carrying. But you don’t want to ask.

He steps beside you, eyeing the crowd just as you are.

“Nothing special.”

You nod.

Sukuna throws you a side-glance, sensing your nerves, and he thinks it’s hilarious. There’s a chuckle rising from his chest, but he has enough tact to smother it. So, he settles for giving you an elbow nudge, rolling his eyes when you glares at him.

“You gonna stand there all night or you gonna do what you came here for?”

“I’m going home.”

He laughs.

He couldn’t help himself.

The sight of you stomping away is too damn comical to resist the urge to wrap his arm around your waist. Pulling you close, he presses you tight against his chest, and whispers right in your ear, “Don’t leave before I get to see this other side of you, prez.”

You try to wriggle yourself out of it, but he only tightens his hold. Too anxious to fight, shaking like a leaf, you accept it. That’s the reason you feel most satisfied with to justify clutching his forearm, unable to wrap around the thickness of it, and remaining in that position. Sukuna’s so warm, it’s as if winter’s never going to come.

“I’m pretty sure all the alcohol’s gone by now,” you mumble.

There are a few people staring and whispering at the both of you, but he pays no attention to the gossipers. Blinking, you realise you’re swaying. Or rather, he’s swaying you to an imperceptible music, a song only he hears. It’s slow, not at all like the rapid fire of beats that everyone else is feeling running through their bloodstream.

“I’ve got a hidden stash,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry, prez. You’re gonna have fun tonight, one way or another.”

The way he says that sounds like a threat, like he knows something you don’t, and that clears your head. You push off him and snatch his jacket in one go, like it’s yours and he had stolen it from you.

Sukuna doesn’t flinch, simply pockets one hand into his jean pocket, and runs the other through his hair. It looks slightly damp, and you have to gulp to push away the thoughts of him in the shower. His bicep flexes at the movement, shirt rising to reveal a flash of skin, and a trail of hair disappearing into his boxers.

That shouldn’t make your mouth water.

With a slight shake of your head, you adorn the jacket, feeling the material slide against your skin, still warm, absolutely burying you in the fabric. Why is it so big?

“Alright, follow me.”

He’s sauntering off, long legs taking him so far in a blink of an eye. You stumble after him, meandering along the other people jumping and hooting like they have no worries whatsoever.

Sukuna’s taken you to the Life Sciences building, a little further away from the heart of the party, but still feeling the weaker waves with the random people making out against walls, or girls crying into each other’s arm. In a lab room, he opens a locked cabinet with a key hidden under a textbook. Stocked are two bottles of vodka.

You don’t ask why it’s there or how many other stashes he has, though you know you really ought to so you can confiscate them. He places the bottles on the work bench devoid of beakers or test tubes, and without warning, grabs you, the unsuspecting victim, by the waist and lifts you up onto the surface.

Yelping, you smack his shoulder. He ignores that and just lifts himself up to sit beside you. So then, there you sit, legs pressed against each other, sharing a bottle of vodka. The liquid burns your throat, and you hate the smell of nail varnish. It’s like an estranged lover, familiar but it doesn’t know your name. The instant warmth it courses through your body is very much welcomed, however.

Minutes pass in relative silence, you both check your phones here and there and pass the bottle to each other. You try not to think about the fact that you're technically sharing an indirect kiss. That's childish.

“You know,” you begin, “I’m surprised you’re a party person.”

He lifts a brow at that.

It’s quiet here. Sure, you can still hear the distant rumbling of disco and craziness, but where you are, the loudest noise is the dull thrum of the radiators. And your heartbeat, but you hope he can’t hear that. You need him not to hear it.

You continue, “It’s just, I’m pretty sure you don’t like people.”

“Oh, yeah?” He fires back immediately. “You know me so well, prez?”

Shrugging, you take the bottle from him and gulp, “I know you better than you think.”

You’re aware of how vague and ominous that sounds but the alcohol’s making it really easy to not care. If karmic law exists, then you’d be allowed this —these little jabs at his true form whenever you can. You’ve earned it. You know that, so then why does every word leave a bitter taste in your mouth?

Sukuna rubs a hand across his jaw, tasting your words and mulling it over. The lab room is lit up only by one light, just hanging a couple metres away from you. It’s enough to see the flush climbing up your neck.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

You laugh at his petulant tone. It reminds you of the frustration babies face when a square brick doesn’t fit through the triangle hole, try as they may to force it through. Opening your mouth, you’re about to make a retort, but then suddenly, shouting breaks out in the hallway, and you flinch, hand flying to grab his bicep.

Bare skin touching bare skin, it’s a feeling of utter scandal, and like you’ve been burned, you let go just as soon as you grabbed on.

“Relax,” he stares at his phone screen, “just some frat guys fighting.”

Frowning, you ask, “What about?”

The smirk Sukuna has makes your heart clench.

Rolling his piercing between his teeth, he considers his words carefully before deciding on, “Someone’s defaced the portrait in Theta Chi.”

You gasp. “No way. One of the alums on the board went to Theta Chi. They’ll be so upset.” The paperwork will be crazy, is the only thought passing through your mind. There’s a sudden lightness to your head and it pushes a giggle out.

“Weren’t the people who egged my window from Theta Chi?”

Sukuna takes a swig of the vodka, regretting, for a moment, his failure to stash something stronger. Ignoring your question, he jumps down suddenly. You don’t want to wait for him extend a hand out, or worse, grab you anyways. So, you jump as well. With much less grace.

Stumbling, you fall into him, right in his chest, buried between hard muscles. He smells nice. Clean. He really did just take a shower before coming. And once again, you’re picturing him soaked and naked and steaming and —

That’s enough.

You aren’t drunk enough to indulge in thoughts like that.

“Trying to cop a feel, prez?” His voice is gruff despite the amusement lacing his words. “You should know I charge extra for that, although I’m willing to give you a discount.”

Pulling away, you flash him a finger, and he only smirks.

“Seriously, what happened to Theta Chi?” You frowned. “I need to know how pissed the alums will be.”

He glances down at you, a dry expression on his face. “Someone painted some shit about their hazing process. That’s what Gojo’s saying in the group chat, anyways.”

Humming, you wracked your brain for every detail you can recall about the fraternity.

“The previous president mentioned that in passing to me last year, when I was shadowing him. Something about this long tradition of stripping the freshers naked and making them run into the woods? But I thought that was just a rumour.”

The man shrugged, already bored of the conversation.

You glare at him.

“This doesn’t have something to do with our conversation, does it?” It can’t be. “When you said you’d send a message.”

Surely, your vice president would have enough sense to know that a ‘message’ is just a stern talking to, and definitely not whatever the hell is going on. It would be catastrophic if this is linked back to him, and you.

Sukuna’s already walking towards the door, more interested in the commotion than the way your brain is firing at a thousand miles per second, even whilst the vodka begins to fuzz up your clarity.

“Dunno why your first thought is me and not the extremely outspoken vandal we’ve got in our midst, prez.”

That makes sense, and it calms you a little, even if it’ll still be a headache to deal with. But you can’t shake off the feeling that, somehow, he knows more than he’s letting on.

Following Sukuna, you both peek at the hallway where a crowd is forming. There are a bunch of guys wrestling each other onto the ground with uncoordinated swings and kicks. People are egging them on and recording, dodging the violence when it gets too close.

And yeah, you’re so very sure the paperwork’s going to be insane. Especially as two members of the student council will be seen in the background of the dozens of videos being taken. The headache is already developing.

“You fucking dick! Admit you broke in and destroyed our fucking picture!” A guy in a tank top despite the chilly weather yells and you recognise him as a fellow law student. Travis or something. He’s always been nice, quiet, but seeing him now as he trips over his own feet, backwards hat flying off, you realise, maybe he was just too hungover to participate in class.

“I didn’t do shit!”

Another guy throws a punch, missing its target but succeeding in pushing his victim over, but the act also drags him down. Both fall together.

“You’re a fucking liar! You drew over my great-great grandfather’s face with Pac-man!”

Someone from the crowd hollers, “Who the fuck doesn’t love Pac-man?”

“You fucking strip the freshies, you freak, a Pac-man on your ugly grandad is the least you deserve, asshole!” Someone else from the crowd screams.

And they’re collapsing back down, people try to pull them off each other but only end up getting dragged in. It’s one huge uncoordinated Jenga tower crashing down. Sukuna tilts his head, mildly interested. They’re all too drunk to throw a proper swing, one that could do real damage, but if even just one person could slip and crack their head on the floor, that would be enough.

A member of the crowd gets knocked over in the kerfuffle, distracted by something on their phone and skids along the floor with a pig-like squeal. Acting on reflex, you jolt towards the stranger, arms reaching out to pick them back up, but Sukuna grabs the back collar of his varsity jacket, the way one holds a puppy by its scruff.

You’re dragged away, to the other direction, away from the mess of drunkards, too consumed by the alcohol to realise that this is going to hurt in the morning.

“You’re just any other college student,” he scolds once you’re in the clear, “you’re not the president of the student council tonight.”

A pout drags your bottom lip down and you clutch his arm to your chest, it takes Sukuna by surprise, suspicion painted all over his face like you’re strapping a bomb around him.

“But Sukuna,” you peer up at him, “you call me prez.”

He scoffs, a disbelieving amusement wracking his body. You’re trying to kill him. That must be it. There’s no way you’re this much of a lightweight, so much so that you’d quickly abandon your integrity, and go as far as to say his name like ’S’kuna’.

Your eyes have glazed over and there’s an inelegance to your movements, little clumsy jerks and goddamn it if it doesn’t make Sukuna’s chest do that weird thing it always did when he looks at you.

How repulsive.

There’s a part of him that hopes you’ll remember the utterly embarrassing position you’ve placed yourself in, but he also doesn’t want to deal with the avoiding eye-contact and ignoring him thing you do. It’s irritating as hell.

“You’re fucking dangerous when you’re drunk, Jesus,” he snorted.

That makes you giggle. You’ve still got his arm trapped, blanketing it with his own jacket, and it’s warm, warmer than the alcohol your body’s desperately trying to digest, the foreign liquid an enemy.

“Fucking finally!” Someone yells.

It’s Gojo.

He’s marching towards the both of you, hands flailing in anger.

Sukuna rolls his eyes before he pushes you slightly behind him. “What climbed up your ass?”

“Your Treasurer, that’s who!”

And with theatrical movements he reenacts the complaints he’s been hearing, about how she’s preaching safe sex to couples making out in the hallway, shouting at people to pick up their litter, and sending him a finger from down at the Quad to where he stood on a balcony.

The last part seems to upset him more than anything else.

“Why did you bring the freaking fun police?” He directs the question at you. He always assumes you’re the root of all his problems, and well, you won’t deny that. “She’s gonna ruin my rep as the best party-thrower!”

Gojo’s a huge pain in the ass and to see him so frazzled over a different member of the council makes you pleased. You jab a finger at his chest, giggling as you mocked, “Someone needs to arrest you for being so stupid.”

When you hiccup, Gojo looks at you, horrified. His eyes dart comically between you and Sukuna like you’re pranking him, like he’s missing a big joke, instead of making it, for once. Seeing Sukuna only raise a brow in challenge, he groans, rubbing a palm down his face.

“You guys are killing me, I swear!”

And then he stomps away.

You giggle again, his lanky body looks so funny speed walking. You take the bottle from Sukuna and gulp clumsily. Some of the liquid dribbles down your chin, and you don’t care. This is the freest you’ve felt in months, hell, maybe even years. It’s as if chains have been loosened and you can stretch your limbs.

Taking the bottle away from you, he tilts his head back slightly to take a gulp too, except he doesn’t look away whilst he does it. Not a single drop goes to waste, not even as he brushes a thumb over your chin and swipes it over his own lips.

The skin where he touched sizzle.

You clear your throat, “Should we tell her it’s okay?”

Sukuna shakes his head with a devilish smirk and retorts, “You’re not the prez tonight, remember? Let the idiots fix themselves up.”

Slapping his chest and then settling on groping his pec, you slur out, “I’m never not the ‘prez’, idiot.”

“You’re just y/n, tonight,” he insists, encasing your wrist with one large hand, and stilling your movement so you can’t squeeze like a creepy uncle. “Be selfish for once, yeah?”

“Like you?”

Your head is tilted in curiosity, lashes fluttering and he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about. He won’t deny his habit of putting himself first, and he certainly won’t apologise for it, but the way you put the question to him brings a flash to his head.

Strobe lights, warm bodies and lies.

Sukuna reels back like he’s been slapped.

He gets not a single second to process anything before there’s whooping. People grin at you two, punching the air in an expression of solidarity, chanting ‘fuck Mahito!’ at the top of their lungs. It’s fun to see everyone so friendly when most days people stroll by without so much as even a glance your way.

A guy comes up to you both, in a blue sweater and cargo shorts, doing that weird handshake men do with Sukuna and you sort of want to join. He greets you with one of those half-nods and takes a sweep of your body, a grin on his face.

“Want something?” Sukuna pushes out through gritted teeth.

The guy shakes his head as if to clear his mind before he’s smiling like a little boy again. “Just wanted to talk about our next game. Heard the team’s good but I think their defence is a little weak.”

Hearing the basketball talk, you grow disinterested.

Which Sukuna doesn’t sense until it’s too late. Because your question threw him off and he’s slacked. For perhaps the first time in his life.

So, when he glances down beside him and finds you gone, he’s cursing the heavens and leaving his teammate mid-conversation. He searches for you everywhere, trying to find an oversized purple jacket hanging off your frame, even popping into the girls’ bathrooms, ignoring the crying girls there.

“Flighty fucking woman,” he growled.

There’re still too many things he had planned for your one-night truce, too many things he wants to pull out of you whilst you’re honest. And with you, the surprising lightweight that you are, being drunk off your head, alone, the thought of all the ways things could go wrong is making a muscle tick in his jaw.

He sees Choso, leaning against a bike shed, looking up at a mural with a cigarette between two fingers. It’s half washed off; the scaffolding abandoned for the night. Sukuna couldn’t care less for the sentimental mood his cousin’s in.

“Why do you look mad again?”

Sukuna ignores that, “Seen the prez?”

The younger man tastes the word in his mouth. “The prez? The president of the council?”

Okay, apparently all the usefulness he’s capable of has been maxed out this evening. Without a parting word, Sukuna continues his search. He’s practically running. People are trying to catch his attention. Guys who’ve fallen under the delusion that they’re friends for reasons that elude the pink haired man, and girls who mostly likely wanted to put the rumours of his skills in bed to the test.

He ignores all of them, popping his head into every classroom, growing more and more agitated, and he swears, once he finds you, he’ll tie you up and lock you in a closet so you can’t run off, can’t make his heart clench and his palms sweat.

Eventually, he ends up back at the Quad, there’s too many idiots crowded in one place to see, and he’s certainly not going to attempt to sift through them all. He sees Gojo on a balcony, standing beside two figures, sunglasses pushed up over his head, grinning so brightly, even from where Sukuna’s standing, he can see all his teeth. He’s leaning over the railings, eyes fixed on something at the side. Just as Sukuna makes a step towards his direction, deciding that getting a higher vantage point would be the best strategy, a flash of purple catches his attention.

He found you.

But it’s too late.

You’ve already climbed a table, shoes next to some red solo cups, drawing many people’s attention. No one expected to see the president here, and certainly not with a varsity jacket on. Perhaps, people are worried you’re about to lecture them, to warn them about the rules and trespassing and whatever else.

Resting against a pillar, he sighs and rubs his jaw.

Apparently, drunk you loves attention. Well, he shouldn’t be surprised; you’re a great orator and it just comes naturally to you, even if you are a bundle of nerves sometimes. He decides to stay there, watching your passionate speech, arms raised like you feel the zeal course through you. The music has quietened, the, no doubt ridiculously expensive, DJ a certain frat president hired lowering the volume.

Everyone’s watching you, halting their grinding and jumping to hear you out. You introduce yourself -not that you needed one to begin - and talk about the challenging couple months, the way students turned on each other and staff showed their bias. You saw the girls, other victims, forced to cower, forced to feel dirty, and doubt themselves.

But you also witnessed the love, the support, the community. The sisterhood that carried you all to this point where the truth has made itself clear, justice prevailing because they cannot deny the bravery you’ve all showed.

There are a few people wiping tears from their eyes, guys occasionally shouting in agreement. Despite most people coming just for a good time, it seems like there really was a need for catharsis. Recent events haven’t just taken a toll on you and the girls and the lawyers, but also on the other women on campus.

Sukuna rolls his eyes.

Drunk you is the female reincarnate of Mark Antony, go figure.

Half obscured by shadows and half lit by flashing lights, he stands there, eyes never leaving your figure, jolting every time you stumble on the table, but as infuriating as it is, you’re surrounded by a bunch of guys, ready to catch you.

He’s developed a disliking of parties over the years, hating the bumbling ineptitude of drunk people, and all the drama that comes bursting from the seams of repressed idiots. Still, he attends most of them, never taking part in the chaos but often just watching.

Sukuna hates parties but this one isn’t too bad, he decides.

A notification goes off on his phone and he sees his roommate’s message — a video and a text following it.

the girl of your wet dreams is really getting the waterworks going huh?

Once again, Sukuna rolls his eyes, saving the video and ignoring Toji.

God, he hopes when he brings you back to your dorm room that you won’t throw up all over him. He can deal with carrying your dead weight back to the Northside Halls, and the no-doubt moody and grumpy you that’ll show up the next morning, dragged down by a killer hangover, and even the insults you’ll no doubt hurl his way when you accuse him of enabling you for his own entertainment.

But if you throw up on him, he’ll lose his mind.

You reach a dramatic end, thrusting your fist into the air and people follow suit, just as drunk, if not more so, and easily influenced. They clap, roaring and whooping. The music comes back on and the dancing returns, invigorated by the shift in energy.

Clambering down, feeling satisfied, you’re being shaken by the overly supportive drunk friends you’ve made within the span of the five minutes until Sukuna found you. They slap you on the back, congratulating you and saying other things that aren’t really registering in your mind.

Escaping to a quieter part of the Quad, you skip along, to nowhere in particular, and fall face first into a hard wall. It hurts and you clutch your forehead, cheeks puffed out as you furrow your brows.

Glancing up, you’re met with a stormy gaze, it’s smouldering something unyielding and threatening. But, as you squint through the haze of insobriety, you see the gentle tracing of his eyes over your frame, and then as if he saw what he wanted to see, it hardened to something much more akin to a feasting.

You’re drunker than you feel.

“You left,” his tone is calm but there’s an undercurrent of heat there. It’s accusing and scathing, and it teases at your spine.

With a shrug, you reply, “You were boring me.”

You’re a little sweaty, the running away and the standing beneath so many lights had you feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon. And when he swipes a hair off your forehead, you can only splutter in complaint when he smears your own sweat onto your cheek.

“It’s bedtime, prezzy, come on.”

His voice is uncharacteristically soft, a quiet whisper against your head as he clutches you to his chest just as your knees cave in. Your vision is spotty, and your lips are dry.

In a blur, you find yourself in your bed.

When did you get here?

How did you get here?

You’re too tired to tell, eyes drifting close.

Your desk lamp is on, lighting your room enough for you to see the silhouette of a man running his hand along your table, eyeing the piles of papers scattered there. He flips a page over, studying your handwriting and the sticky notes with random faces, some frowning and some with Xs for eyes.

“S’kuna?”

His stare snaps towards yours and it steals your breath away.

“Go back to sleep,” his voice is soft. And even whilst weighed down by the alcohol, you’re aware of how tiny your room is with him in here. It feels wrong to have Sukuna pacing the length, studying the pictures on the wall and the neatly piled laundry waiting to be put away.

You have no idea what he’s thinking, and it scares you. Groggy and still not fully conscious, you croak, “Did you bring me back?”

“No, we teleported,” he fires back, without missing a beat. “Yeah, I brought you back. I didn’t touch you or anything, so just relax.”

“I didn’t think you did,” you admit, the sentence muffled by your comforter.

Sukuna leans against a wall by your door, calculating if everything’s as it should be, and you finally notice he’s just in his white shirt, no jacket in sight.

“Wait,” he cocks his head in question, “it’s cold out. Wear your jacket.”

He laughs, it’s low, just a couple huffs really, but it’s a laugh, nonetheless. It feels like one of those rare victories. “Nah, keep the jacket. You like damn thing more than I do.”

“No. Wear the jacket,” you point to the chair it’s draped over; your arm is heavy and you’re drifting off again.

He narrows his eyes at you, but you don’t see that, breath evening out. “Always so stubborn,” he says this more to himself, walking over to your chair and snatching it with more force than necessary. “I’ll take it, on loan.”

You don’t reply.

But when he stands over you, knuckles brushing a stray hair off your cheek again, you hear him from behind the haze of sleep and exhaustion say, “You always get what you want, don’t you, prez?”

And then he’s leaving, shutting the door much quieter than you ever have. You swear as you take one last inhale, you can still smell his fresh soap and feel the scalding burn of his touch.

Both of you know you’ll barely remember any of this, if anything at all. Despite that, you find yourself hoping that you, at least, remember the feeling of being free and unburdened, even just for one night. You also hope he’ll remember what life could be like if you two got along, so perhaps he’ll ease off a little.

Just as you enter a dream state, you sluggishly respond to something that seems so far away now, the words escaping you like one last exhale before you’re dead to the world.

“I never do.”

#jjk x reader #jjk sukuna ryomen #jjk fluff #jjk crack #jjk angst #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst

774 notes · View notes

saturnznct · 6 months ago

Text

the sims | dad!jake

➸ note; just a summary of the sims :)

➸ word count; 2189 words

➸ warning(s); accidental pregnancy x2, a bit suggestive, birth & feeding, cryptic pregnancy

enhypen masterlist (lnks will be added later)

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

you and jake meet when he and jay go to a bar together lol the two of you can’t stop staring at each other and jay, with the help of some liquid courage, convinces jake to go up to you and get your number

so you start hanging out

he’s so shy with you at first because he has such a big crush and you think he’s just adorable

one day he just thinks fuck it and kisses you and the rest is history

you’d been together for seven years and engaged for a few months when you get pregnant

you were usually great with protection but one time you’d run out of condoms and just decided to take the risk

you were terrified to tell him but he was excited, but a bit unsure of what to do

once your little bump and everything shows up he’s obsessed

very touchy, waits on you hand and foot

all the members are super excited, they love sam so another enha baby to love is super exciting

achy is probably the best way to sum up your pregnancy, your back and feet hurt a lot all of the time

when you find out you’re having a girl he gets so giddy

definitely loves a good chat with the bump

goes all shy and bashful when she responds to him

i don’t imagine him being the type to sing to the baby?? i think he’s much more of a talker

never ever gets tired of her moving, can literally just picture him at night being the big spoon with his hand on your bump, his chest aches every time she kicks or moves

when she moves around on the scans you can literally see stars in his eyes

thinks you’re just the cutest when you get big, waddling around in his hoodies

keeps the latest scan photo in his wallet

your third trimester is in winter so the fireplace in your apartment is on in the evenings

lots of cuddles together

you very rarely feel insecure because jake makes it very clear just how attractive he finds you

it helps that you’re so hormonal that you’re constantly trying to jump his bones and he is… very receptive to that

the two of you decide to have a home birth, you love your apartment so much and its a place of comfort for you

also there’s no hassle or stress with transporting her home from a hospital or packing a bag etc

your labour is pretty nice, as much as it can be

you were only in labour for about 9 hours, and being at home surrounded by your familiar walls with the lights dimmed down

jake of course was incredibly supportive the whole time

ella ara sim is born 10th april at your home in seoul

jake delivered her in your bathtub, and cuts the cord

the greatest moment of his entire life

ella is a very chilled baby

feeds happily, is easily soothed

loves her daddy, jake can get her to stop crying faster than anyone

you slightly worry he holds her too much, he likes to sit by your floor to ceiling windows overlooking seoul and talk to her for hours about life and all the fun things you’ll do together when she’s older

he holds her in the early mornings in bed, on his chest or in his arms while he scrolls through his phone

these moments definitely help your relationship, when you’re both tired and drained you just sit together with or without the baby

even if you don’t talk you just have this sense that you’re in this together and you understand each other without word

Jake loves it when you’re able to pump, he loves being the one to give her bottles

ella is only the second enha baby after sam and jay is very insistent on regular playdates, he wants them to be besties so bad

they’re actually quite indifferent to each other lol

shows her off to everyone who will look

has a little silver ‘e’ necklace

when she’s about a year old she visits australia for the first time

jake fusses over her like crazy, it’s australian summer so he’s constantly smothering her with suncream and she’s got her lil bucket hat on

holds her in the pool in his family’s backyard, gently lifting her up and dunking her legs in and out of the water while she giggles like crazy

takes her to meet koalas

he loves her to be girly, thinks she’s just the cutest when she has cute little floral clothes

her giggles are his favourite sound in the whole world

purposely tickles her so that she giggles

once he tickles her for so long that she starts coughing and you get annoyed with him

doesn’t tickle her for a while after that

actually doesn’t mind playing with her, will happily sink hours into tea parties and roleplay

the BIGGEST daddy girl

her first word is dada

first steps are towards jake

jake is so fucking happy

later that night he just sobs and thanks you over and over and over for giving him his perfect baby girl

always wants to be in his arms or on his lap

jake always allows her to climb all over him and will smother her with kisses

when ella is 2 you guys finally get married, she’s one of your little bridesmaids

jake spends a lot of time dancing with her during the reception

you enjoy married life for a while, and when ella is 3, jake begins to miss her baby days

so, the two of you decide to start trying again

about 8-9 months later you’re pregnant

jake is so so excited he wants to tell el straight away but you shut him down lmao

eventually when you do tell her jake is so excited, his eyes are practically sparkling when he tells her she’s going to be a big sister

you’re pretty much bed bound and sick for the first 4-5 months, you throw up a lot

you get a lot of migraines

jake is great as usual

you and jake had talked about kids before having ella and both of you hoped for at least one of each, so when you found it it was a boy you were so happy

jake suggests his name, he just thinks its so cute

declan daehyun sim is born 1st october at your home in seoul, this time on your bed

jake also delivers him and cuts his cord

slightly more challenging baby

cries often for no real reason, no matter what you do he just cries

lots of sleepless nights

ella’s in primary school at this point so lots of daytime naps together

ella actually isn’t too jealous or anything, she comes and sits quietly next to you or jake when you’re holding declan and just watches him

she likes to hold him herself

dec is literally jake’s twin, your genes did not stand a single fucking chance

jake’s nose, jake’s eyes, jake’s mouth, jake’s hair

gets more and more clear as he grows into a toddler, everyone comments on it

i feel like jake is just as much of a boy dad as he is a girl dad like he has two sides

loves playing legos and football with dec

when dec is born you move into your ‘forever home’, a big apartment in seoul

there’s a pool in your apartment complex so you best believe most nights after dinner jake takes the kids down

when declan is around 18 months, you start throwing up and it doesn’t stop for a couple of weeks and you and jake are like… what the hell

you were on birth control that didn’t give you periods so you didn’t think it would be pregnancy but alas…

you go to the doctor and you’re 5 months pregnant and you had no idea

bit of a shock of course

you don’t know how to react at first

like dec is still so young, your birth control had clearly failed, you only had 4 months to prepare

but there obviously isn’t much you can really do other than just start gearing up for your baby’s arrival

you get a bump and some symptoms soon after you find out

pregnancy starts kicking your ass during the third trimester though, doesn’t help you’re running after declan all day

jake of course is the best like you don’t even need to say anything, if you’re having a hard day he can just tell and will do anything to alleviate your stress

like if declan is being a lil shit and you’re stressed jake will seamlessly distract him with something else

weirdly good at convincing declan he needs a nap

you decide to keep the gender a surprise because you know this will definitely be your last one and you’ve had enough surprises yk

eve sim was born at your home 8th september

born on your bed

jake delivers her and cuts the cord

you’re both ecstatic with another girl, she’s the double of ella as a baby

you don’t give her a name until she’s a couple of days old, jake starts calling her evie cause he thinks it sounds cute, you decide on eve cause it works in korean too

ella loves eve, she’s so excited to have a sister

declan is not so sure

he’s a bit jealous, especially since he’s still a little baby himself

is a little bratty about it too

you’ll sit down to feed eve and he’ll come up to you and start whining and tugging on your pants

cue jake waltzing in to distract him

i don’t think jake would be very strict

he is very much their friend and ally and they know that

hates punishments and discipline, i mean he’ll dish it out but really struggles to stay strong when they cry or get upset

will apologise for having to do it afterwards

i don’t think he would be a very pushy parent, wouldn’t be too strict about grades or extra curriculars, but will support them in whatever it is

the kids go to swimming lessons, but jake loves to help them in your pool at home, it reminds him of his childhood in Australia

definitely the type to just launch them in the air much to your horror

loves it when the kids come to see a concert, just the knowledge that the kids are in the crowd gives him a little extra energy

engene posting on twitter that jake looks so happy

everything is all about the kids backstage, if they’re there then jake and the members are smothering them in attention

if he goes on your without them he always comes back with toys

accidentally starts a tradition of buying a teddy in each place he goes

when you pick them up from school their plaits and ponytails and what have you obviously fell out hours ago

eve and ruby are a few months apart in age so they are besties of course

jake would absolutely say the worst part of being a father is the kids growing up, when they get too big for him to hold and cuddle properly is when his heart hurts when he looks at them

he loves babies so much and always always misses the baby days but seeing his kids grow into independent, strong willed, talented individuals makes him so proud

they’re always his baby girls/boy

even when they’re older he will still give them cuddles when they’re sad

the kids go to australia maybe once a year or every other year, visit jake’s family

but you settle in a big apartment in seoul

kids speak a mix of english and korean at home, there’s no real pattern to it

they speak english amongst each other but i think with jake they mix it up

they also use mainly english names at home, you and jake like them more

they use korean and korean names pretty much anywhere outside the house

although ella does get called el by the members and jake pretty much at all times

overall the sim family is so so so full of love <3

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frannyzooey · 1 month ago

Text

Midnight

Din Djarin x f!reader

Rating: E

A/N: Happy New Year’s Eve! ❤️ Thank you for being so kind and patient with me this year — it’s been a long one, but this place has made it all the more tolerable. This has been a WIP since 2021 (!!) and it was so wild to brush it off and compare how much my writing has changed since then — thank you for sticking around, for being so supportive and for being a part of this community. I appreciate you all and hope you all have a great 2025! 🎉🎊🍾

—

9PM

The kitchen is already packed.

It’s been an hour since you arrived to the greeting of your coworkers broad smile, getting her for all of two minutes before you promptly lost her again. You’d seen pieces of her since, shimmers of her silver dress in between the crowd of bodies: her arm extended to hand someone a drink, her hip pressed against the counter to refill a chip bowl, her bright laugh above the din of conversation.

The beer in your hand had started out cold, but now borders on luke warm as you take a tentative sip. You grimace at the flavor, yet hold onto it, if only for something to do with your hands.

“Why are you drinking that?”

She appears in front of you, at last, the only person you know here. Pulling a face at the bottle in your hand, she lifts her eyebrow. “You don’t drink beer. Couldn’t find anything better at the bar?”

“I didn’t even see a bar,” you reply, standing on your toes to look around the room. All you see are shoulders and heads, a sea of pointed hats with shiny poms of tinsel on top.

She rolls her eyes with a smile, plucking the beer from your grip to take your hand in hers.

“Over here,” she leads, tugging you towards the living room.

Turning your body sideways to get through the crowd, you grin when the bar comes into sight.

The cart is an art-deco elaborate thing, mirrored and gilded. You remember her shopping for it online at the office, hiding the screen whenever your manager would walk by. Its beauty is hidden underneath a crowd of bottles, just as tight as the people in her apartment, and she twists and turns them, searching.

Lifting one up, she offers something else with a familiar smile. “Gin?”

You grin. “Yes please.”

–

10PM

One heavy handed gin and tonic later, you’re feeling much better about the situation.

You haven’t seen your friend in awhile, but that’s okay – your other coworkers have arrived.

“Okay but why is it such a personal thing?” you ask, tipping your cup to slip an ice cube into your mouth. “I know which one is yours – the one with Snoopy on it – and it’s not like it would be wrong if I took it, but it would feel wrong, you know?”

Your coworker nods earnestly. “Coffee cups in the office are weird thing, man. They aren’t labeled, but like…you just know.”

He shuffles forward for someone to pass by him, and you back up to make room, your back pressing against the stranger behind you. They are a solid wall of heat, and before you can turn and apologize, the ringing shout of more people being welcomed draws your attention in the direction of the kitchen door. Your friend appears under the archway a second later, leading a train of people through the crowd and as everyone parts to make room, the person behind you reaches back, placing their hand on your hip. Their hold pushes you lightly towards the wall, out of the way.

Looking down, you see a man’s hand – thick fingers, a broad palm and when you turn around, you find the owner.

Jesus Christ.

He’s fucking gorgeous. Tilting your chin up to start with the dark mop of his curls, you hungrily take in the rest of his face: a strong nose, plush lips, jaw covered in scruff. Easily the most handsome person you’ve ever seen, you’re frozen in place, and his neat mustache twitches with amusement.

“Hey,” he greets you, turning to fully face you. “Sorry,” he gestures to your hip with a flick of his eyes. “Didn’t want you to get run over.”

Those eyes. Those fucking eyes. Beautiful and brown, rich and dark – with creases that fan out when he smiles. He waits you out, and you wonder if he’s used to your reaction, or if his silence means he’s just as enamored as you with what he sees.

You hope it’s the latter, though you’re sure it’s the former.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, and he grins, a dimple appearing in his cheek.

A fucking dimple? Are you kidding?

“Din,” he says, pointing towards himself with the neck of his beer bottle. When you give him your name, you don’t miss the way his eyes slip down the length of your body and crawl back up. So open and blatant with his expression, it’s almost as if he doesn’t think you can see it.

Or maybe he knows you can, but doesn’t care.

Giddiness pools in your chest, and he gestures for your glass.

“Can I get you another?” he asks over the noise of the party.

“Sure.”

You grin, and he mirrors it.

–

11pm

How can someone be this good at charades?

It’s uncanny, his ability to convey so much with gestures alone. You wonder if maybe it has something to do with his confidence, or the graceful, commanding movement of his body. It’s like you’ve been able to read his mind and he yours, the two of you synced up after forty minutes in each other’s presence. He says nothing, and still, you understand every time.

His face is so subtly expressive, that’s what you think makes it. Or maybe it’s his hands, – large, capable looking things that he seems so deft with.

They’ve been touching you since you met — a firm pressure on the small of your back to guide you through rooms, a circle around your wrist when you were almost separated. A curved hold on your hip when you signed him up for charades, a gentle brush of his fingers when he slipped the strap of your dress into place after a round.

He comes back from the bar, two water bottles in hand and his weight drops on the couch next to you, his thigh pressing tight against your own.

The cushion forces you to lean into the bulk of his body and turning your head to the side, you whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “We’re killing them.”

The divot below his ear holds the best scent – heady and masculine, warm in the best way – and he smiles, returning a whisper of his own.

“I know.”

His boyish grin is deceptive, hiding how competitive he’s been this entire game, a trait that you find yourself liking. Not boastful like most guys, but more like he brims with a quiet confidence. Like he’s just sure of himself, his commanding presence drawing you in.

The other team starts, their shouts fading into the background as his eyes drop down to your mouth. You wait with bated breath for the flirty line that most men would deliver at this moment – but none comes. Instead, he stays silent, letting his eyes do all the talking.

They roam over your features, blatant and bold in their quest. His smile falters, slipping into something with more intent and the warmth held in his eyes simmers to turn into something darker, hungrier. Your mouth waters in anticipation, your tongue gliding over your bottom lip, and you watch as he follows its path.

His hand rests on top of your knee, encompassing it within his warm hold. The touch sparks a line of want that zips up the inside of your thigh to the damp crotch of your undies, a beat pulsing between your legs. It curls behind your belly button, pooling between your hips – a sticky slick ache that makes you press your thighs together.

The corner of his lips tug upwards as if he knows.

A chorus of groans declares you winners and he squeezes your knee in victory, his eyes still on yours.

11:59pm

“FIVE! FOUR!”

The cheer of the guests counting down is deafening, and you wince at the sound even while shouting yourself. Din’s arm drapes around your shoulders, the weight of it keeping you tucked along his side as he protects you from being crushed.

“THREE! TWO!”

Lifting your drink into the air, you grin up at him when he does the same. Couples around the room turn to each other, and you tip your chin upwards, your cheek fitting into the crook of his shoulder. He looks down at you, his arm tightening in its hold and it’s like a magnet pulling your mouths towards each other, anticipation building to a breaking point.

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

The room explodes in cheers and shouts, and he leans down to meet your mouth with his.

It’s a firm, sure kiss; his lips softly molding to yours. You savor it, pushing up on your toes to prolong it and when you pull back, you notice micro-expressions flit over his face: his eyes brightening before darkening with want, his lips pursing like he’s already missing the press of yours. He bends to kiss you again, and when his lips part yours to deepen the kiss, sparks burst and skitter through your limbs like the fireworks exploding outside. You lean into it, throwing your arms around his neck, your fingers threading into the curls at his nape and the strength and surety of his hold lifts you upwards, your toes skimming the floor, the wood underneath pulsing with the party.

No one notices when you slip from the room, or when he takes a bottle of champagne from a table as you pass it. No one notices when you climb the stairs, or when you slip into the last door on the right. Lost in their own celebration, the tune of Auld Lang Syne follows you down the hallway, the joyous melody muffled when he shuts the door behind you.

“I thought maybe we could celebrate in here. Alone.” His voice is so much richer without the noise of the party competing against it, and the boldness of the statement makes you flush with heat.

He takes a swig of champagne straight from the bottle and hands it to you, smiling when you do the same. The bubbles dance and burst on your tongue, similar to the feeling in your stomach when he pulls you in for a kiss. The flavor of the champagne is on his tongue, his mouth moving with intent and the music in the other room shifts to a heavier bass beat when he guides you backwards, his smile felt against your mouth.

You hit the bed with a breathless laugh, the weight of his knee dipping the mattress when he crawls up over you and though you have felt the heat of him next to you all night, it’s nothing like how it feels when he settles his body on top of yours.

His mouth immediately meets yours and his hands are everywhere, grasping anything he can reach: sliding from his hold on your nape to caress the round of your bare shoulder. Slipping the strap of your dress down as his touch skates downward, palming the weight of your breast. You arch into his touch, your whine muffled by his hungry mouth and his hips rock forward into yours. Your thighs widen, your skirt falling up around your hips, and his hand continues its way south, curling around the plump curve of your hip with a squeeze. His thumb picks at the band of your panties, and you squirm, forcing contact between the heft hidden underneath his fly and the soaked, delicate fabric that covers your core.

He’s hard – so hard, so thick with promise – and his mouth finds the hollow of your throat, smearing over the line of your collarbone before moving down to the swell of your breasts. You tug the collar of your dress down, an action that makes him stop – but only for a moment.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, husky and low, the words of reverence rumbling from his chest. Then he’s surging forward, cupping the weight of your tit in his hand, his mouth closing around the peak. The shock of warm wetness and suction when he pushes more of it into his mouth has you moaning shamelessly underneath him, your back arching to encourage the dull scrape of his teeth over your nipple.

You push him back, your hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt, and he sits up on his knees, reaching back to tug it off. He tosses it onto the floor, immediately draping his body back over yours. Your dress and bra tugged down around your waist, the weight and warmth of his firm chest against yours is delicious and heady as he continues to kiss you drunk.

Just as sure and competent as he was in the other room, he wedges his hand between your bodies and finds your clit with the pads of his thick fingers, rubbing it until you soak the crotch of your underwear with need. He can feel it, the sodden fabric slipping under his touch and he breaks your kiss, bringing his hand up to his mouth. His lips wrap around his fingers, a deep, satisfied groan pouring from his throat while you watch from underneath him, your jaw slack with want.

Your intense need for him snaps, your pussy clenching as you watch him suck and you frantically fumble with his belt buckle, working it open. Your hand trembles as he helps you, his mouth capturing yours in another consuming, frantic kiss that has him eating at your mouth and when you pull him out together, your breathing hitches in your throat at the heft that smacks against your inner thigh.

You try to look down, his broad chest blocking the view and it’s almost better that you can’t see it. There is something about the anticipation of it, the touch without the sight. You feel his hand wrap around the base of his cock, working to notch it at your entrance and when he breaks you open on the thick tip, you hold your breath, savoring it.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your jaw clenching. Aching for it ever since you turned to face him in the kitchen, the filling weight of his cock is overwhelming, your body being forced to make room for it. The snug, slick fit has you whining underneath him, begging him for something he’s already giving you.

“You feel so good,” you moan, and he gives you a smug look in return. His expression is laced with pride, his eyes hooded with arousal, his hips pushing forward until he’s in all the way down to the base.

“So do you,” he breathes just over your mouth, and you pull him in for a kiss, needing his lips on yours.

Expecting a fast fuck squirreled away in a bedroom that belongs to someone else, what you don’t expect is how intense it feels. His cock is a relentless, filling stroke that claims, his mouth breaking contact only when he wants to watch: his dark eyes trailing over your open mouth, your bouncing tits, your pleading expression.

And then he’s back on you again, filling you deeper, harder.

Your fingers weave into his sweat damp curls, keeping him close. The muscles in his torso shift against your own, highlighting the hidden strength held in them. His thighs spread for purchase, forcing yours open wider and his hand grasps handfuls of your bottom and of your hip to keep you in place underneath him. Knowing you have to be somewhat quiet, you drink each other’s moans.

You hear another couple stumble down the hallway – a thud against the wall followed by a loud laugh. The door knob jiggles and his hand clamps over your mouth just as a throaty moan breaks free. You whine into the humid curl of his fingers, and when the people outside jiggle the doorknob again, Din picks up his pace.

He fucks you: the weighted press of his body paired with the weighted press of his hold has you forced to take it, and when the couple outside moves on with a loud laugh to find their own private bedroom, he slips his hand off your mouth, fisting the bedding next to your head instead.

“Sorry,” he pants. “Didn’t want them to hear you.” His mouth rests next to your ear, his scruff tickling the delicate skin of your neck. “Those sounds are mine,” he breathes.

The sweet sentiment paired with the filthy confession flings you over the edge of your release, your body curling around his as a means to ground you. You want it all: the sweaty press of his bare skin, the softness of his curls, the humid press of his mouth. He fucks you right through it, restraint etched into his jaw.

“I want you…,” you start, your voice syrupy and slow, still quaking with aftershocks. “I want you to come.”

“I’m going to,” he warns, his elbows resting on either side of your face, his hand curling around the crown of your head. His lips brush against the apple of your cheek, dot the tip of your nose and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck and breathes in, his hips never ceasing. “You’re so wet. You’re so fucking wet, I’m gonna come.”

His voice has your eyes closing tight, his breathless pants for air making you pulse around his cock. The sounds he’s making are filthy – the filthiest coming right as he does.

He pulls out, but just barely – his hips slam against yours a couple of times: deep strokes that have you keening on his cock and just as his body tenses up with a deep groan that rumbles his chest against yours, his hips snap back, slick smearing from his cock along the inside of your thigh as he spends himself along the soft skin. Bracing himself on your hip, he closes his eyes tight and you take in the way he looks above you: desperate, beautiful. Hot spurts of his release pool on your skin, on the fine hair that dusts your pussy, and on the sheets underneath you – which has you wondering, for the first time, who’s room this is.

His pulse thrums underneath his tanned skin, and you ignore that line of thought, instead tipping your chin up to capture the beat in a kiss.

You hear him smile, and feel his body relax on top of yours. He hums with contentment, and finds your mouth with his own, pulling you into a deep, sated kiss.

“Happy New Year,” he breathes into your mouth. There is a beat of silence, his face shifting to nuzzle between your breasts. He kisses whatever skin he can reach, as if he’s starved for touch.

Guiding his face to yours, you nip at his bottom lip, loving the way it makes him smile against your mouth.

“Happy New Year.”

#din djarin #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader

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chloe-skywalker · 10 months ago

Text

They Were There - Peter Hale

Peter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 635

Summary: Derek and Cora know about Y/n and Peter because they were there when he proposed. Everyone else in the pack? Surprise.

Masterlist

Teen Wolf Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Welcome to the family.” Derek smiled, hugging Y/n as she and Peter entered the loft having just got back from their honeymoon. Y/n and Derek had been friends since junior high but now she was his sister in law and Derek wasn’t disappointed. “Cora sends her congrats and welcome but she had to leave.”

“Its okay. I already talked to her.” Y/n smiled, waving it off, her and Cora had already talked a few days before. “Its great to finally be apart of the family.” Y/n groaned back at Peter along with Derek.

“Sorry I didn’t want to rush things.” Peter narrowed his eyes at the two.

“You have been in love with her since you were 14. I think you took your damn time.” Derek raised his brows looking at his uncle with an exaggerated look. Even if he was somewhat commatoused for a few years, his uncle still took his damn time.

“I’m just glad you did it to begin with.” Y/n let out a laugh, it was a long time coming.

“It's been a longtime coming.” Peter pulled Y/n, his wife, into his side and kissed her. He could be soft with her.

“There's a pack meeting tonight here at the loft.” Derek told them after their little moment, Y/n is good for his uncle. Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t kill him again to protect her, but she did make him a better person.

“I’ll be there.” Y/n told him.

“Will you?” Derek asked his uncle knowing how much he did not care for the pack.

“Since my wife will be there, yes. I gotta know what I’ll have to protect you from when their plans go wrong.” Peter stated sarcastically. Y/n and Derek just looked at eachother and rolled their eyes.

^ ^ ^

“Your back!” Scott said with a smile rushing over to hug Y/n once the pack entered the loft and saw she was there. They had all missed her.

“You’ve been gone so long.” Allsion said having missed her older friend. Y/n was older than the group of teens, she was the older sister figure of the pack.

“Where’d you go?” Stiles asked.

“Is that a ring on your finger?” Lydia points out having caught the shine of it catching the light.

“You got married?” Allison questioned in shock, having looked down to Y/n’s hand like everyone else after hearing Lydia.

“Yes.” Y/n nodded.

“Without us?” Scott gave her his sad puppy dog eyes.

“We plan on having a reception with all of you sometime in the near future.” Y/n smiled at them and she saw her words lesson their sadness.

“We? Who’s the dude?” Stiles raised a brow.

“Peter.”

“Peter as in Peter Hale?!” Scott’s eyes bulged out of his head.

“As in Derek’s uncle?” Allison was less shocked but more surprised.

“Yes, she's a Hale now.” Derek smirked proudly.

“I am.” She smiled.

“Peter Hale?” Stiles squinted his eyes, still not believing it.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Peter raised his eyebrows pretending to be innocent. He spoke up for the first time since the pack arrived from his spot on the couch.

“You're a psychopath for starters.” Stiles stated addressing the oldest Hale.

“He’s different with her. I’ll defend him on that. He has always been different when it comes to Y/n.” Derek spoke up.

Y/n walked over to Peter, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“That's because she’s different. She’s mine.” Peter growled the last part possessively.

“And you're mine.” Y/n smiled at him leaning over to kiss him.

“Oh he’s been yours since he laid eyes on you.” Derek teased and he got satisfaction when his uncle flashed his eyes at him but couldn’t deny his nephew's statement.

#y/n #x reader #imagine #imagines #x y/n #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #scott mccall #lydia martin #allison argent #derek hale #peter hale imagines #peter hale x reader #peter hale #cora hale #peter hale imagine #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagines

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stove-top96 · 4 days ago

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Wicked Game

Ch. 00

Y Batfam x GN Reader

featuring: platonic Tim Drake.

1.3k words

It’s been a hot minute. I broke my hand snowboarding, then had tests. The writing for this one is significantly better, I’m taking a creative writing class for extra credits and decided to try something new with how I formate my chapters. I’ll be posting a chapter to both my story and my concept soon. This idea has just been in my head and the story I have planned out is exciting.

Class Schedule

1st period: Art

2nd period: Maths

12:00 - 13:00: Lunch

3rd period: biology

4th period: English

3:50 Dismissal

4:00 - 6:00: Basketball practice

(Friday 5:00 -> Basketball game)

You twirl your pencil between your fingers, lazily watching as everyone else scribbles notes, following the math equation Mr. Snyder is rambling on about. It’s been ten minutes on the same question, and you’ve checked out about thirty minutes ago. Not that it’s Mr. Snyder’s fault—Gotham Prep has the best teachers. It’s just maths has never been your thing. It’s 2 weeks into the new semester and you're already falling behind. Probably not a great start.

You glance up at the clock—11:53. Ugh. Lunch can’t come soon enough. Mr. Snyder’s voice makes time drag on and on. You dash out of the classroom the moment the bell rings and head straight to Brandi’s locker.

“Girl, I’m literally gonna lose it. I can’t handle these people, they’re insane,” you spill out, frustration pouring from you. Rants like these have become more frequent.

“Tell me about it,” Brandi shoots back, her voice sharp with annoyance. “I’ve never met people so out of touch with reality. These pretentious assholes.” She grits her teeth. “How are they even real?”

You nod, walking together towards the cafeteria. Brandi continues her rant, but it’s nice—almost comforting—to know someone else feels the same way. She’s the only other Scholarship student in the grade—your only friend.

Lunch is its own endeavour. Students give weird looks as you two eat your packed food. The two of you learned very quickly that these kids were in a league of their own, and didn’t take too kindly to outsiders.

As you and Brandi talk mindless gossip, lunch flies by. biology’s next it’s your favourite. There’s nothing better than Mrs. Young’s lectures. She’s able to bring life to the lessons, and the material has a way of sticking.

Heading to class a little early you grab a seat near the back. It’s the only table without another person there. Mrs. Young tends to be late to class, so what better way to pass time than to scroll on your phone. Engrossed in TikTok a voice snaps you back into reality.

“Mind if I sit here”

Glancing up from your phone, you recognize the face almost instantly— you’d be stupid not to— Tim drake. Dark brown hair, bright blue eyes and a ‘pretty boy’ face. He’s practically the ‘it boy’ of the school, popular, friendly, and stupid rich. There’s still plenty of other open seats around the class. Probably beside people he’s better acquainted with. But he wants to sit with you? “Sure” you shrug, not like you were gonna talk to the guy.

The bell rings for the end of lunch, Mrs. Young still hasn’t shown up. The silence between you two is suffocating, even inside the room filled with mindless chatter.

“I’m Tim by the way” his introduction was meant to ease the awkwardness. He knew that you knew who he was. “y/n” you answer, praying the teacher will walk in, anything to get you out of this conversation.

”you’re on the basketball team right? You got in on an athletic scholarship?” He asked, ignoring the way you slump into your seat. “Yep” you mumble. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for students to recognize who’s on scholarship and who isn’t—especially athletes. But for him to know you're on the Basketball team 2 weeks into the school year— Kinda weird. But questioning him would mean talking to him, and you weren’t gonna engage.

Before the silence could get too awkward Mrs. Young walks in, and begins the lesson. The lymphatic system. It wasn’t your weakest subject but definitely not your strongest. Today is especially hard. Mrs. Young is unusually keen on racing through as much of the topic as possible.

You rush to write notes and keep up with the teacher but before you’ve even finished 1 sentence she’s erasing the board. Sighing in defeat, you slump back into your chair. Maybe if you just listen to the teacher you’ll be able to grasp most concepts? you’ll just scan through the textbook after practice.

Tim must’ve noticed your defeat, because a moment later he slides over his notebook. God, even his handwriting is perfect. Copying down the rest of his notes.

“thanks.” You mumble, he nods with a subtle smirk on his face.

The next 45 minutes follow the same pattern—you write down as much as, then copy the rest from Tim, and repeat.

It's only until Mrs. Young claps her hands together. The loud sound grabbed everybody’s attention “We finally get to start our first group project of the semester!” Her excitement is met with groans from the class. “because I don’t want you guys to get too comfortable I took the liberty of choosing your partners”. Your stomach drops. Not that you knew anyone here it was still obvious who would make a good partner and who wouldn’t.

As Mrs Young lists off names you don’t recognize “y/n l/n” your head perks up. “And Tim Drake”. Fuck. Your stomach twists. You really didn’t want to go with him. Sure, he’s nice enough to share his notes for sure but he’s still Tim Drake, it’d be much less drama to avoid him.

Tim didn’t even bother hiding his smirk. “The project must be a poster of any negative or positive feedback loop. Be sure to discuss details with your partners. I won’t be giving much class time, so plan accordingly”

The bell rang signaling the end of class, and you were quick to pack up and get out. The sooner you’re gone the better.

“So how do you want to do this?” Tim asked as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. “I don’t really care. you pick”

gym’s next, so you should leave as soon as you can. “Let’s work on it tomorrow after your basketball game. We can choose our topic together,” he answered.

Great, now you’re gonna have to spend your evening with the guy. “My game will probably take 2 hours,” you said. That should probably be enough to get him to back off.

“I’ll watch, I like basketball” you raise a brow. “I guess” you shrug.

The rest of the day blurred together— same mind numbing stories in English, same repetitive drills in practice. By the time it’s all over you’re already on the subway heading home. A wave of exhaustion falls over you.

Unlocking the Door to the empty apartment, you want nothing more than to crash into your bed and doom scroll for the rest of the night. Still you figure you should eat something and take a quick shower first.

Scanning the fridge and cupboards like expected there isn’t much. With a sigh you grabbed a box of cereal and poured a bowl before heading to the bathroom to shower.

The evening passed uneventfully. You weren’t expecting your mother to be back anytime soon, so it was just the quiet hum of the apartment.

A buzz from your phone snapped you back to reality.

Hey y/n it’s Tim Brandi gave me your number for the project.

You roll your eyes. Why would Brandi do that? It's totally unlike her. Tim must’ve been persistent. Hovering over the message you debated answering or not. After a beat you typed back.

<Y/N>

Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Short and simple, Tim probably won’t send another message. With a sigh you put your phone on silent, and roll over to finally get some sleep. Once you get through this project you’ll never have to talk to him again.

little did you know the project will be the least of your worries.

#batfam x reader #gn reader #platonic batfam #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere x reader #yandere dc x reader #yandere tim drake #yandere #platonic #x reader

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n0vazsq · 3 months ago

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Way of the heart | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x racing!engineer!reader

summary . . . After a tough race, Oscar has nothing to look forward to more than spending time with (Y/n)

request . . . kind of?

word count . . . 1.1k

warnings . . . none!

alexavia yaps . . . i really hate this one for some reason like its not the best i could do but i wanted to write something so yeah!! the person who wanted this (im sorry i forgot your user), if you want another story i will totally write it!! tysm for asking <3

Oscar slumped into the chair in the back of the team garage, still in his racing suit, the helmet beside him on the floor. Today’s race had been brutal, everything going wrong until he finally crossed the finish line in a place he didn’t even want to remember. No matter how much he tried to forget it, the disappointment still clung to him.

As the crew packed up around him, you walked over, carrying a bottle of water and a quiet look of understanding. You’d worked with Oscar long enough to know when he needed a moment to think and when he needed someone to remind him he wasn’t alone. Today, he needed the latter.

“Rough day,” you said softly, offering him the bottle. He accepted it with a quick nod, cracking it open but not taking a sip.

“Understatement of the year,” he muttered, letting out a short, frustrated sigh. “Everything went wrong, didn’t it? Every call, every turn… feels like I let everyone down out there.”

You didn’t rush to disagree or to tell him it was all fine because you knew Oscar didn't want you to. Instead, you waited a bit, giving him the space to breathe.

“You know, racing’s a lot like life. Sometimes it’s out of our control, even when we do everything right. We all saw you fight today,” you said gently. “One tough race doesn’t define who you are as a driver.”

He glanced up, the frustration in his eyes softening as he met your steady gaze. “Thanks,” he said, managing a faint smile. “Not sure what I’d do without you, honestly.”

You laughed lightly, leaning against the wall beside him. “Lucky for you, I’m sticking around, win or lose.”

His smile widened a little, and after a few moments of quiet, he stood up, finally letting go of some of the weight he’d carried off the track. “Hey,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I know it’s late, but do you want to grab some food? Just… need to be somewhere that’s not here.”

The restaurant he picked was cozy, tucked away from the noise and chaos that followed you on racing weekends. He knew you’d love it, remembering how you mentioned your love for Italian food

When you walked in, his heart skipped a beat. You wore a smile that was both warm and teasing, the one that always seemed to make everything feel a little less overwhelming.

He stood, smiling sheepishly. “Hey, you look… great,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. The nerves of the race had melted away, replaced by a different kind of nervousness that he couldn’t ignore.

You grinned, taking a seat across from him. “Thanks, Piastri. It’s nice to see you in a non-race setting for once. And I have to say, you look pretty good.”

He laughed, glancing down at his simple outfit. “I tried, y’know, for you.”

The waiter took your orders, and as the evening went on, you two spoke about anything and everything but racing. The conversation drifted easily from favorite movies to random childhood memories. You two talked about wild stories and embarassing moments, laughing at every single thing.

But Oscar’s mind kept wandering back to you. How you’d been there every step of his career, how you’d seen him at his worst and still chose to believe in him. At one point, as you were laughing at a joke he’d told, he couldn’t help but stare a little, his heart pounding in a way that felt completely different from the adrenaline of racing.

The laughter quietened down, and a comfortable silence fell between you both. Oscar looked down at his hands, trying to think of what he wanted to say. “You know,” he began, a little quieter now, “you mean a lot to me. More than just… my engineer or friend.”

You looked up, your expression softening, and he felt his courage swell just a bit. “I think I realized that today, after everything went bad on the track. Just seeing you there, not judging me, not telling me what I should’ve done differently, just… being there. It made all the difference.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’d be there no matter what, Oscar. You’re a brilliant driver and a good person. Bad race or not, that doesn’t change.”

His cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him. He turned his hand to hold yours, letting the silence speak for itself. And for a moment, all the disappointment and frustration faded, replaced by a quiet joy that he hadn’t expected to feel tonight.

Later, you walked together under the night sky, the cool breeze a welcome contrast to the warm evening inside. He found himself wishing the walk could last forever, just the two of you, away from the chaos of everything.

Eventually, you both settled on a bench with a view of a beautiful fountain. The sound of the water filled the quiet spaces between you, and he reached over, slipping his hand into yours again, holding it with a confidence he hadn’t felt earlier.

“This feels perfect,” you murmured, leaning against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I wish every night could be like this.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting against him. “It’d be easier if we weren’t always at a race or in different cities every other week.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, looking out at the fountain. “But I think… I think it’s worth it.”

You turned to him, your gaze meeting his with a warmth that made his heart race. He took a deep breath, the words he’d been holding back finally finding their way out.

“Do you… maybe want to meet my family? Make it official?” he asked, his voice a little uncertain but hopeful.

You raised your eyebrows, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Oscar, I think we’re already there. You didn’t have to ask. And of course, I'd love to meet your family.”

He chuckled, feeling a weight lift as his heart swelled with happiness. “Then consider this official.” He leaned in, taking your lips in a kiss.

The kiss made butterflies fill your stomach, it was soft, but also made you crave more. It was something magical, like straight out of a movie. Oscar had his hands on your waist, and yours tangled in his hair. It somehow made it more intimate, more personal. You didn't want it to end.

When you finally pulled back, the smile on your face was everything Oscar ever wanted to see.

Hand in hand, you walked back to the car, and for the first time that night, Oscar felt a sense of peace, knowing that no matter what happened on the track, he’d always have you there, his biggest supporter, his steady presence.

And with you by his side, he knew he could face anything that came his way.

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starry-bi-sky · 1 year ago

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Childhood Friends Danny and Jason

(cw underage smoking / smoking as a form of bonding) (cw Jason thinking Danny killed himself but its only for a moment) (cw depictions of murderous intent? Danny wants to murder the Joker and he's a little descriptive about it)

Now on ao3 :) (and with a response and a third one)

AND ALSO A REMASTERED VERSION THAT YOU SHOULD TOTALLY GO CHECK OUT BECAUSE I WORKED VERY HARD ON IT.

This is… aha. Massive. Word count check: 9k+

this has probably been done before but hey, everyone loves a good trope and I wanted to share my take on this idea. 👏👏 So, Danny Fenton and Jason Todd being childhood friends. The Fentons lived in Crime Alley for a good long while during Danny's childhood. Nobody wanted to fund their research and Jack and Maddie struggled to keep any form of work for a multitude of reasons. Jack worked in construction due to his big build and Maddie had another job elsewhere.

Danny and Jason were friends during that time, really great friends. I'm not super solid on how they met yet but I do know it involves Danny committing petty crime and Jason deciding to jump in and help when he sees Danny struggling. Danny was distrustful (as all crime alley kids ought to be) but they eventually became thick as thieves, committing petty crime together.

While it's all too easy to make Danny the weaker one of the two with Jason protecting him, I actually really like the idea that they protected each other. Growing up (essentially) on the streets means Danny forcibly had to grow a backbone unless he wanted to get trampled all over. He is just as willing to scuffle with the bigger kids as Jason is, and he and Jason regularly fought each other whenever they needed to let off steam, or just because. They were a duo, having each other's backs in tough situations.

(Sometimes the pair of them would sneak out at night and try and get a glimpse of Batman and Robin while they soared through the air. It was like a game between the two of them to see who could spot the dynamic duo first. When they were a little older, Jason would steal his dad's cigarettes and share them with Danny while they searched for Batman and Robin)

So when Danny has to move away when they're eleven years old, it's pretty safe to say that Jason didn't speak to him for a week afterwards. Nothing Danny did could persuade him to otherwise, even when Danny insisted that it wasn't his fault and that he didn't want to move away either, but he didn't have a choice in the matter.

When the week was over, Jason climbed through Danny's window and sat in his room, dead silent and looking upset. he didn't speak until Danny fished out a stolen pack of cigarettes from his bed and handed one to Jason.

(It was a ritual they had where if one of them was upset about something but wasn't saying anything, the other one could then hand them a cigarette -- whether it be the one they were using or a new one -- and that would be an open invitation for the person to vent. The other one who handed him the cigarette wouldn't speak until the venter handed back the cigarette. Then back and forth it would go until the cigarette was gone.)

Jason ranted about how pissed he was about Danny moving, and they promised to try and stay in touch after he leaves. Neither of them had phones, but Danny was determined to send him a letters.

Danny moves to Amity Park and it's... an adjustment, that's for sure. He's angry, grumpy, upset, and every other negative feeling under the sun. He was going to a new middle school with new people he didn't know, away from all of the people he did know and away from his best friend.

(He does however keep his word about sending letters, and mails one out to Jason at the first opportunity.)

He refuses to get along with anyone, butts heads with the teachers, is combative, rude, and openly smokes in class -- which gets him plenty of detentions and a bad reputation. He speaks in a thick Gotham street accent and wears hand-me-down clothes that are too big and baggy on him. (His parents have yet to replace any of their wardrobes as they settle into their new life, and Danny is hesitant to spend the money to get new clothes.)

He only manages to befriend Sam and Tucker because one of the football kids was bullying Tucker and Danny stepped in. It was some blond jerk named Dash and when Dash threw the first punch, Danny broke his nose. Tucker found him later that day and reluctantly thanked him for his help.

Sam and Danny do not get along for the longest time. Sam questions Danny about his upbringing, his accent, his smoking. She judges him for talking back to the teachers despite doing it herself and for ruining his lungs with cigarettes. Danny tells her to fuck off, and when she tries to judge him and Tucker for not being vegetarian, he calls her a privileged brat.

Sam doesn't even look at him for two weeks after, and Danny refuses to apologize. Tucker is caught between a rock and a hard place as his old friend and new friend are feuding with each other.

They... sort it out eventually.

Danny and Jason send each other letters near religiously. Danny complains about Amity Park, and Jason complains about how Crime Alley isn't the same without him. Danny talks about the school and what he's learned, about Sam and Tucker, and how he's been getting into the astronomy books in the library. He steals Jason a book and sends it to him.

When Jason tells Danny that he was adopted by Bruce Wayne, Danny calls bullshit. There's no fucking way Bruce Wayne would even look at Crime Alley, regardless of his charity efforts towards it. But when he checks Gotham news later that week, he's hit in the face with every single news article announcing Bruce Wayne's newest ward; Jason Todd.

Cue freaking out. Jason talks all about living in Wayne Manor and what it's like there. He says that there's a monster library in a part of the house that Bruce says he has free reign over, and that Jason can have anything to eat as long as he asks Alfred to make it and it isn't a desert, and that he has his own monster-sized room that he got to pick out himself and decorate.

(When they both get phones, the first thing either of them do is add each other's numbers.)

When Sam complains about having to go to a Wayne Gala that her parents are dragging her to one weekend, the first thing Danny asks is if he can go with. It surprises Sam and Tucker; Danny was the last person they would have thought wanted to go with. HE hates the rich even more than Sam does. Danny stands firm in his decision, and refuses to elaborate.

"Besides." He says to Sam, with whom he's begun to get along with via 'the enemy of my enemy is a friend'. "Would you rather go alone or with someone you can tolerate?"

She brings him with and convinces her parents to allow Danny to come along, citing that she'll be on her best behavior if they do. They agree, and buy Danny a suit when he says that he doesn't have one of his own.

(He discovers that he hates wearing suit jackets and ties, but vests he doesn't mind. He doesn't like that he has to comb his hair back, but he does to make Sam's parents happy. They give him a crash course in etiquette that Danny's going to forget the next day, and soon enough off they go in a private jet to Gotham)

(he does not tell Jason he's coming.)

he feels mischievous and nervous as they touch down, his stomach swirling as Sam's parents usher them to a high-profile hotel that Danny's only ever dreamed about going into. He feels largely out of place as they walk through the lobby, and falls back on old habits: square shoulders, set jaw, make yourself look like the biggest person in the room.

They get ready in the hotel room, Sam's parents primp and preen for the night incoming, and Sam is dragged into it by her mother. Danny does only what's required of him, and fiddles with the sleeves of his fresh-ironed button-down that's been tailored to his body. He's itching for a cigarette, and didn't bring any with.

Sam's dad helps him with his tie, a bout of kindness that Danny doesn't think is one. Just obligation to prevent Danny from looking like a mess. Sam pesters him again about wanting to come, and his reasons for it, and Danny keeps mum.

He's stone-faced with anxiety as they get closer to the gala, and before they leave the limousine the Mansons rented Sam links arms with him. A form of solidarity that Danny needs as he squeezes their arms together and smiles weakly at her.

The paparazzi are loud, bright, and demanding, shouting questions over questions at them like overlapping tidal waves. Danny ignores them all and focuses on the front doors instead. Sam's parents whisper at the stairs that they are to greet the Waynes first, and Danny's heart leaps to his throat.

His heart is in his ears as they drift closer, Mister Wayne is preoccupied with another rich couple, smiling that charming billionaire smile that Danny saw on every billboard in Gotham, and then some in Amity Park. Getting so close to him feels unreal.

And there by his side is the one and only Jason Todd, who isn't even trying to hide the bored look on his face as he watches Bruce interact with the other adults. He's gotten taller in the year they've been away, and healthier. His hair looks like its been cut professionally and he doesn't look as street kid skinny.

Danny's arm, hooked with Sam's, tightens up, and he resists the urge to rush forward and hug Jason. He watches Jason's eyes sweep left, away from him, and then right, towards him. The air stills for a moment as their eyes lock.

Danny grins toothily at him, lopsided and playful in nature, and sees the moment Jason processes the sight before him. His arm starts slipping out of Sam's at the same time as an ecstatic smile stretches across Jason's face.

His lopsided grin fills out on the other end. "DANNY!" Jason yells, cutting off whatever Bruce Wayne and startling everyone within earshot. There's barely a moment for Bruce to look down when Jason shoves past him and runs at Danny.

Danny yanks his arm out of Sam's, "JASON!" He yells with just as much enthusiasm, and Jason nearly topples them right over when he collides with Danny. His arms wrap around Danny's shoulders, holding onto him tightly, and they're both laughing, spinning around like tops out of joy.

"You didn't tell me you were coming!" Jason cries, sounding accusing. Danny hugs him just as tightly, and laughs when Jason pulls away momentarily to punch his shoulder.

"I wanted it to be a surprise!" He defends, laughing between words as their spinning comes to a stop. They're both reluctant to pull apart, but they do and clutch the sleeves of their elbows tightly. "How could my best friend be adopted by the Bruce Wayne and have me not come confirm it with my own two eyes?"

"I sent you newspaper clippings!" Jason says, narrowing his eyes while his smile betrays his face. Danny quietly notices that his Gotham street accent is faded slightly.

"Oh that's what it was?" Danny's grin turns again, edging into a smirk. He feigns innocence, "I thought that was fire kindling." He has the newspaper clippings hung on the corkboard in his room, proud beyond words about his best friend.

Jason punches him in the shoulder again, hard enough to leave a bruise. "You jackass." He says, ignoring Danny's laughter even when he's holding back his own.

There's a soft, sharp clearing of someone's throat, breaking their attentions away from each other to the one that made the noise.

Bruce Wayne was a tall man, taller than Danny expected, and he looks exactly like his billboards. If less promiscuous than his perfume ads. Danny expects him to be upset with them both for disrupting his pretty rich gala, but instead he just looks gently amused, with an arched eyebrow. Overall though, he just looks fond.

Danny would be the first to admit that Bruce had taken in Jason as a charity case, something to fill the void after his other kid Dick Grayson finally moved out. But Danny’s a good judge of character — or he likes to assume he is — and those are not the eyes of a man who would take Jason in as a charity case. Those are the eyes of a man who actually, genuinely, cares about one Jason Todd.

The wriggly protective thing settles in his chest.

He doesn’t let go of Jason, but he does twist his smile into something a little more polite. Mister Wayne’s eyebrow arches higher, and he turns his blue-blue eyes onto Jason. “Who’s this, Jason?” He has that fancy Gotham Elite accent -- something that sounds like a mix between old transatlantic and faintly British -- that Danny's only heard in passing when he and Jason snuck up to the nicer parts of Gotham.

Jason stares at Mister Wayne, his grip on Danny tightens as his eyes flick to the other onlookers in the room. “This is Danny, B.” He says once his eyes turn back to Mister Wayne. “We grew up in Crime Alley together, he moved to Illinois last year."

Danny can see the uncomfortable expressions cross every rich person's face, murmurs sweeping across the room as soon their uncomfortable gazes turned judgmental and flinty. He's kept track of the tabloids after Jason's adoption, the ones calling him a charity case and looking down on him for being a street kid.

He inches a little closer to Jason, straightening up instinctively, as if they were back in Crime Alley and facing a pack of kids that didn't like them. He can see Sam's surprised expression from the corner of his eye -- he never told Tucker or Sam about where he grew up, although he's sure they had their suspicions.

He looks back to Mister Wayne and meets his blue-blue eyes, his smile has slowly begun to fade. Mister Wayne doesn't miss a beat however, and his smile stays plastered to his face. If anything, it gets a little softer, a little wider. "It's nice to meet you Danny -- Daniel? I'm so glad that Jason has a friend here." He holds out a hand.

Danny eyes him unsurely, and then takes his hand. "It's jus' Danny, Mister Wayne." He says, some of his old accent slipping through as he shook his hand firmly. He would have done it harder, but this was Jason's new guardian, and from Jason's letters he didn't sound too bad. "It's, uh, nice to meet you too. Jason's told me lots about you."

Mister Wayne's brows jump momentarily, he looks intrigued. He looks between Danny and Jason, and claps his hands together softly. "Well, Jay, how would you like to stay with Danny for a while, hm? I'm sure you too have a lot to catch up on."

Hope simmers in Danny's heart, and he glances to Jason to see that same hope on his face. "Really?" He asks, and Mister Wayne nods with a laugh.

"Of course! How could I keep two friends apart? Go on ahead, chum. I'll come get you when the gala ends."

And just like that, Bruce Wayne leaves Jason with Danny, diving back into a conversation with one of the rich gothamites and taking the attention with it as if he were the sun and everyone else a planet orbiting him.

Danny and Jason share grins, and throw their arms around each other with laughter. Danny is on cloud nine, pressing his nose into Jason's shoulder and breathing him in, fingers digging into the back of his suit hard enough to leave wrinkles in his jacket.

Sam demands answers when they finally, for real this time, pull apart. Why didn't he tell her that he was friends with Jason Todd!? Danny slings his arm around Jason's shoulders and keeps him close, and tells her that it was because he wanted it to be a surprise.

Sam's parents have unreadable expressions on their faces, part greed -- Danny is their in to the elusive Bruce Wayne -- and part disdain -- a Gotham street rat. Danny ignores them, they're unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

He introduces Sam to Jason, and Jason to Sam. And off they go to a corner of the room near the buffet table where they can eat and shit talk everyone else in the room in peace.

At some point in the night Sam is called back to her parents to meet some other fancy rich kids her parents want her to get along with, and Danny and Jason go off to the west end balcony to avoid anyone who may try and approach the new Gotham ward.

Danny hops up onto the balcony railing, kicking his feet as Jason pulls a cigarette pack out of his inner jacket pocket, and grins. "Don't tell Bruce," he says, handing the box to Danny first. "He's been trying to get me to quit."

"Hah!" Danny takes one just as Jason slips out a lighter. "That sounds like Jazz. She's been trying to get me to stop since we moved to Amity." Granted, she's been trying ever since she found out before they moved, but now she was even more insistent. "She hasn't found my stash yet."

At the end of the night when the Mansons are leaving and Danny has to leave with them, he walks back to Mister Wayne with Jason to tell him that he's leaving. Mister Wayne mourns his going, and tells him that he's always able to come visit.

"Any friend of Jason's is always welcome to the manor." He says with a blinding grin, pulling Jason close to his side and squeezing him tight. Jason's nose scrunches up, but he doesn't push away.

It becomes a new routine for them. The Mansons are all too happy to bring him with to the Wayne Galas (of which they start receiving more invites to due to their connection with Danny) and Danny is all too happy to spend the evening with Jason again. No matter what, they always end up on the balcony at some point in the night.

And, eventually, Danny is invited to stay at Wayne Manor either for a weekend or for a break. He jumps at the chance when winter break rolls around and his parents start their debate over Santa Claus again.

Danny and Jason stay up late into the night talking or playing video games during their sleepovers, and in the warmer nights they climb out and onto the roof to stargaze. Danny points out constellations - - things he can find in neither Gotham or Amity -- and rambles on and on about space.

There are plenty of times during the Wayne Galas that the event gets attacked by a rogue. More often than he'd like he loses Jason in the crowd, and has later stopped Robin or Batman in his panic to find him.

The first time it happened, he was in tears with terror. He grabbed onto Batman's cape, stopping the man from going back in as he babbled that his Jason Todd was still inside, that he disappeared during the chaos and he couldn't find him. Batman took his hands and calmly told him that he'd find Jason for him, and that he was sure he was okay, but he needed to calm down.

He found Jason later once everything had calmed down, and he screamed at him for disappearing during a rogue attack, if he ever did it again he'll kill him. Then he cried.

The second time it happened, Danny didn't even realize that Jason was gone until everything was already over. They'd been separated before the attack happened. He stopped Robin and Batman before they could leave, trying to keep his breathing under control as he asked again, if they had seen Jason Todd.

"That- that asshole keeps fucking ditching me when these things happen." His voice has an embarrassing wobble in it. "Please-- please tell me you've seen him, that he's alright."

Robin this time steps up to reassure him, that Jason Todd was out of the building. He got him out. "He's probably looking for you too, uhhh..."

"Danny" Danny says, and eyes him up and down. "You're the new Robin right?"

Robin stilled up, and Danny could understand it a little. He'd seen the thoughts on the new Robin online. He wasn't very popular at first. Robin nods curtly, and Batman was shuffled a little closer to him, almost protectively.

Danny grins at him. "Cool." He says, "Me and Jay used to sneak out onto the rooftops sometimes to try and spot Batman and the first Robin, we made it a game." He holds out a fistbump, "Thanks for doing what you do, man. I might not live in Gotham anymore, but I mean it. You're a living legend."

Robin looks like there's something stuck in his throat, and after a beat he returns the fistbump tentatively. "Th- uh, thanks." He stumbles out awkwardly, and then turns away, "Me and B- uh, better go."

Before Danny could even respond, Robin already had his grapple in hand and was grappling away. "You too, Batman." Danny says before Batman can follow.

When Danny sees Jason after that, and weight lifts off his chest and he hits him in the arm again. And then complains that he should have gotten Batman and Robin's autograph, it would have been epic.

By the fifth time it happens, Danny is cussing up a storm when Robin saves him, cursing out Jason and claiming that he needs to put that boy on a fucking leash. "We're a duo!" He scowls when Robin gets him outside, "I got his back, he has mine! I can't have his back when he's got no back to fucking have."

The eighth time it happens, Danny gets held hostage by one of the henchmen. He's become a recognizable friend of the Waynes, and when the Waynes are nowhere to be found, then the next best thing was up to offer. Danny isn't even mad this time around -- just relieved that Jason was fucking off somewhere where he couldn't get hurt.

Robin, however, seemed furious when he arrived, and broke the hostager's jaw with a single flying kick to the face. Jason found him rapidly quick soon after the situation had settled, and apologized over and over again.

Danny slings an arm around his shoulder and laughs that it was fine, Robin saved the day! His legs were shaking with the worn off adrenaline, something he tried to hide from Jason. "I'm just glad it was me instead of you, Jay." He grins. Jason looks like he swallowed a toad.

Jason stops disappearing as often after that, sticking close to Danny's side until the attack was over.

When Danny is fourteen, Jason dies, and his world unravels.

He calls the manor on a late night in April after Jason had stopped responding to his texts. Danny knew that Jason was just recently in a fight with Bruce, but he knows that Bruce loves Jason. He would know where he is, right?

When he calls, Bruce answers with a hoarse "hello?" as if he'd been crying all day, and Danny's blood turns to ice. The anxiety he'd been feeling beforehand doubles in size, and he feels himself stammering.

"Mister- uh- Mister Wayne? Um, I'm calling because Jason--" he hears Bruce inhale sharply on the other line, and his anxiety skyrockets into fear. "--hasn't been answering any of my texts and- and I'm gettin' real worried."

There's silence on the other end, and Danny feels a rock forming in his throat, gross and heavy like he was on the verge of throwing up. "Mister- Bruce? Mister B?"

There's a shaky breath, and then Bruce's voice crackles through the phone. "Um-- Jason, he, he's--" there's a sound like rustling, "he's been killed."

Danny's vision whites out with skyrocketing terror, his mind skidding to a stop. His body rapidly grows hot, and then chills, like a blacksmith striking a heated weapon. "What?"

When the phone call ends, Danny screams himself hoarse. Jazz and his parents come running into his room, his parents equipped with ghost weapons. Instead, they find Danny curled up in his bed, sobbing hoarsely.

Danny almost -- almost -- refuses to attend the funeral, nearly paralyzed with grief. Jazz coaxes him to go, to find closure if anything else, and he drags himself out of bed to go.

He feels numb the entire time. It's closed casket, so he can't even see him for one last time before Jason is buried in the ground. He's silent, and if he think he looks bad, then Bruce looks even worse, like he hadn't slept since Jason died and worse.

Danny grabs his sleeve before he leaves, and when Bruce turns to him with a dull look in his once vibrant eyes, he clings to him tightly. And cries. Bruce clings back just as tight, Danny feels tears drip into his hair.

"Who did it." Danny whispers, voice too hurt to speak any louder, when he pulls back. His fingers curl around Bruce's jacket tightly, desperately. His eyes hurt with tears. "You said he was murdered, B. Please, who did it."

Bruce looks down at him, and for the first time it really does feel like he's looking down at him. His face is blank, and his eyes close in grief. There is no answer, a silent no.

Danny's face twists up all ugly like, and he shakes Bruce's jacket. "Bruce, please. Tell me who did it."

Bruce refuses, his face full of grief.

Danny never returns to Gotham.

Prior to Jason's death and post their reunion, Danny had slowly begun to improve in school. He started caring more, he was putting in more effort, he was doing his homework and was actually enjoying class. There was the bullying from Dash and the A-Listers, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, he was ignoring them for the most part.

Come Monday after the funeral, and Danny breaks Dash's nose when he starts up with his shit. He withdrew into himself, and it was like he was back to square one again, except this time it was much worse.

Everyone knew Danny was close friends with Jason Todd. So when news of his death finally reached the ears of Amity Park, the students of Casper High School kept their distance.

That following Friday, Danny dies in the portal and comes back. A month later he becomes Phantom, the ghost-fighting ghost. the ghost Phantom wears his hazmat suit partially undone, showing a tanktop he didn't wear in death under the initial suit while the sleeves are tied around his waist. Vicious, glowing lichtenburg scars travel up his arm and neck and torso, covering half of his face while a pair of scientist-like goggles covers his eyes. He's bitter and angry, showing off his death.

Look at me, Phantom's form says, I am a dead child. Look at me look at me look at me. Mourn me. I am a dead child. LOOK AT ME. MOURN ME.

A few weeks later he enters the ghost zone and realizes that he could find Jason. And he spends a weekend scouring the ghost zone for him. He finds Gotham in the zone, and rather than finding Jason, he finds Robin.

Danny didn't know he'd died. And he flies towards him, asks him if he's seen Jason, reveals that it's him, Danny Fenton. Robin stares at him, mouth agape, and peels off his mask to reveal Jason Todd.

They both cry, and when Danny tells him how he died, Jason looks pale in the face. "You didn't- you didn't kill yourself because of me, did you?"

Danny fervently denies it. No, no. He didn't, he didn't. It was an accident. Totally unrelated. But enough about that, what the hell happened? Bruce wouldn't tell him anything at the funeral.

Jason clams up, his ghostly face losing its color, and Danny curses himself. He tells Jason that he doesn't have to tell him, he doesn't have to say anything. They sit in silence.

"It was the Joker." Jason says.

That's all Danny needs to know. He nods quietly. 'I'll kill him.' He thinks to himself, a stubborn set in his jaw. "Okay."

It had always been a plan; a thought wriggling in the back of Danny's mind ever since Bruce told him that Jason had been killed.

Not died. Killed.

Danny wanted the fucker dead the moment he realized it. He just needed to know who did it. He thinks Bruce knew it too, could probably see it in his eyes the moment Danny asked him who did it. He isn't sure if he should hate Bruce more for keeping it from him now.

They spend hours together, just soaking in each other's presence. Danny tries to take him through the ghost portal, to bring him back to the land of the living. But much like Kitty, Jason's form is tied to the zone. Danny promises to visit every day.

And he does. Or he tries to. The grief doesn't go away, but with the comfort of knowing that Jason was on the other side, Danny feels a little better. He tells Jason about being Phantom, and Jason helps train him. It feels like they're kids again and are fighting just because they want to. Its a bout of familiarity in a place that feels unfamiliar. All they need are cigarettes.

And then six months later he loses him again. Danny scours the ghost zone for him for the second time, and this time he doesn't find him.

His haunt is still in the zone though. He didn't move on. He's still here, somewhere.

Danny is convinced that Jason was in the Elsewhereness, and looks for him in between ghost fights and his social life. He visits Jason's haunt every day, knowing that Jason should be able to feel when another ghost enters his home. He does not show up.

(He never thinks that Jason came back to life, and Jason doesn't remember his time in the ghost zone)

When Danny is nineteen, Vlad Masters blackmails him into going to another Wayne Gala. Begrudgingly, Danny goes. He's taller than he used to be, having inherited his dad's monstrous height and his mom's leanness. He has piercings, some of them he got after a lost bet from Sam and Tucker, and he's given himself an undercut.

He still prefers vests over suit jackets, and he still smokes. A little less than before, he sneaks a pack into his pocket before he leaves, along with a lighter. Vlad gives him a dirty look the whole time - he knows.

"Don't give me that look." "That stuff kills, you know" "I'm already dead."

It's like deja vu when he arrives; an awful bout of deja vu, that is. The paparazzi is still as bright and loud and annoying as it always was, and they don't recognize him at all. Something he thinks of as a soft mercy up until one of the reporters asks Vlad who he is.

Vlad smiles and tugs Danny into the camera frame, "Why, this is my godson!" He crows, and shoots Danny a look that is downright smug I'm sure many of you may know him as Daniel Fenton?"

If looks could kill, Vlad would be ash. Danny isn't quite sure why he still agreed to this -- blackmail or no. He felt itchy being in Gotham; jumpy. He's never forgotten his vow to kill the Joker, in fact it was something he still desperately wants.

But the threat of Rath, the name he chose for his evil future self, haunts him just as much as his murderous intent. If he kills the Joker, would he stop?

Danny's almost afraid of what he'll do if he ever lays eyes on the Joker in person. He doesn't think he'll be able to stop himself from wrapping his hands around that stupid clown's neck and watching the light leave his eyes.

He pushes the thoughts to the side, and smiles lopsidedly as cameras and microphones flood his face, reporters yelling over themselves as they clamor to get a shot of the old Wayne family friend.

Danny turns and walks inside without answering a single question, flexing his fingers in and out of fists. Vlad gracefully hurries after him, and Danny can hear his glare burning into his back.

"You told me to come," Danny hisses to him once he's beside him, meeting Vlad's gaze piercingly, "not that I should play nice."

"Don't embarrass me, Daniel." Vlad hisses back, trying to look the upmost calm as eyes turn onto them. "I'll make you regret it."

"You embarrass yourself, fruitloop." Danny shoots back, walking away before Vlad could get a retort in. He sees Bruce Wayne on the other side of the room.

His heart seizes with nostalgia. He hasn't seen Bruce since Jason's funeral, hasn't spoken to him either. He doesn't know how to feel about him, but he'd been keeping tabs on Bruce both as himself and as Batman.

Danny's feet carry him forwards before he can think about it, silently weaving between the throng of rich people vying for his attention. It's only when he gets closer does he see the little shadow clinging to his side: Damian Wayne.

The newest little bird, Danny realizes, and stifles a smile at the surly expression on Damian's face as two older women coo over him. He reminded him of Sam, who had long since stopped coming to these things the moment she was able to.

The feeling of eyes on him turns Danny's attention away from Damian, and instead finds them back on Bruce's, who stares at him with a little furrow between his brows. As if he recognized him, but he wasn't sure from there.

Danny grins crookedly the moment he's within earshot. "Mister B!" He exclaims, slipping into what remained of his Gotham street accent. Recognition flashed in Bruce's eyes, and the man smiled widely. "Long time no see, old man."

"Danny," Bruce says, his name breathing out like relief. He slips between the crowd surrounding him -- who are now watching Danny -- and pulls Danny into a close hug. "It's good to see you again."

Danny hesitates for a moment -- he wasn't expecting Bruce to hug him -- and returns the gesture. "It's good to see you too, Bruce." He admits. Bruce was still using the same cologne that he did when Danny was a kid. He blinks heavily.

He pulls away quickly, clapping Bruce lightly on the shoulder as Damian quickly latches onto his father's side again. Damian glares daggers at him, fingers digging into Bruce's pantlegs like a possessive little kid.

He made Danny's ghost sense tingle in the back of his throat, creeping up slowly like a spider before stopping suddenly before it reached his mouth. It hummed, and then disappeared.

Danny smothered a frown. Since when did Batman work with ectoplasm? “This must be Damian." He says to Bruce, and holds out a hand to Damian -- he doesn't crouch, he had a feeling that Damian would be less than appreciative if he did that. "You've really expanded the nest since the last time I saw you."

Damian's eyes narrow at him. Bruce laughs lightly, "Ah yes, Tim is around here somewhere. I'm sure you'll see him soon."

"Father," Damian says, his voice layered with an accent. He glares up at Danny with piercing green eyes. "How do you know this man?" He sounds distrustful, Danny respects that and drops his hand.

"This is Danny Fenton." Bruce says, and Danny lets him introduce him. "He was Jason's friend."

An expression similar to bewilderment flashes briefly over Damian's face, and he eyes Danny in disbelief. "Todd had friends?"

Oh. So that's how he wanted to be. Bruce had a little elitist on his hands. Danny's smile drops like a deadweight, and any lingering endearment he had hardens like ice in his chest, fury slowly taking its place like a flickering candlelight. "It's not polite to speak ill of the dead, Mister Wayne." He says coldly, his voice made of chips of ice.

Damian blinks, the disbelief disappearing from his face. The closest thing to a recoil Danny thinks he's going to get. He doesn't care. No one speaks about his best friend that way.

"I grew up with Jason, actually." He continues, breathing in slow and deep, trying to keep the ghostly possessive-protective-rage under control. "I was his best friend."

He turns, almost robotically, towards Bruce, and tries not to look so angry. "I'm going to go find Tim, Mister B." He says, and tries to offer up a weak smile for the man. It comes out as a grimace instead.

"And..." he pauses, flicks his eyes towards Damian, and then looks at Bruce. "I'll... try and keep in contact, B. Tell Dick I said hi, alright? I'll see you in a little bit."

Bruce nods, looking vaguely disappointed and sighing slow through his nose. Danny walks away as Bruce turns to address his youngest, and doesn't bother listening in on what he has to say.

He does, eventually, find Tim Drake. He spots him in a crowd instantly - it's hard not to, and he makes his way over to him. He's not sure Tim Drake would recognize him, Bruce didn't at first and Danny had been around him constantly.

Except Tim Drake does recognize him, much to Danny's surprise. They lock eyes and Tim immediately makes his way over to him. "Danny Fenton!" He says and stops in front of him, "What a surprise, we weren't expecting you tonight."

"Tim Drake," Danny replies, smiling a little as his earlier hurt begins to fade away. "I'm surprised you know me."

"There are pictures of you in the manor with Jason." Tim explains, stuffing his hands into his pockets with an easy-going smile. "It's hard not to know you."

"It’s hard not to know you too,” Danny retorts, a sly smile slowly spreading across his face. “Although you’re a lot taller than you used to be, when you were lurking around Bruce and Jason and I.”

Ohhh Danny recognizes him alright. One part due to all the news articles and tabloids on him after he was adopted by Bruce, and the other part because he remembers the little shadow lurking near plants pots and table legs that used to follow him and Jason around at galas just like these.

Knowing that Jason was Robin, he wonders if Jason knew he was there too.

The effect is immediate: Tim’s eyes grow comically large, and a red tint glows at the tip of his ears as he shrinks back like a turtle trying to hide into its shell. “You— you noticed that!?” He hisses.

“I did!” Danny grins, large and wide, stifling a laugh as the red tint spreads over Tim’s cheeks and nose. He looks mortified. Danny coos. “Aww, I thought it was adorable that Jason had a little shadow. I’m sure he would have loved you if you had just come over and said hi. He had a big soft spot for kids.”

Tim snorts and it— it almost sounds derisive? “Sure he would.” He looks sad, and the mirth in Danny’s chest shrivels up like a flower without light. The smile fades from his face, and all that’s left is a strange, staunch reminder that Danny and Bruce weren’t the only ones that probably mourned.

He touches Tim’s shoulder lightly, “Hey, I’m sorry.” He says, trying to look as apologetic as he feels. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m sorry, I miss him too.” Like a fucking limb he missed him.

There’s something that flickers in Tim’s eyes, passing through too fast for Danny to realize what it is. He assumes its gratefulness, because Tim relaxes a little and offers him a weak little smile. “I wish I had talked to him.”

Danny sees an out and takes it, he forces out a short laugh, grinning widely. “I can tell you all about him if you’d like,” he offers, “I told Mister B I’d keep in touch anyways. I’ve missed him and Alfred quite a lot in the last few years.”

“Not Dick?”

“That dipstick wasn’t around often enough for me to form any sort of emotional attachment to him.” Danny says in a half-complaining tone, placing his hands on his hips. “Although I did like his puns.”

Tim snickers, “I’ll tell him you said that then. Nobody likes his puns.”

“Go on ahead,” Danny grins, laughter swirling in his chest and making his core thrum with warmth. Damn, he’s missed this family. “I stand by my decision. Puns are funny.”

“Let’s get a photo then.” Tim says with a hand already fishing in his pocket for his phone. “He’ll be devastated to know that you were here and he didn’t get to see you.”

“Sure.” And Danny sidles on next to Tim, throwing an arm around his shoulders — and making a noise of surprise when his arm was able to fit comfortably — as if he was just resting it on a counter.

He totally forgot how tall he was compared to Tim. Forgot that he’d been looking down the entire time they’d been talking. “Why’d I get my dad’s height.” He complains, and bends his knees as Tim raises the phone with the front-facing camera on.

Tim snickers under his breath, and takes the picture while they’re both smiling wide. Danny immediately stands up, and peers over Tim’s shoulders to look at the picture.

It’s a good one, with the fringe of Danny’s curls falling slightly over his left eye and making the dimple on his right cheek more prominent. He could see the barely-there smattering of freckles he had across his nose, the ones that became more prominent when the sun was out. His smile was lopsided, Danny’s favorite kind of smile.

He whistles lowly, “That’s a good one,” he says aloud, and smiles impishly at Tim when he looks at him. “You should send that one, I look hot in it.”

Tim snorts, his ears reddening as he looks down at his phone. “Yeah sure, no problem.” He says quickly, and Danny looks away when he pulls up the messenger app. He’s never felt comfortable looking over people’s shoulders when they were on their phone.

“I’m gonna go take a smoke break.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and curls his fingers around the box and lighter inside. “I’ll—“

“Be on the west-end balcony.” Tim finishes, the red in his ears darkening as he glances up from his phone to smile embarrassedly. “I know.”

Danny snorts, “Okay.” His voice is thick with amusement. “Let me know how Dipstick reacts, alright?” He backs up slowly, awaiting Tim’s response. Tim merely waves a hand at him, a weak gesture of “yeah yeah” that makes Danny grin before he flips around and marches towards his favorite smoking balcony.

———————

(Tim pulls up the family group chat and loads the selfie into the text bar. His face feels warm with embarrassment even as his thumbs fly across the screen.

Tim: look who i found at the latest charity gala :) [image]

Hee awaits eagerly a response, and finds he doesn’t have to wait long. Dick’s thought bubble appears on screen, then Cass’s — of which it only exists for a moment before disappearing.

Dick: holy shit, is that who i think it is?

Tim responds quickly, and his message sends.

Tim: yep. He wanted me to tell you that he thinks your jokes are funny.

Dick: they are funny

Tim rolls his eyes and thinks for a moment, really thinks. He weighs his pros and cons. And then his fingers fly across the screen again.

Tim: hey Jason are you not gonna say anything?

There’s no response for all of thirty seconds — of which it stretches on to an uncomfortably long minute — and then Jason’s thought bubble appears.

Jason: what do i have to say to a bunch of idiots blowing up my phone in the middle of patrol?

Tim: harsh. do you recognize the guy in the photo?

Jason’s response is instant. Too fast for him to have actually looked at the photo itself. He’s just trying to spite Tim then. Tim doesn’t care, he has the upper hand here

Jason: no and I don’t care, i have patrol

Tim knows he didn’t look at the photo, and yet he can’t help stifle a shit-eating smile and feign innocence

Tim: really? You and Danny used to be so close, color me surprised

His teeth dig into his lower lip, he doesn’t need to in order to hide a smile. But it gives him something to do. Jason is worryingly silent for a long, long time, and Tim can almost imagine him staring long and hard at the selfie. Tim knows he will be later.

Finally, Jason’s text bubble shows up. It exists for a long time, before finally Tim’s phone buzzes with his message alert.

Jason: that’s danny?

Tim feels all too gleeful. Smugness swirling in his chest like kicked up sand as he types his response: yep! Apparently he showed up today, although I’m not sure with who since I don’t see Miss Manson around here.

Damian: Father says to get off your phone, Drake. We are at a Gala and your behavior is most unbecoming

Tim: can it demon spawn, I was just telling Jason that his friend Danny is here

Damian: He can’t be too important if he doesn’t even know Todd is alive

Tim: how would you know that?

Damian: When Father introduced him as Todd’s friend, I expressed my surprise that Todd even had friends, considering how unpleasant he can be. Fenton became quite cross with me after that and quickly excused himself thereafter

Dick: you said what!? Damian that’s not okay

Damian: Father made that quite clear after Fenton left in a huff. My mistake for thinking that Todd had told his ‘supposed best friend’ that he was alive.

Dick: he didn’t even tell us we were alive at first

Damian: He did eventually, didn’t he? Clearly Todd doesn’t seem to care too much about Fenton if he hasn’t even informed him of his being alive at this point.

Jason’s thought bubble quickly pops up, and then dissipates, then pops up again. Tim quickly pockets his phone before he can see Jason’s response. He doesn’t feel smug anymore, just uncomfortable.)

———————

Stepping out onto the west-end balcony feels like a blast from the past. A painful one at that. Danny’s fingers dig into his cigarette pack, and he pulls it out with a sense of bittersweet familiarity.

It feels like a lifetime ago that he once stood here with Jason. The package clunks dully as his fingers scrape against the side, and he fishes a cigarette out of the box before stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Quite the night isn’t it.” He says to nothing, to ghosts of the past, to himself. He turns and sits on the railing, sticking his legs out like a tripping hazard while Gotham’s hot city wind blows through the air.

He looks up and only sees the ugly pollution yellow sky looking down at him. It’s an unfamiliar feeling to him. He loves the stars and yet when faced with a smog that covers it, he feels more at home.

Danny’s fingers find the lighter, and with a few clicks a small open flame appears in existence. There’s a poem here, he can feel it. But he feels too tired to find it.

The cigarette lights, and the lighter dies in response. Returning back to his coffin-like pocket until he needs to use it again. He pulls a leg up, resting his chin on his knee with a heavy, tired sigh.

He soaks in the sounds around him. The ugly city warmth nips at his jaw. The music inside is muffled by the force of two glass doors and walls on all four sides, and Danny can hear late night traffic coming by on the road nearby. It’s a special kind of ambience you can only find on the west end balcony.

Half a decade ago, Danny had played a part with that ambience with Jason. Now it was just him, and Jason was nowhere to be found. It left a hopeless kind of feeling in his chest. An all-suffocating kind of fear that filled him head to toe with an intensity only ghosts could have.

His body winds up like a spring, and Danny holds his breath. When he exhales two minutes later, the spring stutters and jolts, and his body relaxes with a tremble.

He misses Jason. He misses Jason.

Ghosts are emotional creatures. They feel it from their crown to their soles. And emotional wounds never really heal. They scab over and fester, waiting to be picked at again and again so it can bleed as fresh as it did when it first opened.

Danny’s grief is never going to go away, he thinks. It’s clung to him like a parasite; shaped him and molded him. The wound was too close to him when he died, and now it will stay with him forever.

He opens his eyes when his ghost sense tingles, a heavy feeling in his throat that is neither nicotine nor grief. It’s just like Damian’s, but stronger. Potent. Older. It reaches the top of Danny’s throat and sits at the base of his tongue, like a hand about to suffocate him.

He looks up, cigarette hanging off his lips, and the Red Hood drops down beside him. He stands in the same spot Jason once did, and that alone makes the ghostly core in Danny seize possessively.

Don’t you dare stand where he stood, it hisses, coiling around his lungs like smog. Danny grits his teeth and feels his ghost sense evaporate. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, and nicotine smoke pours out like a cheap version of his ghost sense.

“Red Hood.” He says plainly, his free hand coiling and uncoiling like cat’s claws against the railing. “A surprise to see you here.”

Danny knows through process of elimination who most of the Gotham vigilantes are: Dick is Nightwing, Bruce is Batman, Tim is Red Robin, Damian is Robin, and Cass is Orphan. There are a few who he doesn’t know, however. Like Batgirl and Red Hood.

It’s fine, he doesn’t need to know. Danny of all people understands the importance of a secret identity.

Red Hood doesn’t say anything, just stares at him as if he’s a deer in headlights. His body all tensed up like he isn’t sure what to do now that he’s here in front of Danny. Like he wasn’t expecting Danny to be here at all.

Danny’s brows furrow. “Sorry, am I in your spot?” He asks, and begins to push off the railing. “I didn’t think vigilantes used the Wayne Hall west-end balcony, I can leave if you want.”

He’s already begun to move towards the door.

The Red Hood lurches in his spot, “No!” He yells, and Danny stops in place with raising eyebrows. Red Hood’s fingers cringe, and he straightens up.

He’s shorter than Danny, he notes. Which isn’t much of revelation. Everyone is shorter than Danny.

“No,” Red Hood repeats, sounding sturdier than before, “No. You’re fine. I’m just stopping here for a quick rest before resuming patrol.”

…Danny doesn’t question it. It’s none of his business about other vigilantes and their practices. He shrugs and breathes out more smoke, “Alright.” He says, and walks back over to the railing to sit on it. “I’m Danny, by the way.”

The Red Hood nods, and a silence falls over them. Danny doesn’t care enough to make it feel uncomfortable, but the Red Hood seems unsettled by something. Lost in thought. He leans his back against the railing similar to Danny, and then switches a few seconds later to a new pose.

He does it again, and again, and again. Until finally he flips over and leans his stomach against the railing, arms resting against it. It is starkly like what Jason used to do, and Danny stares at him long and hard.

He frowns. And says nothing.

When Danny’s cigarette is nothing more than a butt of nicotine, he crushes it in his hand and watches the ash flutter down to the ground. The heat stings his hand, but its nothing his ghostly healing can’t fix.

The Red Hood is already holding out another one when Danny’s hand drifts to his pocket for the box.

Danny stares at him, sudden wariness opening up like floodgates that sit at the bottom of his stomach.

His frown deepens, his eyes flicker up and down at Red Hood. His hands hover over his pocket. “I have my own.” He says, and watches subtly as the Red Hood hides a wilt. As if he’d been expecting Danny to take it.

“Alright.” The Red Hood says, trying to sound unbothered. He retracts the cigarette away from Danny, quiet all the way. He’s looking away.

Danny plucks the cigarette out of his hand, startling the Hood enough that Red snaps back to look at him. Danny yanks his lighter from his pocket. “I won’t say no to a free cigarette.” He says, slightly muffled with the stick between his teeth. It lights.

Silence falls over them again, and when one minute stretches into five, whatever hope that had been digging into the shoulders of Red Hood finally pulls away and leaves him slumping subtly.

‘A ciggie for your thoughts?’ Nine year old Jason Todd whispers one night with an impish grin, holding up a cigarette pinched between his two fingers. ‘I stole it from my old man. He won’t even notice its gone.’

Danny is halfway through it when he speaks. “The Joker killed my best friend.” He says, and watches from the corner of his eye as the Red Hood flinches. Is he startled by Danny speaking, or startled by the bluntness of him starting?

“He beat him to death.” Danny continues, staring stone-faced away from Red Hood. His grief claws up his lungs and burrows into his heart again. His fingers dig into the railing. “He beat my best friend to death.”

The Red Hood is silent, his body as still as the grave. Silence stretches out between them both, and like he’d been thinking, the Hood finally speaks: “How do you know?”

He’s not holding the cigarette, he broke his and Jason’s rule. Danny bounces the stick between his fingers. “His ghost told me.” He says, taking a trembling breath. “His ghost told me so, before he disappeared.”

The Red Hood says nothing, and Danny gathers his thoughts. The ones that had been buried deep next to his core, shoved down ever since Danny learned of Rath and a terrible future where a world is destroyed by one ghost’s hands.

Danny has never said it out loud before. His face scrunches up briefly, and then smooths out when his eyes squeeze shut. “I’m going to kill him, Red Hood.” He murmurs when he opens his eyes, turning his face toward the vigilante. The sound is sucked out of the air.

The Red Hood stares at him, but he doesn’t say a word. Danny pushes on, teeth grinding into teeth as he flips his silvery scarred hand back and forth. Palm up, palm down. “It’s why I haven’t been back to Gotham in a while.” He admits, voice still quiet. “If I see the Joker I will kill him, and I won’t feel bad for it.”

“Not today though,” he says, and closes his hand, “today I’m here on a favor to Vlad Masters. Then after this I’ll go visit my friend. I need to apologize for not seeing his grave in a while. I’ll have to stop by a florist to see if they have any zinnias. Jay likes those.”

He takes out the cigarette in his mouth and breathes out one last cloud of smoke. And then he crushes the cigarette stick under his foot and walks back inside.

#….AND THATS ALL I HAVE FOR THIS AU #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc #dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dp crossover #dpdc #dp dc crossover #childhood friends au #whats the jasonxdanny ship name again??#Undead ship?#no no wait its dead on main #dead on main #cw cigarettes #cw smoking #smoking tw #oh fuck this got long (story of my life) but onfg i didnt wanna make #more than one part #anyways Danny and Jason are buddies uwu #thank god that tumblr has a seemingly endless word count #one sided timxdanny #tim’s crush on danny is basically the same thing #as a little sibling developing a crush on their older brother’s friend #he’ll get over it in a few months #its a small infatuation not to worry #danny is completely oblivious to it #thanks dc writers for making Tim imortally sixteen #it makes everyone else’s ages a little easier to remember #you can see me running out of steam at the last stretch of this monster thing

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pbnbucks · 5 months ago

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hiii, idk how to request so i’m going to request on here lolz. can you do a caitlin clark fluff where her gf surprises her at an away game which was the june 30th one against the mercury. after the first quarter, the fever are down. caitlin sees her gf in the crowd next to her parents as she’s determined to win. i kind of based it off of “melting” by kali uchis.

word count : 529

warnings : none

summary : your at her game

you sat front row to your girlfriends game, hoping to suprise her with the fact she didnt know you where there, it was your senior year of college and you where busy with your school clicks.

conversation streaked between you and caitlins parents as they saw you intently watching the game as you where never one to understand basketball or even a sports person unless it was hockey

“are you okay sweetheart?” her mom questioned as her soft voice could break rooms always making sure you felt comfortable and at home with them when you where around

“ive been seeing highlights of her with the rival teams and she always seems to get hurt, i dont want that to happen this time with everything she worked for” her moms arm finds its way around your shoulder pulling you in for a side hug giving you a kiss on your forehead

“i know baby but we have to remember its such a physical sport and its bound to happen, shes a smart girl and she knows her health she wont put herself in a place that would get her injured” the way the crowds roared caitlin’s name you would forget the indiana fever was loosing, caitlin kept her head held high but you could see through her act she was struggling,

it was the game everyone wanted to see as it sparked headlines for it being the game of ‘The Vet Vs The Rookie’ as the crowd was almost packed out. she would tell you about her biggest experiences, one was her legacy and the mark she left on people,

she wanted to be remembered for being a great person and they player she was. she was scared to let her fans down, she wanted to give them a show on why they spent their money to go see her play.

the halftime buzzer sounded with them down a few points with her walking out to the locker room, it was a game ritual that she looked for her parents before she left the game.

it was to her suprise she saw you sitting in between her parents as her look saddened when she realized you witnessed the entire first half of the game with her team down.

you saw her walk back onto the court with a whole new ego on why she was meant to be their. she was finally smiling for the first time tonight, but went away when the game was set back in motion as fouls where thrown left and right for both teams.

arguements scattered all around the court with the different egos all around the teams begging for the spotlight.

caitlins puffy eyes scanning through the crowd every once in a while looking for you finding a new idea of hope as soon as she sees you.

when the games over she finds herself standing in front of you as she kneels down to kiss you on the lips as photographers capture the intimate moment as she pulls away meeting you lit up smile.

“you played so well baby” you coo in her ear as she smiles at your response with a hum.

#lesbian #lgbtq #wnba #caitlin clark #caitlin clark fluff #caitlins going through it #i love caitlin clark #caitlin clark fanfic #caitlin x reader #caitlin clark series #wnba masterlist #wnba x reader #wnba smut #wnba imagine #wnba players #wnba basketball #wnba draft #wlw #wlw fluff

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polo-drone-055 · 3 months ago

Text

Polo Drone Thanksgiving Convergence

The crisp autumn morning was filled with excitement as the Thompson family prepared for their annual outing to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. The kids, Emily and Jake, were bouncing with joy, eagerly anticipating the giant balloons and festive floats. Their mother, Rachel, was bustling around, making sure everyone was dressed warmly and had a hearty breakfast.

As the family gathered in the living room, waiting for everyone to be ready, Tom, the father, sat down with a cup of coffee and flipped through the stack of Black Friday ads. He was a deal hunter by nature, always looking for the best bargains. But today, something caught his eye that left him scratching his head.

“Rachel, come look at this,” Tom called out, his brow furrowed in confusion. He held up an ad showing a sleek, black, rubber-like polo shirt being promoted by several stores. “Can you believe this? It looks like everyone is selling these weird black rubber shirts this year. What’s the deal with this trend?”

Rachel chuckled as she walked over, glancing at the ad. “Oh, Tom, it’s just fashion. You know how these trends can be. Last year it was those oversized sweaters, and this year, it’s apparently rubber shirts. I guess they’re supposed to look futuristic or something.”

Tom shook his head, still not convinced. “Futuristic? They look like something out of a sci-fi movie. I just don’t get it. Who would want to wear a rubber shirt?”

Emily, who had been listening in, piped up. “Maybe they’re for superheroes, Dad! Like those suits they wear in the movies.”

Jake joined in, adding his own theory. “Or maybe they’re for people who spill a lot. You know, easier to clean up!”

Tom laughed, ruffling Jake’s hair. “You two might be onto something. But I think I’ll stick to my good old cotton polos.”

Rachel smiled and gave Tom a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. You don’t have to understand every trend. Let’s just focus on having a great day at the parade.”

With everyone finally ready, they grabbed their coats and headed out the door, their minds filled with thoughts of balloons, marching bands, and holiday cheer. As they walked towards the subway, Tom took one last look at the ad, still bemused by the rubber shirts, but more than ready to enjoy the day with his family.

After some hunting, they found a perfect spot along the bustling parade route. The streets were packed with excited spectators, their faces lit up with anticipation. The children, Emily and Jake, squeezed their way to the front, eager for the best view. Rachel and Tom stood just behind them, holding hands, feeling the festive energy in the air.

As the parade began, a wave of cheers and applause swept through the crowd. The grand turkey float, a staple of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, rolled into view, adorned with vibrant feathers and sparkling lights. Its massive size and intricate design captivated everyone, young and old alike.

Emily and Jake were transfixed, their eyes wide with wonder as the float passed by. They pointed out every detail, from the golden beak to the colorful autumn leaves decorating the base. Rachel smiled, soaking in their joy, while Tom couldn’t help but chuckle at their enthusiasm.

Amid the excitement, no one seemed to notice the details that Tom had found so peculiar earlier that morning. The performers on the float, who were waving and dancing energetically, wore an array of costumes, some of which included the very black rubber polo shirts he had seen in the ads. The shirts, now part of the parade's futuristic-themed segment, blended seamlessly with the other costumes and props, adding a modern twist to the traditional spectacle.

Tom leaned in towards Rachel and whispered, “Look at that, some of them are wearing those rubber shirts. I guess they found a way to make them look…interesting.”

Rachel glanced up, her eyes catching the glint of the shirts under the parade lights. She smiled and nodded. “Well, at least now we know they’re not just for superheroes or messy eaters.”

They shared a quiet laugh, the moment adding a personal touch to the grand event.

The first balloon of the parade, a towering Kung Fu Panda, floated into view, eliciting gasps and cheers from the crowd. Po, the beloved panda, soared high above the street, his enormous form swaying gently in the crisp autumn breeze. Below him, a group of clowns, dressed in colorful, traditional clown outfits, guided the balloon with expert precision. Their costumes, however, had an unexpected twist: each clown sported a black rubber polo shirt beneath their vibrant suspenders and oversized pants.

Tom noticed it first. His eyes locked onto the peculiar combination of the whimsical clown attire and the futuristic black shirts. He elbowed Rachel gently, nodding towards the clowns. “Look, they’re wearing those shirts again,” he muttered, unable to hide his bemusement.

As the clowns danced and waved, the parade watchers—especially the men—began to focus on the black rubber shirts. There was something oddly mesmerizing about the contrast between the playful clown costumes and the sleek, modern shirts. It sparked conversations among them, a mix of curiosity and bewilderment.

“I didn’t think these shirts would catch on like this,” Tom remarked, half to himself, half to Rachel.

Rachel laughed softly. “Well, it looks like they’re becoming quite the fashion statement. Even the clowns are in on it!”

The men around Tom shared similar sentiments, their attention divided between the spectacular parade and the strange allure of the rubber shirts. Some were intrigued, others skeptical, but all found themselves oddly captivated.

The children, meanwhile, remained oblivious to the fashion discussion. Emily and Jake were entirely focused on the towering Kung Fu Panda, their faces glowing with excitement as they pointed and cheered.

As the parade continued, the anticipation grew with every passing float and balloon. Then came the police unit, marching with precision and pride.

They were dressed in impressive uniforms from head to toe—shiny tall black boots, tight shiny black runner pants, and the now infamous black rubber polo shirts, accented with striking gold details. Their ensemble was topped off with crisp, shiny black caps, completing the look of modern authority.

The sight of the police unit was mesmerizing. The men watching the parade found themselves captivated, their attention riveted to the officers’ uniforms. It was as if the world around them had faded away; their minds went blank, completely consumed by the sleek and polished appearance of the unit.

Tom, like many others, stood still, his gaze fixed on the marching officers. He barely noticed the tug on his sleeve from Emily or the questions from Jake. The uniforms had a hypnotic effect, drawing all the men's eyes leaving them entranced.

Rachel, sensing the shift, glanced at Tom and the other men around them, a mix of amusement and curiosity on her face. She gently nudged Tom, bringing him back to the present. “Tom, are you okay?” she asked, smiling.

Tom blinked, his trance broken. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…those uniforms are something else,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it.

The children, unaware of the fashion statement causing such a reaction, continued to watch the parade with delight. The police unit moved on, their presence leaving an indelible impression on the crowd. For Tom and the other men, the image of the black rubber police uniforms would linger in their minds

As the parade continued, a new spectacle caught the attention of the crowd. A marching band, resplendent in black rubber uniforms that gleamed under the parade lights, approached in perfect formation. Each member wore the now-familiar black rubber polo shirts, the uniforms reflecting an eerie sheen.

The moment the band came into view, the men in the crowd, including Tom, fell silent and still, their gazes fixed on the band. It was as if an invisible force had taken hold of them, rendering them oblivious to everything around them. The air was thick with a sense of anticipation and unease.

The band's music started softly, a harmonious blend of brass and percussion that gradually grew louder. Within the melody, subtle yet insistent, were the words "obey, serve" embedded seamlessly into the notes. The mantra repeated over and over, threading through the music like a whispering command.

The men, entranced by the uniforms and the hypnotic quality of the music, stood frozen, their minds blank. They heard nothing but the embedded words, "obey, serve," resonating within their subconscious. The children tugged at their fathers' sleeves, asking questions and seeking attention, but received no response. Rachel, along with the other women and unaffected spectators, looked on with growing concern.

The band continued to play, their synchronized movements and powerful music creating an almost surreal atmosphere. No matter what Rachel tried—calling out to Tom, shaking his shoulder—nothing could break the trance that held him and the other men captive.

The parade marched on, the dazzling floats and colorful characters passing by unnoticed by the entranced men. For them, the world had shrunk to the relentless repetition of "obey, serve," echoing in their minds, binding them to the spell of the marching band.

As the band moved further along the parade route, the music gradually faded, and the spell began to lift. The men blinked, as if waking from a deep sleep, slowly becoming aware of their surroundings again. Tom shook his head, feeling disoriented. He turned to Rachel, confusion etched on his face.

"Rachel, what happened?" he asked, his voice shaky.

Rachel, relieved but still worried, put a comforting hand on his arm. "You were in a trance, Tom. All of you were. I think it was the band… their uniforms and the music."

As the final segment of the parade approached, the anticipation in the air reached its peak. The firemen, traditionally the final group before Santa’s grand entrance, marched in with an air of authority.

They were dressed in full rubber uniforms, their shiny black polo shirts gleaming under the bright parade lights. Their presence exuded a sense of strength and unity, a stark contrast to the festive chaos around them.

The moment the men in the crowd caught sight of the firemen, the transformation was instant. Eyes glazed over, expressions turned blank, and, as if controlled by an unseen force, they began to move forward, pushing through the throngs of people, shoving their wives and children aside in their single-minded pursuit.

Rachel tried to hold onto Tom, but his strength and determination overpowered her. The children looked up in confusion and fear as their fathers moved in unison towards the curb, their movements mechanical, their gazes fixed on the marching firemen.

Then, in a spectacle that defied belief, Santa Claus appeared, bringing the holiday season to life. But to the shock of the women and children, Santa too was dressed in a shiny black rubber suit, with a black buttoned-up polo shirt prominently displayed. The traditional red and white suit was gone, replaced by this futuristic, unnerving attire.

As Santa’s float passed by, he began throwing black polo shirts into the crowd. The men, now in a full trance, scrambled to catch them, clawing over one another in desperation. The sight was both surreal and unsettling, as these ordinarily composed men fought for the shirts like their very lives depended on it.

Each man who managed to grab a shirt put it on immediately. The transformation was complete; they stood at perfect attention, their expressions devoid of any emotion, their minds seemingly blank. The parade continued, but for the families of these men, the day had taken an unexpected and eerie turn.

Rachel held her children close, her heart pounding with a mix of confusion and fear. She glanced around at the other bewildered wives and mothers, all of them sharing the same look of shock and helplessness.

As Santa’s float proceeded down the street, the festive atmosphere took on an even stranger turn. Behind the sleigh came a line of men dressed in the same black rubber uniforms, but this time with ominous gas masks covering their faces. Their silent, methodical movements added a chilling undertone to the parade.

These masked men approached each individual at the curb who had donned the new black polo. Without a word, they placed gas masks over the men’s faces. Almost instantaneously, the men fell into line, their movements synchronized and robotic. They left the curb, stepping into the street to join the parade.

The wives and children, already bewildered by the events, watched in horror and confusion as their loved ones marched away, now part of this enigmatic collective. The men, now resembling drones more than individuals, moved in perfect formation, their expressions blank, their minds seemingly lost.

Santa, leading this surreal procession, continued to distribute the black polos, reinforcing the transformation. The spectacle left the crowd in stunned silence, the festive joy overshadowed by the eerie uniformity of the new recruits.

Rachel clutched her children tightly, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty. She searched for Tom among the ranks of the newly transformed, but he was already lost in the sea of identical figures. The parade continued, each step of the marching men echoing like a haunting drumbeat.

As the final float disappeared from sight, the wives and children were left standing, the parade route now eerily quiet

As Jake grew up, the memories of that Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and the mysterious transformation of his father lingered in the back of his mind. The image of the black rubber polo shirts and the blissful expression on his father’s face became an obsession, a puzzle piece he could never quite fit into place. The desire to understand and experience what his father had gone through grew stronger with each passing year.

On his 18th birthday, Jake received a package in the mail. His mother had no knowledge of it, and the sender's identity was a mystery. With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, he opened the package. Inside was a black rubber polo shirt, identical to the ones he remembered from that fateful day.

Jake felt a strange pull as he ran his fingers over the smooth material. The sensation was both thrilling and unsettling. Without hesitation, he slipped the shirt on, feeling its cool embrace against his skin. Almost immediately, his mind went blank, the words "obey" and "serve" echoing in his consciousness like a relentless mantra.

Robotic in his movements, Jake stood up and made his way to the front door. He opened it to find a figure standing there, a polo drone who had once been his father, waiting for him.

The drone placed a gas mask over Jake's face, and a wave of overwhelming joy and ecstasy washed over him. The connection was immediate and profound, an inexplicable sense of unity and purpose.

Jake had become one with the polo drone collective, joining his father and others who had been transformed. The bliss he felt was indescribable, a fusion of consciousness with a larger entity. As he marched away, his mind completely aligned with the collective’s purpose, he left behind a family that would never truly understand where he had gone or what he had become of him, his father or the other men who attended that Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.

#male transformation #hypnotised #polo drone #polo drone hive #polo

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bio-hazard · 2 months ago

Text

Now I've Found A Real Love (You'll Never Fool Me Again)

Charlie Slimecicle x Reader Fake Dating

ladies and gentlefish it's finally done. i think this is the longest fanfiction i've ever written and i cut a large portion of it out just to be able to get it done before christmas so i hope that you guys enjoy this (please enjoy this. i'll cry.)

15k words, only warnings for implied weed and cheating, drinking and a lot of guilt. i don't know why i gave reader anxiety. SFW with a few suggestive jokes but minors please dni with my work !! happy holidays ppl !!!!

. 🎄 . 🎁 . 🎄 .

Christmas time is supposed to be the “most magical time of the year”, with love and joy spread through the hearts of many. Apparently that wasn’t in the cards for you this year. You were supposed to go home for Christmas week with your boyfriend to introduce him to your family. Everything was going so well and you had been hyping him up for months now, bragging about how he was the perfect boyfriend.

Until he made you eat those words a day before you were supposed to leave, sitting among clothes and general things you would need for the week scattered around your bed when your phone buzzed and lit up to show the lockscreen of you kissing his cheek.

“hey so. i hate to say this but i dont think this is going to work out. i dont want to see you hurt and your a great person but i dont think im ready to meet your family yet. i think i should spend time alone to find myself. its not your fault ml”

Your smile fell as you read over the message again and again.

“merry xmas btw”

After a couple hours of coping very healthily and no emotional outbursts whatsoever, you wiped the last of your tears. Okay. This was fine! It was a single day before you were supposed to drive home and see almost all of your extended family for an entire week, and the man you had made sound like a fairy tale prince just dumped you over text!

If you showed up there, heartbroken and alone, you would never hear the end of it from all sides of the family.

…

You needed a new boyfriend.

Running through the list of people you knew would probably be easier than trying to find a stranger within a day, but you quickly ran into the issue that your family already knew most of your friends, and none would be able to easily pass as a boyfriend for a whole week without blowing it. So you moved on to secondary friends. People you had the number of for classes or your neighbours, people in your study group. Nothing. You fell back against your bed and stared at your contact list hopelessly, scrolling up and down as if that would make some new number magically appear. You had to face the reality of the situation; You were screwed.

The next morning you picked yourself up and got ready, showering and packing the rest of whatever items you hadn’t already shoved into a bag. The idea of cancelling on your study group appealed to you greatly, but some part of your mind reminded you that you had notes that a few of the others needed to copy down, and you wanted to stay in their good graces. So you gathered every inch of mental tape you had and held yourself together until you resembled a stable human being, and locked the door behind you as you left.

Walking into the library, the warmth hugged your face and you let out a quiet sigh as you loosened your scarf, kicked the snow off your boots, and moved deeper into the building to find the usual area everyone gathered in. It was a long table toward the back that a handful of you had claimed weekly for study meets. One of your close friends and a few others who had the same class, and a few who just liked the company and atmosphere. You knew everyone there by name and occasionally after studying you would all go out for food. Of course, you couldn’t stop thinking about your dilemma as you sat down and pulled out your books. You wouldn’t be able to focus on work much, but you could at least pretend you were being productive.

Handing your notes around the table, you took a look at everyone again and weighed your options. Either they didn’t fit what you remember telling your family, or they had met your family in one way or another. You sighed and stared down at the still shut textbook in front of you. None of the material seemed like it was near interesting enough to derail your current train of thought. Sitting up to say something to your friend, the sound of approaching footsteps caught your attention.

“Sorry, hope I’m not late!”

Turning your head the other way, you see a dark green jacket and look up at the man holding the back of the chair next to you. “This seat isn’t taken, is it?”

Your eyes widened. Charlie. Of course. He was a newer addition to the group, invited by a couple others you weren’t too close with. You didn’t know him too well, at most having been left alone at the table with him once or twice, but he was nice and funny and.. Well, you’d be lying to say he wasn’t conventionally attractive. He would match what you had told your parents almost perfectly. You just had to figure out how to ask him such a thing. Nothing you came up with sounded normal, or it just made you seem like some kind of creep trying to lie to their family. He’d mentioned doing a little acting before though, hadn’t he? Maybe you would have to bribe him— Before you knew it, everyone else had left the table, leaving you and Charlie alone in that area of the suddenly far too silent library.

He sighed and put his pencil down, closing his book and starting to pack his things. You panicked, cutting him off as he stood up and opened his mouth to speak.

“Can I ask a favour of you?”

He seemed slightly taken aback at how quickly you had spoken, but nodded slightly regardless.

“Sure.. What’s up?”

You took a deep breath and hoped you weren’t about to make an idiot of yourself.

“It’s.. a huge favour, and if you don’t want to, you can say no and we can pretend like I never asked but-” Pausing from nerves, you peeked up at him but he just seemed amused by your nerves, waiting for you to go on so before you knew it you started spilling your guts. “My boyfriend dumped me last night and tomorrow we were supposed to drive home to spend the week and visit my whole family for Christmas, but now he isn’t coming and I just spent the last few months acting like he was gonna be a big surprise so they don’t know too many details but I can’t go home alone or I’ll be embarrassed until the day I die and-”

Charlie waved his hand with a soft laugh and sat back down to be on your level.

“Hey- Hey. Take a breath.” He smiled patiently and waited for you to take a deep breath. “How can I help?”

“I need you to.. Pretend to be my boyfriend for the week in front of my whole family..?” You shakily asked, knowing how messed up that sounded.

Charlie stared at you with a strange look in his eye, but the same soft smile on his face. After a moment he shrugged and nodded. “Sure, why not?”

You blinked.

“Sorry?”

“Honestly, I didn’t have any plans for the holidays anyways so… A week full of free food and entertainment doesn’t sound half bad.”

You felt like your heart might explode. Charlie laughed softly at your reaction.

“Thank- Oh, god Charlie thank you, you don’t know how much this means to me.”

“What can I say, I'm a simple man. Here, I can give you my number and you can text me in the morning when you’re ready to go. Okay?”

You nodded and handed him your phone, ignoring the flutter in your stomach when his hand encased yours to take it. It’s not like you had feelings for him, he was just a nice guy willing to do you a favour. That’s all this was.

You waved as he excused himself and headed out.

What had you gotten yourself into?

The next morning, at a frankly unreasonable time to be awake, you had shoved all your things into your car and parked where Charlie had said would be the easiest to pick him up. The radio hummed Christmas music on the local station as you looked through the messages between you two so far. One of the first things Charlie had sent was a picture of a knitted christmas sweater that looked like it had seen many holidays and a collared shirt that looked ironed, asking what kind of people your parents were. You had to appreciate the dedication to being the perfect boyfriend, and said whatever he’s most comfortable in - But that you probably had a similar looking sweater waiting for you at home somewhere, to which he responded he couldn’t wait to see.

A knock on the passenger window snapped you out of your thoughts and only then did you realize you were smiling like an idiot. Charlie waved through the window, his face illuminated by what bits of moonlight remained as the sky began to lighten before the sun had fully risen, and motioned to his bags. You popped the trunk and hopped out, opening it and going to help him load it all in.

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” He politely waved you off and lifted it in with ease, and you definitely didn’t stare at the way the fabric of his jacket stretched across his arms as he did. He slammed the trunk shut with a hearty clunk before turning to you with a grin. “Shall we?”

You huffed out a laugh and nodded, getting back in the driver seat. He quickly slid into the seat beside you, stretching.

“It’s a long trip… Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Are you asking if I want to do the drive, or do this for a week?”

“I-”

“Because I do.” He nodded, a little too earnestly. “It’ll be okay, I’ll try not to make you look bad.” Charlie winked and glanced at the radio, then at your phone sitting in the cupholder beside you. “Your car, your rules. Who controls the music?”

The way he seemed so unbothered about the situation seemed to put you at ease for now, and you unlocked your phone and connected it to the car speakers before handing it to him.

“Surprise me, will you?”

“I won’t let you down.”

The two of you quickly took off and grabbed something to eat from a drive-through; Stopping to eat now would risk making you late. The weather seemed to be alright for now, but you were a bit nervous something would kick up before you were in the home stretch of your parents house. Charlie managed to calm your nerves every time with a joke or comment that would distract you from your worries. Eventually you two agreed that you needed a cohesive story to pull this off well, so you started by listing off things you remember having told your family about your ex, and Charlie nodded as he seemed to internalize all those traits, though you doubted he needed to fake most of these traits for your sake. Eventually you moved on to your story. How you met, dates you’d been on, mutual friends, and other various stories to sell that you had been close for the better part of a year rather than having maybe three conversations that weren’t purely about schoolwork and studying. Charlie even shared a bit more about himself for you to build on, and it shocked you a little how much you had in common and how little you really knew about him. Talking with him came so naturally, and he was so effortlessly funny that you wondered how you hadn’t become friends sooner. Part of you wondered if it could stay like this after you got home.

The conversation moved to boundaries. Knowing your family, there would be mistletoe somewhere in the house.

“Well,” Charlie hummed, thinking about it as he glanced out the front windshield. “I’m a pretty physical person, and I'm fine with PDA if that’s what you mean.”

You nodded and chewed the inside of your cheek.

“I just.. It’s all pretend, right? I don’t want to overstep-”

“We’ll probably be pushed together at one point or another anyways.” Charlie cut you off, looking at you. “So I’m fine with anything. Let’s maybe keep any kissing to a minimum though. Try to avoid mistletoe, yeah? Oh, and-” He tapped his bottom lip with his finger, smiling. “- No lips.”

There was a sigh, and you realized you had been holding your breath.

“Yeah, of course.”

He let out a little laugh as his smile grew.

“I know, that must be such a disappointment, nobody can resist this.” He sighed, as if this were a recurring issue. You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the thought of kissing him and laughed in response.

At one point you had stopped to refill the tank and Charlie offered to hold the pump while you ran inside to pay and get snacks (but no eggs, despite how many times he asked. You were not making your car smell like whatever gas station eggs must have smelt like.) Grabbing a drink for both of you and a handful of snacks, you plopped them all down on the counter and smiled at the cashier who started scanning the items.

“Is that your boyfriend on pump 2?” She asked, glancing at Charlie, who leaned against the car as he waited for you.

You stopped, and for some reason found yourself unable to answer. You were going to say that no, he was just a friend. …But then again, this was someone you’d probably never see again, and who probably didn’t actually care who he was in relation to you.

“Yeah, why?”

“Let him know that one acts up when it gets cold, he might have to be a little rough to make it work.” She shrugged and typed something into the register. “How much?”

You finished the transaction and walked out with a small bag of items, walking up to Charlie, who looked up from his phone.

“All good?”

“Yeah, she said it gets weird in the cold, be a little rough if you need to.” Charlie laughed a little and bit back a smile, and you felt a slight warmth in your cheeks that wasn’t from the cold.

“I can be rough.”

“Oh my god.” You groaned and shoved his arm as he grabbed the nozzle and pushed it into the car.

You didn’t mention that she called him your boyfriend. You kept it to yourself as you got into the passenger seat when Charlie insisted on driving until the next refuel. You let those words stew in your brain until he got in the driver’s seat and adjusted it to his size, familiarizing himself with your car as you stretched your legs.

After a few more short breaks and another gas station refuel where you took over driving, it’s dark again as you arrive. Charlie is intently watching all the lights on the houses as you drive up and pull into the driveway of your parents house. The whole place was decorated expertly, just as it had been every year for as long as you could remember. The sight was nostalgic.

Movement on the porch caught your eye as your mother and father came out to greet you. You killed the engine and gathered your things inside the car. Charlie was watching you when you looked up to him.

“Last chance.”

His hand slipped into yours with a gentle squeeze.

“I know.”

You look at your hands and smile softly before pulling away and exiting the car with a warm smile for your parents. It’s a moment of you three alone before the passenger door opens and Charlie steps out.

“There he is!” Your mother gasped and put a hand on your shoulder. “I was starting to think you were just making up fairytales.”

You laughed softly and shook your head.

“Mom, Dad, this is Charlie… My boyfriend.” Charlie walked up and wrapped an arm around you, extending a hand to your father, who shook it with a nod. Your mom pulled him in for a hug, and he quickly reciprocated, pulling away with a mirth in his eyes you hadn’t seen before.

“Oh, he’s just as lovely as you said, dear.” Your mother smiled and Charlie shrugged one shoulder as he moved his arm back around you.

“Well, I do my best.” He chuckled. “I gotta say, I'm a huge fan of your work.” Charlie motioned to you, and your mother laughed. “I didn’t believe angels were real until I met this one.”

You flushed and glanced away, which only made your mother laugh more. He instantly fell into rhythm with your family, giving off this perfect charm that made him nearly glow along with the Christmas lights around you all. It felt so genuine, every compliment that fell from his lips and the way he spoke to your parents was nothing short of naturally impressive.

Part of you wondered if it would play out like this if you had genuinely brought him home. If he would have his arm around your shoulders the same, make jokes that enamoured your parents just like he was now. You wondered if he would kiss your cheek and you would be rid of this weight in your chest. This guilt that came with lying to your parents, and soon enough your whole family. Before you could spiral any further into this train of thought, Charlie is nudging your shoulder.

“Oh, sorry- Yeah?”

He smiled down at you reassuringly, squeezing your shoulders as if he could read your mind. You wondered if he could. You wondered if he would leave you if he heard your thoughts now-

“Can you unlock the trunk for me?”

“Yeah, of course.” You reached for your keys and hit the trunk button.

Once again he’s insisting on taking his own luggage, so you grab your bags and bring them inside as your mother talks about the plans she has for the week and your father leads the march inside and up the stairs. You take a moment to admire the house, mostly decorated with little christmas details and festive colours covering every surface. Your parents loved to go all out for the holidays. The bigger decorations were still missing, and you figured they had been waiting for you and your boyfriend to come home and help them with those. Free labour, of course.

Quickly following up the stairs after Charlie, you see him standing in a doorway you immediately recognize. Oh no.

You had entirely forgotten that with extra guests coming over, the guest rooms would be taken up by other family members, leaving you in your old bedroom. Alone with Charlie. With one bed.

That was fine! It was fine, really!

Looking at Charlie’s face, he seemed to have connected the same dots as you.

Your dad left you to unpack and get settled in, saying he would meet you both downstairs and that dinner would be ready soon.

“I’m so sorry, I totally forgot about.. This. I can sleep on the floor if you-”

Charlie cut you off by shaking his head with a flustered laugh. His cheeks were slightly flushed as he looked to you with a hapless smile.

“It’s fine, really. Wouldn’t be the first time I shared a bed with someone. Besides, it's a queen by the look of it. We’ll both fit just fine. Try not to hog the blankets though, I might have to fight you for that.” He moved to the foot of the bed and dropped his bags to the ground, looking around. “So this is your room huh? It’s..” He seemed to bite something back, and it gave you a rush of worry. “It’s nice. I like it.”

You definitely weren’t freaking out right now. You were so normal and were doing fine as he ran his hand over the top of your dresser and looked at all the decorations. Admittedly it was a bit strange to see your room so.. Un-lived in, but it still felt like yours.

“We should probably head down and wash up for dinner.” You ignored the fluttering in your gut as he giddily pointed at a few items he recognized, brushing it off with a smile.

Surprisingly, dinner was rather uneventful. Charlie complimented your mothers cooking and answered a few questions about himself, and the four of you mostly talked about college, what had been going on in the neighbourhood and how the drive here had gone. You told Charlie that you’d help clean up by yourself, but he insisted on helping you clear the table and do the dishes. It felt oddly domestic, especially as you two started flicking water at each other, having to be stopped by your mother scolding you for getting water on her floors.

Your parents retired for the night shortly after that, and you and Charlie figured it would be best to follow suit. Heading upstairs with a quiet conversation, you were faced with a dilemma. You two weren’t about to change in front of each other, and you were not about to just have him cover his eyes and turn around.

“There’s always the bathroom,” Charlie offered, jabbing his thumb back towards the hallway.

“Yeah but- You’re the guest, making you change in the bathroom is a bit rude isn’t it?” He shrugged.

“This is your room, it’s only fair you get to change in here in my opinion.”

You went back and forth a bit more, before Charlie just grabbed his bag and headed to the bathroom anyways. There wasn’t much you could’ve done to convince him anyways, you assumed. A quick change later and there was a soft knock.

“Am I good to come back in?”

“Yeah, come in.”

Sitting on the bed, you went over your options until you had agreed to just bite the bullet and try to sleep on the far sides of the bed to avoid any awkwardness of sleeping with each other. As you stared out the window, the stars glittered, snow fell, and you drifted to sleep trying to guess what was a star and what was a snowflake.

The sun hit your face as you woke up, groaning. You rolled over and threw your arm over your face to shield yourself, only to find yourself now beside something warm. It only took a second to remember it was Charlie, and it took a couple more seconds to pull away and open your eyes to see he was raising an eyebrow at you with a quiet laugh.

“Good morning.”

“... Hi.”

He looked back to his phone in his hand, typing something out before turning it off and putting it down.

“I wasn’t sure when your family got up, I didn’t want to be sitting down there alone.”

“So you sat here and watched me sleep..?”

“No!- No, I didn’t-” Charlie’s eyes widened as he shook his head, only relaxing when he saw you smile and try not to laugh. He sighed, then squinted. “Wait..”

“What?” You sat up to look at him, rubbing your eyes and making yourself a little less dishevelled.

“If you were sleeping… And I was watching you sleep…” He turned to you, doing his best mewing expression. “Who’s watching Foxy..?”

You blinked a few times before dissolving into giggles. Charlie grinned at the praise as you covered your face and groaned. “Wanna go get breakfast now? It’s a little after nine.”

Swallowing down the last bubbles of laughter you nodded and pulled the blanket off of you as you got up. Charlie followed shortly after. Another bout of arguing over who would change where began until he once again moved to the bathroom, and you figured that trying to fight him any more on this would get you nowhere.

Padding down the stairs, you got to looking around the kitchen for something to eat. The only thing you could think of was cereal so you pulled out a box of something plain, and Charlie made a face.

“What?”

“I mean, is there.. Anything else? It’s okay if there isn’t just..”

You look back in the pantry and hummed.

“I don’t see anything. Knock yourself out though.”

Charlie walked over as you moved to your bowl and poured out the cereal. You looked over to see him stuck halfway into the shelves, kicking a foot up before pulling out a colourful box triumphantly. You laughed and recognized it as something you hadn’t gotten to eating before you moved out as he opened it.

“How old is that? When does it expire, even?”

“The bag is still sealed, so it's still fresh right?”

The bag popped open as he pulled it apart and dumped it into his bowl, taking a piece and eating it. “Still crunches.”

You laughed and shook your head, passing him the milk. The two of you sat there, you on the counter and him leaning against it as you two ate and talked quietly as the snow outside reflected warmth and light in the window and made miniature rainbows through the frost and decorations.

Your mother poked her head into the kitchen with a box full of decorations hanging out of it.

“There you are! When you’re done, can I borrow you two for a bit to help me finish getting these decorations up? Your father is out shovelling and handling the front of the house. Lord knows Ashley will have something to say if there’s no wreath on the front door..” She sighed and shook her head.

“Yeah, of course Mom.” You smiled and nodded, and Charlie gave a thumbs up with his mouth being full. She caught a glimpse of the colourful cereal in his bowl and gave it a strange look, but seemed to brush it off as she walked away.

“Ashley?” Charlie looked at you with a raised eyebrow after he swallowed.

“One of my aunts,” You glanced at him, then realized you should probably give him an idea of who he would be dealing with for the rest of the week. Charlie nodded intently as he brought another spoonful to his mouth while listening to you list off family members. “Then of course, there's my Aunt Ashley. She’s… She has high standards.” That was probably the easiest way to describe her eccentricities. “She lives the closest, so she was over a lot with her kids, Bella and Alice. Uh.. Be careful with Alice. She’s a bit of a hopeless romantic.”

Charlie squinted like he was trying to mentally write this all down.

“Don’t worry,” You laughed. “I’ll be sure to refresh you when they show up.”

He nodded, looking incredibly serious before he tilted his head back to drink the rest of the milk in the bowl, and there were a handful of thoughts you couldn’t repeat out loud that went through your mind when he pulled the bowl away and licked the remaining milk off his lips.

“Let’s uh- Let’s go help Mom, yeah?” You swallowed and glanced away, shaking the thoughts from your head. Charlie nodded and the two of you finished up in the kitchen before going through the house to find your mother.

Standing in the den, she was staring intently at the large Christmas tree with her hands on her hips. You knew this stance. She was probably planning out every possible way she could put garland and ribbons onto everything in sight, and would try to execute as many of those plans as possible before settling on one. At least you had Charlie, who was currently staring in awe at what decorations were already out.

“Just wait,” You leaned over and whispered. “It gets better.”

Charlie gave you a wide eyed look.

She quickly got everyone to work, pinning and taping things to the walls, lining each shelf with white stuffing to mimic snow, pulling out box after box of trinkets and little ornaments to set along everything. You wondered how many of these would get broken this year if the younger kids would be running around.

After the den was lathered in Christmas, you moved on to deck every hall and doorway with garland and lights. It would make for a magical walkway at the end, but for now you were watching Charlie struggle to not break a sweat with how much lifting and back and forth your mother had him do. Leave it to her to immediately put people to work when it comes to Christmas.

Taking a short break while she stepped outside to talk with your dad, you and Charlie sat down on the stairs after he finished wrapping the railing with glittering lights and tying bows to every other bannister.

“Where do you guys keep all this stuff year round?” Charlie glanced up to you as you straightened out one of the bows. “I mean it looks great but…”

“Storage containers in the basement. Trust me, getting it all out and decorating is the easy part.” A look of concern flashed across his face, which only made you laugh harder. “Don't worry, we’ll be gone by then.”

Charlie rubbed the back of his neck with a quiet laugh.

“It's nice, though. Like it really adds to the atmosphere and everything. Makes it feel cozy.” He glanced around and flicked at one of the lights gently. “How many people are gonna show up anyways? It’s a big house but I feel like it's gonna get cramped pretty quick.”

You had to think about that for a while. Each side had quite a few people on it, but knowing who would actually be showing up was always a bargain. Humming quietly, you reached into the box of decorations and pulled out a little bell on a string, reaching forward and hanging it on Charlie's ear with a grin.

“I’m not sure. I'll do my best to give you a rundown on everyone before they start talking your ear off though.”

Charlie tilted his head and felt for the foreign object on his ear, giving a confused laugh as he pulled it off and looked at it, then immediately turned back at you with mischief in his eyes.

Your mother walked back in the house to see you two laughing and shouting as you practically wrestled on the stairs to adorn each other with decorations.

She cleared her throat and the two of you quickly stopped to look at her, having been caught. Your mother crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow as she looked between you two and the mess of decorations you'd made.

“Having fun?”

After being made to clean up your mess, the three of you moved all over the house throughout the day decorating and redecorating, only stopping to get a drink or small snack. While looking through the remaining boxes, you held up a handful of mistletoe and looked at your mom.

“Do we really have to put all of this up? It seems a little… Much.”

“Of course we do, hun!” Your mother nodded like it was obvious and grabbed one from your hand, moving over to one of the doorways to hang it up among the garland. “It's tradition. Plus, it's nice! That's how you get all the cute candid pictures of people kissing.”

You sighed and resigned yourself to just trying your best to memorize where all of them were hung to avoid while walking around with Charlie.

“Go hang at least one in the front foyer for me, please?” She motioned to the remaining mistletoe in your hand then waved you towards the front of the house. You sighed and dropped the extra mistletoe back in the box, grabbing the stool she had pulled out a while ago and moved to the front of the house.

“Oh, there you are.” Charlie smiled as he walked up to you, watching you struggle to reach the garland to tie the mistletoe up.

“Yeah- Hey-” Reaching further didn’t seem to help either, the stool being just a bit too short to get up to where you needed. After a couple more moments of struggling, you sighed and turned to Charlie. “Care to lend me a hand?”

What you hadn’t expected was for Charlie to wrap his arms around your thighs from where you stood on the stool and lift you onto his shoulder.

Your mind went blank.

Why was that so easy for him??

“Is that tall enough?” Charlie’s voice was enough to snap you out of your daze and hang the mistletoe, trying your best not to think about how easily he grabbed you or about how you two were technically under mistletoe.

“Uh- Yeah that’s- Good- Great. Yeah, thanks.” You stumbled through the words, bringing your hands down to his shoulders to steady yourself before he set you back down and smiled up at you like he didn’t do anything.

Maybe this was an overreaction. Maybe you just had to calm down and he didn’t realize you meant for him to hang the stupid plant. Surely that was it! He was just taking the easiest path for him and there were no hidden intentions in his actions. Charlie was just an acquaintance doing you a major favour, and honestly you had to think about why he would even do such a thing? Someone like him must’ve had a nice family, or at least someone deserving of his charm to spend the holidays with, rather than spend a week keeping up some silly ruse and oh- Oh, he’s talking and you absolutely aren’t listening.

“Sorry, uh- Pardon?” You shook your head and looked down at him from your place on the stool.

“I asked how much you think is left?” Charlie tilted his head and looked around.

You stepped off the stool, silently praying you didn’t fall on him. That was the last thing you needed.

“Probably not much, Mom could handle the rest.”

The two of you walked around the house, collecting and stacking the empty decoration boxes. Hints of your mother’s work popped up around the house, the two of you almost constantly walking into mistletoe. Maybe keeping up with what doorways had it would be a bit harder than you expected.

Eventually everything was decorated and cleaned up, and you were helping your mother start supper. The radio gently hummed Christmas music through the room as you peeled potatoes and listened to your mother speak about some drama or other you had missed and she hadn’t told you about.

Charlie walked into the kitchen and watched you for a moment before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Oh- Hi, Charlie.” You glanced at him slightly, to see him softly smiling with his eyes shut. He just hummed warmly in response and moved his hands to your waist. You hardly skipped a beat falling back into conversation with your mother, despite the way you felt your face warm. He didn’t move for a while after that either, only pressing his face into your neck after a while, to which your mother gave a look that you waved off. After a while you had to quietly ask him to move so you could keep helping to prepare the dinner, to which he kissed your shoulder and whispered to you that he was going to take a nap. Your mother teased you when you seemed to short circuit after he pulled away. You finished helping and did your best not to think about the warmth emanating from where he had kissed you, and when the oven timer went off an hour or so later, your mother asked you to go wake him.

“Charlie..? Are you awake?” You gave the door a soft knock. There was the sound of some kind of movement in the bedroom, and then the door opened. Charlie’s hair was messy and his eyes were still tired. “Oh. Uh, dinner is ready..”

“Oh, already? Alright..” He yawned and nodded. You tried to ignore the way his tired voice got to you. He had always woken up some time before you, is that really what he sounded like after an hour of sleep?? “I’ll wash up and be down there soon.”

The conversation at dinner seemed to be entirely around Charlie and his interests and history. You wondered if they were trying to do some kind of weird interrogation or shovel talk, but when he started talking about some of his nerdier interests you saw your mother light up. There it was. You definitely knew what this talk was about.

The day ended with your mother telling you that tomorrow would be full of baking and that the sooner you could get up and help, the more the two of you could get done. Mentally preparing for that, you nodded and wished her goodnight. Charlie stayed up a bit later, waking you slightly when he came to bed, apologizing quietly as he moved the blankets. You don’t exactly remember falling back asleep, but you could’ve sworn you felt something warm press against your forehead.

You woke up before Charlie this time, watching him for a moment as his chest slowly breathed. Slipping out of the bed, you grabbed your clothes and slipped into the bathroom to change before you headed downstairs.

It was mornings like these you really missed. The sun freshly risen, pouring onto the tiled floor through the frosty windows, giving the perfect mix of warmth and chill as you padded into the kitchen and quickly made yourself something for breakfast. The birdsong outside melted into the sound of the radio as you turned it on and lowered the volume to a non-disturbing hum. Rifling through cabinets you pulled out the usual cookbooks and recipes you’d need today and any of the usual baking necessities. Your mother yawned as she walked into the kitchen and smiled at you as you tied an apron around your waist

“Someone’s eager this morning. Did you miss this that much?” She laughed quietly and hugged you before making herself something to eat. The two of you quickly got to work after that, making doughs and mixtures, prepping for any later baking. There were a few things she had already gotten the headstart on earlier that she took out of the fridge to check on.

Charlie walked down a while later, rubbing his eyes. He seemed a little taken aback to see the kitchen already so messy, taking it all in. You stopped to admire his tired look, the way the sun glowed against his skin and lit his hair up, the dust roaming the air making him look like he glittered. He moved his gaze to you and gave a lopsided smile before walking up and gently brushing his thumb across your cheek.

“Wh-?”

“You had flour on your face,” He hummed. His voice was tired like yesterday, and it took all of your power to not melt into his hands right then and there. You almost forgot your mother was in the room.

“I have to help with baking all day, so I’ll have to stay in the kitchen, I’m sorry.” Charlie shook his head.

“I’d love to help, if that’s okay. My mom owns a bakery, so I’m not unfamiliar with baking.”

It reminded you how little you actually knew of him. Sure, you could talk for hours but with such little time in general, there was still a lot you were completely unaware of. The sobering pang of guilt that ran through your nervous system ruined the soft moment between you at the thought of it.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded and you found him another apron to wear, but the only one left that was his size was half of a pair for your parents. Your moms had been stained and discarded a while ago. You tried not to laugh at the awful baking pun on the front, but Charlie seemed to light up as he read the apron. He proceeded to make similar puns throughout the day, and no matter how hard you tried to groan and act like you hated it, you couldn’t fight the smile on your face whenever you heard the pride in his voice while he made one.

Your mother handed baking off to the two of you after the first batch, and you had half a mind to assume it wasn’t because she needed to “do things” like she said, but rather that she was just giving you room to be alone with him. Not that you needed it, you were just two just two friends baking together. ..Though you supposed she didn't know that part.

You sighed as you kneaded the dough in your hands against the counter. You’d been working at it for a couple minutes now and couldn’t figure out what was going wrong or why it wouldn’t come together properly. Charlie walked over from where he was mixing icing and stood next to you to peer at your hands.

“It keeps falling apart, I don’t know what I did wrong...” You glanced at him for a moment before squishing it all together again. Charlie hummed and turned to look for something as you tried to start a proper conversation. “You said your mom owned a bakery? I didn't know that.” He walked back over with something in his hands, and you quickly lost your train of thought as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you to grab the dough, leaning into your ear with a quiet tone.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

You were suddenly very glad he was pressing you against the counter, because you swore your knees would’ve given out from under you right then and there otherwise. Your face felt warm as his chest pressed against your back and his arms flexed on either side of your shoulders. His breath was soft against your ear, and you could almost feel his grin despite how hard you tried to avoid looking at him until you remembered how to breathe and wow, was it warm in here? It was really warm. Maybe you left the oven open? God, it was so warm–

“There. You just needed to add a little moisture. Butter works fine for that.” He slowly pulled away, and it felt like you had freezer burn everywhere he had touched. You peeked at him from the corner of your eye, desperately trying to act normal.

“Yeah.. Thanks.” Your voice cracked as you spoke. Of course it did.

Charlie chuckled and went back over to the icing and checked on it before moving over to where the piping bags sat for now. You took a deep breath and reached for the rolling pin, trying to keep your cool. What the hell was that?? There was nobody but you two in the kitchen right now, right? If that was part of the act, who was it for? Did he see something you hadn’t? Some hopeful part of you piped up with the thought that it wasn’t an act. That he wanted to do that. That he meant it. A much more realistic part of your mind suggested that he simply didn’t realize what that just did to you. From lifting you yesterday to what just happened? Yeah, maybe he was just a little oblivious. You couldn’t see the dramatic irony to this.

After you had finally rolled out the dough and put a few batches into the oven, you moved to help Charlie with the icing. He seemed to be lacking a bit, and it was taking up your cooling racks.

“Need some help over here?” You smiled and glanced around at the cookies.

“Uhh,” He started, squinting as his tongue poked out in focus. “Mm.. Maybe. I thought I'd have more done by now.” Charlie stood up and looked across the eight cookies he had so dutifully iced thus far. His eyebrows furrowed. You grabbed one of the other colours and wiped off the excess that had leaked out with your thumb.

“Don’t worry. Worst case, we just eat the rest of the icing and tell mom we ran out.” You shrugged with a playful grin, bringing the icing on your thumb to your mouth — only for Charlie to grab your hand and steal the icing with his own finger. “Hey–!!”

He shot you a grin as he licked his lips, so you squeezed a little more out. This time he grabbed your wrist and pulled it towards his mouth. You gasped and shoved your hand forwards, smearing it on the corner of his lips and onto his cheek. Five minutes later the two of you were messy and covered in icing, bags now much lighter from smearing it on each other and trying to eat the icing.

You only stopped when there was a knock on the door and your mother walked through the kitchen to reach it, stopping to look at you two with a bewildered gaze for a moment, before continuing on when another knock sounded.

You two looked at each other and tried not to laugh, before you ultimately failed and burst into laughter. It only took one warm cloth and a couple minutes to wipe up most of the mess, meanwhile you heard the door open and the sound of shuffling and muffled talking.

A familiar face poked into the kitchen, breaking out into a grin.

“Ohh, there you are!” Isabella grinned and straightened up, walking in with a bag over her shoulder and her arms out for a hug. You gasped and handed the cloth to Charlie before making your way over to hug her.

“Bella! How are you??” You pulled away and looked her over with a matching smile.

“Not as good as you apparently,” She leaned over to look at Charlie. “Who’s this?”

Her younger sister, Alice, came around the corner and nearly fell over as her socks made her slide to a stop. A shout came from where she had been, likely from her mother scolding her for running in the house.

“Oh my god!!” You quickly felt two arms around your waist as she careened into you for a hug, once again unable to stop short due to her socks. “I missed you so much! It’s been like, forever??” Alice stared up at you with a gasp from where she was bent over to hug you.

“You saw me at Easter, Alice.” You laughed and pulled her up to hug properly, where she quickly gasped again.

“Hello there, handsome-”

“Al, give him a chance to introduce himself before you start with that.” Isabella groaned and pulled her sister back by the shoulder.

You laughed at their usual antics and glanced back at Charlie, who was quickly trying to wipe any leftover flour and icing off himself to look presentable.

“This is Charlie. My boyfriend.” The word came out more confident than when you had said it to your parents, but you tried not to dwell on that.

“Your boyfriend.” Isabella raised her eyebrow suspiciously. “The boyfriend?”

A bit of that guilt came back as a burning sensation in your throat you couldn't quite swallow down. Isabella was always the one to see through your lies no matter how hard you tried. You never quite forgave her for telling your mother you were lying when she found the broken TV as kids.

“Not bad.” She nodded approvingly.

You tried not to make your sigh of relief too obvious.

“Sooo…” Alice started, slipping out of her sister's grasp before looking Charlie up and down. “Got any brothers? Maybe some cute friends..?”

Charlie laughed nervously and pushed his hair out of the way, coming up to your side and leaning against you slightly. Alice could be a bit much at first, so you leaned back against him in what you hoped was read as a reassuring movement.

“I don’t know about that..” He smiled apologetically.

“Alice, come help your father with the bags please?” Your Aunt Ashley’s voice came from somewhere closer out of sight, saving Charlie from this conversation for now. He sighed, but you knew better. She’d be back.

A dinging started behind you signaling that the oven timer was through, causing Charlie to pat your shoulder as he turned to get it. Conversation with Isabella came as easy as ever, only for her to fall silent after a minute. You turned and followed her gaze to see Charlie bent over pulling out a rack of cookies. His hair fell over his face and the apron hugged him rather nicely. Any heat on your face was silently blamed on the open oven.

“Nice.”

You scoffed and shoved her halfheartedly. You weren't disagreeing with her, but she didn't need to say it.

Charlie turned and kicked the oven door shut in one smooth motion, raising the tray with a grin as he moved to the cooling trays.

“Bella, was it? Care for a snack?” He motioned to the pile of undecorated cookies, then glanced at the subtle remains of your icing fight and quickly smudged it away with his hand.

Isabella glanced at you, then at him. She didn't need to say it, there was some snarky comment bouncing around up there loud enough for you to hear it anyways. She had always been like this, since you were kids really. It drove her mother mad, but she managed to worm her way out of any sort of punishment every time. You really wished you knew how she did it.

“Yeah, I'll take a cookie.” She shrugged and raised a hand. Charlie looked at you, then around for your mother, and tossed a cookie toward your cousin.

They quickly got settled in, already having usual places from how often they come over for more than a night, meanwhile you and Charlie finished up what baking was left and tidied up the kitchen.

You moved in such sync that it almost felt natural, like this is what you were meant to be doing with your time. It made you feel warm inside, easily passing things to him and sweeping as he wiped the counters down. By the end, the kitchen looked like it had never been touched and smelled like all sorts of freshly baked treats.

The sun had already begun to set, and you had managed to escape the constant questions of your Aunt for now. You loved her, really! But from the moment she had seen you it was a hug, a kiss on each cheek and nonstop questions ever since. Doing your best to answer didn't seem to help much either because every answer opened up a hundred more questions thrown at you too fast to possibly answer them all. Sure, you felt a little guilty throwing Charlie under the bus here by slipping away when he would surely be the next victim, but he had it handled! … Probably.

The front of the house was shoveled to create a simple salted walkway that you followed to the front of the garage to sit on the hood of your car.

“Oh, hey.”

Your attention was caught by Isabella leaning against your parents car, out of sight of the windows and front door. She had something in her hand that she pressed to her lips and pulled away, turning her head to exhale smoke. Oh. That was how she stood her own mother.

“Hey, Bella.” You walked up and leaned against your car across from her, to which she held the pen out to you.

“Hey. Wanna hit?”

“No, thanks. I'm trying to at least keep it together for the week.” You laughed and shook your head a little, putting your hands in your pockets as you looked out across the street at the glittering snow and colourful lights.

“Ohh, yeah. Trying to keep it together for that so-called boyfriend of yours, right?”

“... So-called?”

“Yeah,” She chuckled and nodded. “There's no way you're actually dating him, right?”

“Look, if you have something against Charlie-”

“No, dumbass. He's fine. I'm talking about you.”

You stared at her, confused. So, she continued. “You guys have something going on, but whatever it is, it isn't dating. Not for as long as you say, at least. So either you've been lying about this guy and only recently started dating, or you aren't dating at all and you're faking it.”

“When did you get so perceptive?” You crossed your arms. Trying to lie to her would get you nowhere. “And what's it matter to you?”

She shrugged and took another puff, blowing it into the wind away from you.

“It's not too hard to see. You might have to step your game up though. If Alice catches on it's over for you.” Isabella joked. “I dunno why, though. It doesn't seem like you to pull this kind of stunt.”

Sighing, you figured hiding it from her would only make things worse.

“I got dumped over text by my actual boyfriend.”

There was a beat, and then Isabella broke out into laughter, covering her mouth.

“Over text??”

You gave her an unimpressed look.

“Oh my god- You aren't gonna let that slide, right? You totally have got to kick his ass for that one.” She shook her head, trying to stifle her giggles. After a couple moments she took a deep breath. “Have you even let yourself come to terms with that? I mean, c’mon. When was it?”

“A couple days ago. Just before we drove out.”

Isabella's eyes bulged.

“And you're just? Okay with that?? Acting like nothing happened? Cuz’ you gotta, like, go kick his ass and then properly cry about that or something. You earned it after it. … Can I see the text?”

Sighing, you pulled your phone out and opened the texts, handing it to her. Isabella nodded as she read over it and hissed.

“What an asshole…” There was a minute of silence as she handed you back your phone and took another hit. “I'm sure your man in there wouldn't do the same, though.”

“Oh shut up-” You shoved her, to which she laughed.

“I’m just saying! He seems like prime boyfriend material. You should get on that. Literally.”

The two of you continued talking a little, and you really had to reckon with that thought. Did you like him that much? Surely you wouldn't be having these feelings about anyone else had they come, right? She pocketed her pen and went inside, leaving you to watch the occasional car drive by and the lights on each house flash and change. Eventually you followed her back in and hung up your coat, grabbing a pair of cookies as you made your way back to the main gathering. Charlie was sat on the couch trying to keep up with the conversation, so you just sat next to him and handed a cookie. He lit up at the sight of you and thanked you as he took it, wrapping an arm around your shoulders when you leaned up against him.

Isabella gave you a playful look, to which you rolled your eyes and slightly moved closer to Charlie.

You found yourself warming up to the thought of this being something you could strive for, something reasonable and within reach. When that guilt started to rise again, Charlie squeezed your shoulders and made a small joke. The warmth of his arm and his tone drove away whatever bad feelings there were in your mind. Right now, everything was okay. You and Charlie were warm and happy and having a good time. That's all that mattered.

Considering you had a much earlier start than usual, you excused yourself to bed and Charlie quickly agreed. Isabella made some comment about you two having fun, and you had to try not to laugh as her mother smacked her arm. You walked up the stairs after Charlie and changed in your respective places. After you finished you fell into the bed and sighed, shutting your eyes. There was a knock and Charlie walked in a moment later, seeing you there.

“Tired?”

You nodded, letting out some sort of groan in response.

“Yeah, me too. I'm whipped.”

You peeked an eye open to see him grinning.

“Charlie.”

“Completely cooked. ” He walked over to his side of the bed.

“That doesn't even make sense.”

“I'm just saying…” Charlie followed your lead and fell onto the bed, smiling at you when you turned to look at him. “We really got that bread.”

“Stop.”

“Hey, at least I wasn't like your cousin. She was baked.”

You groaned loudly and shoved a hand into his face, biting your lip to stop from giving him the reaction he was looking for. Charlie laughed and pulled your hand away, continuing to make awful quips until the two of you fell asleep.

In the early light of Christmas Eve, you slowly blinked to life after a dream that was already melting away like watercolours before realizing there was something warm wrapped around you. In your haze, and the chill of the room around you. This didn’t ring any alarms in your mind at first, instead opting to hold it closer. You entwined your fingers with the ones against your stomach before you stopped. Fingers? Blinking open your eyes, you look down and see what you immediately put together to be Charlie’s arm wrapped around you. The world seems to hold its breath as you do, carefully picking up his arm and moving it back onto his own chest. He groans and stretches, and you quickly avert your gaze as his shirt rides up. Looking through your closet is when you hear him yawn and the bed creaks slightly as he sits up. You poke your head out and smile at him.

“Good morning.”

He rubs his eyes and yawns again, looking over to find you, nodding and smiling softly.

“Good morning. Anything planned for today..?”

You hummed and grabbed your clothes for the day.

“I think it’s just going to be a lot of socializing. The kids are all excited for Christmas tomorrow and most of the adults are here. It uh…” You hesitate and glance away in thought, before looking back to Charlie apologetically. “It might be a bit stuffy today. I’m sure we’re gonna get swarmed with those cliche family questions that they’ve been nice enough to hold off on. Once that wine gets uncorked though, we’re in for it. Ashley is well acquainted with how to pour a new glass of wine…”

Charlie laughed and stretched again, standing up and moving over to his suitcase to grab clothes. The two of you split up to get dressed and walked down the stairs together.

The day was warm and filled with your family running about and chatting, but you knew this was tame compared to what tomorrow would look like. Christmas music filled every silence and there were multiple glasses of eggnog laying around. The tree looked more and more full as new gifts were added to the underside, eventually spilling out and off the tree skirt. Conversations felt like the same interaction over and over again, asking how they were, they asked how you were. You’d give the same generic answers over and over with a little extra here and there for flavour depending on who you were talking to. Sure, it was repetitive and a little boring at times, but it was Christmas, and this was the most you’d talk to some of these people all year. It wasn’t that you were distant, they just had their own busy lives.

Charlie would occasionally pop in and join the conversation, talking about his own life when asked, or about one of your made up stories of your supposed love life. That guilt swirled in your gut again, rising like bile in your throat. Your realization last night wasn't helping either, making this even worse. The way he got along with your family so easily, the way they would make remarks when he wasn't there about how lucky you were to have found him. Honestly, you agreed. You couldn't understand how you'd lucked into getting such a wonderful man to ever agree to such a stupid plan, but here he was, playing the part perfectly.

Stepping into the backyard and out of the general hum of chatter in the house, you took a deep breath. The cold winter air stung in such a sobering way that it calmed you instantly. It was just an act, you reminded yourself. You'll go back to school and act like this never happened. Sure, your relationship with him would have changed by now, but what did that matter? It didn't change that this meant nothing. You were just putting on an act for your family.

Your feelings were different, but how could you possibly bring up the thought of actually dating after this? Sure, nothing had gone too wrong - which you were thankful for - but surely it would be awkward to drive home just to ask him out again, right? Considering he had agreed just for entertainment's sake, you figured he probably didn't share your feelings. Sure, he’d been much more forward than you had expected but maybe that was part of his act.

Wallowing in your wishy-washy thoughts, you almost missed the way the door opened and shut behind you, and Charlie stepped out with his jacket on. He smiled and gave a quiet wave as he walked over and sat on the side of the porch next to you, bumping his shoulder into yours.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

You two didn’t say more than that for a while, sitting there and watching the stars in the sky as snow started to fall. It was hard to see the stars normally at home, so you appreciated every moment you could watch them glitter and shine. The snow was small and light as it fell, flashing little shimmers of light caught from the house behind you. Charlie stayed silent in your peripheral vision, and you let your leg fall against his. Sure, this was all an act, but it felt nice nonetheless. Would it be so bad to allow yourself the guilty pleasure of enjoying this just a little?

A shooting star flashed across the sky, disappearing so quickly you almost weren't sure you’d seen it in the first place. You gasped as you pointed to the sky and turned to Charlie, only to see him staring at you.

“Did you see that? The shooting star??”

“Oh,” He breathed and looked up at the sky. “No, I must've just missed it. Are you gonna make a wish? Make sure you get what you want for Christmas?”

You looked at the sky again too and tilted your head. Sure, you could’ve made a wish. You could have wished for a lot of things. Good grades, a better new year, a new car might be nice, but…

“Honestly? I don’t need to.” You shook your head and turned to face Charlie with a smile. “I already got what I really wanted for Christmas.”

“Really? You haven’t even opened any presents.” Charlie laughed a little, looking at you.

There were snowflakes adorning his hair and eyelashes, his cheeks slightly pink from the cold outside. Each breath he took let out a little puff that circled his head and made him glow under the moonlight.

“I couldn’t ask for anything better than you.”

His face changed, ever so slightly, but you kept talking.

“I mean, honestly, you were the best thing I think I ever could have asked for. You showed up right when I needed help and you didn’t turn me away or call me crazy when I asked you to do this with me. My parents love you, I’m sure my aunts and uncles are going to miss you from every other family gathering I attend, and you get along with my cousins like you’ve always been part of the family. You’re an amazing guy, Charlie. You’re funny and sweet and so, so genuine that I just… I don’t know how to thank you enough for this. You saved me from what would’ve been a week of the same question over and over again, having to tell everyone that my ex wasn’t what I thought he was. Embarrassing myself. Stuff like that doesn’t die in this family, y’know? I mean, Alice still gets it from people about this boy she dated in middle school who embarrassed her. I couldn’t handle that this Christmas.” As you finished your ramble, you looked him in the eyes and felt your heart tighten. He looked.. Upset. It wasn’t anger, probably, but he looked conflicted. Maybe hurt? “Charlie?-”

“I..” His hand twitched in his lap, starting to move before it fell limp against his lap again. He took a deep breath and avoided your gaze. “I think I should go.”

“What? Charlie, wait- Did I say something?-”

Shaking his head, Charlie stood up and brushed the snow off of him before quickly going back inside.

Your stomach writhed with even more guilt as the area around you was silent, save for the whistling of the wind that drove a chill down your back. Did you just ruin something? Did you say too much and let your feelings leak through? Maybe you had made him uncomfortable with such an emotional confession. Tears stung your eyes as a lump gathered in your throat. It was Christmas Eve and you had just fucked up.

Snow continued to fall around you, swirling in the wind as you put your head in your arms, trying not to cry. You weren't sure how long you spent out there, but when you couldn't feel your cheeks anymore, you had figured it was long enough that you should probably go inside and warm up before you got frostbite.

It seemed like all of your family had gone to sleep by now, and the lights were slowly being turned out one by one as your mother made her way around the house. She caught up with you in the den, watching you stare at the lights on the Christmas tree. New presents had appeared since the kids had gone to sleep, labeled that they were from Santa. A set of bikes, newly stuffed stockings, even the milk and cookies had been taken from to keep up the magic. The kids would love it.

“Merry Christmas, honey.” She came up beside you, her smile faltering when she saw your face. “What's wrong?”

“I think I messed up, mom.” You sniffled and the sting of tears made themselves known again. Turning to face her, the Christmas lights lit up the room with soft colour and reflected off her face that made the world seem just a bit less real. You figured it would be best to just admit it. “I.. Charlie isn't actually my boyfriend.”

Your mother raised her eyebrows and nodded, leading you to the dining room to sit at the table. The wood was cool against your skin as you tried your best not to choke up or spiral any further. You had already made a mess, you just had to figure out how to clean it up. When your mother sat down across from you and took your hands in hers, you continued.

“He isn't my boyfriend. My actual boyfriend dumped me a day before we drove out here over text because he.. Wanted to work on himself, I guess? I probably should have listened when my friends told me they thought they saw him with someone else at a party. I thought he was good, Mom. I really thought he was different, like everything I said he was. And then he suddenly ended things and- And I wasn't sure what to do, I couldn't come home without anybody. It would've been salt in the wound to be humiliated in front of everyone after letting myself get hurt like that.

And then I found Charlie, and I asked if he was willing to just.. Come and pretend to be my boyfriend and- Honestly I didn't expect him to agree at all. But he did. He did, and he's so..” You laughed tearfully and shook your head. “He's so perfect. He's everything I thought my actual boyfriend was. It's like it all comes naturally to him, like he doesn't even have to try to be funny and make people comfortable. You saw how well he got along with everyone this week, and you said yourself you love him! But I… It was supposed to be easy. A week of avoiding embarrassment with a guy I only sort of knew, and then we would go back to school and I’d tell everyone we broke up. Make it seem like this whole thing where I threw him out and I was in the right. Not dumped over text.

But I don't think I can do that, Mom. I.. I think I’m in love with him? How could I not? He's been nothing but kind and perfect to me and so sweet and I never want this week to end because I know that it means things will go back to normal and I don't know how to ask anything more of him after this- I don't even know why he agreed to this in the first place!! But I tried to tell him how much I appreciated him outside earlier and he looked so… Upset. Like I had done something wrong, and then he said he had to go and came inside. And-” The world blurred and smeared as tears filled your vision. “I think- I think I might've ruined what little I had with him-”

Your mother nodded, listening to you ramble on with an intent look on her face. She squeezed your hands and brought them to her mouth to kiss. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and looked at you until you silently took a couple of breaths yourself.

“Honey… I don’t think you ruined anything. Charlie seems like a wonderful man, he would tell you if you had truly ruined anything. He didn't seem angry when he came in, I saw your uncle ask if he was heading upstairs and he just seemed a little.. lost with himself.” She shook her head and smiled. “I knew from the stars you two weren't dating.”

“What??” Your eyebrows furrowed. Were you really that obvious?

“You had said things about your boyfriend that didn't quite line up with Charlie. Things you wouldn't have said about him, that I'm sure you had just forgotten you said.”

“Mom I’m sorry-” She cut you off by squeezing your hands again.

“Don't be sorry, dear. I knew you had feelings for him anyways.” You gave her a quizzical look, going to speak before she answered your question. “Mothers always know these kinds of things. I know how you act, and I love you, but honey you're not the best actor in the family… I've been watching you two all week, and I’m surprised you haven't said something sooner. I would've kept it to myself, though, because I think you need to see how this plays out.”

“I don't know how I can fix this though, Mom. I- I don't even know what I did wrong!”

She smiled knowingly.

“I don't think you did anything wrong, dear. But if you keep these feelings to yourself I think you'll find yourself worse off than if you didn't.” Your mother squeezed your hands again before letting go and standing up. “I've seen the way he looks at you, too. When he thinks nobody is looking, or when you aren't paying attention. When he thinks nobody but you and him are there.” Patting your shoulder as she walked towards the stairs, she gave you one last smile. “It’s Christmas after all. Maybe you got another gift you didn't know you asked for.”

With that, she bid you goodnight and made her way upstairs to her bedroom, leaving you alone in the dining room under the light. The house was near silent aside from the whistling outside of the wind.

You shut the light off and swallowed as you tried to reason through your mothers words. She was a bit of an optimist, so maybe she was just being hopeful, or maybe she was right. Maybe she had seen something you hadn't yet noticed.

The door to your room was left slightly open when you walked up, giving a soft knock as you pushed the door open. Charlie was under the blankets on his far side of the bed. There was no movement other than the steady breathing of his chest. You changed quickly and walked up to the bed, hesitating.

“Charlie..? Are you awake?” Your voice was quiet and dry. There was no answer from Charlie, and he hardly even shifted. Assuming he was asleep, you sighed and resigned yourself to sleeping on your far side of the bed, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. Tomorrow would be the busiest day of all and if you had done something to upset him, you really weren't sure how well this would go. Maybe it would have been all for naught if you went and messed things up on Christmas Eve. Drifting to sleep as you tried to ignore the way the soft sound of his breathing made you feel, one final sigh made your exit from the waking world known.

You were woken in darkness, blinking your eyes open to barely see Charlie in the very same knitted sweater he had shown you at the start of the week.

“Good morning sleepyhead.”

You groaned and rubbed your eyes, yawning.

“It's still dark..?”

“Merry Christmas.” Charlie's voice was little more than a whisper, and you felt yourself smile at the pure warmth of the tone.

“Oh… Merry Christmas..”

“Your little cousins are running from room to room, I figured I would wake you up a little nicer than that.”

“You're too sweet, Charlie..” You hummed and looked up at him. Even in the darkness he looked beautiful, and you blearily wondered if you were still dreaming. Having such a wonderful man wake you in your bed to go downstairs for Christmas morning with your family, not a care in the world, seemed like a dream come true.

“I'll go stand in the hall and let you change, I think if someone doesn't stop Elliot he's gonna tear open every package and parcel he can get his hands on.” Charlie quietly slipped out of the room and you immediately heard him make his presence known to the distant chaos you slowly became aware of as you woke up.

… Okay, there were a few cares in your world. The strangeness of last night came back to you slowly. You had expected him to be cold, maybe. Or mad. At least a little upset! But he spoke to you like you were a literal angel, like waking you any faster than your body wanted to would have broken you. It was attractive, to say the least.

A scream from downstairs broke you of your thoughts and you remembered there were gifts with children's names on them, and they wouldn't wait around for you.

Stepping up to your closet, you fished out the sweater you had told Charlie about, smiling down at it. It was a bit old and a gift from your Grandmother, but it still fit nicely and had softened over the years to be a little less itchy. You wore a shirt underneath just to be safe.

With each step down the stairs you had to take a breath and remind yourself that you had an act to put on with Charlie. If you had messed up, you at least owed it to him to keep your attitude nice for the day. You were both adults, you knew any issues you had could be resolved in due time. Charlie wouldn't just let it fester if you had hurt his feelings or said something wrong, right? You had to hope that was the case, at least.

Right as you step off the last step, your younger cousins come running up to you with excitement, shouting about Santa Claus, the half eaten cookies, and the new gifts. You do your best to wave off the lingering sleep in your mind to match their enthusiasm. When that's enough to satisfy them before they can actually open their gifts, they loudly run off to their next victims – You catch Charlie's eye from across the den.

His eyes crinkle at the sight of you, then flick down to your sweater and he sits up, pointing at his own for a moment with his mouth slightly agape, before patting the seat beside him enthusiastically. It takes you a moment to mentally unstick your feet from the floor and walk over to him. It was Christmas morning in front of your family - if anything was wrong, this was probably your last reprieve before things fully went wrong and you could see the damages. As selfish as it sounded, you felt as though you should take advantage of that.

“So you really do have a matching sweater?” Charlie giggled and pulled you down to sit next to him, wrapping an arm around you. “I'm glad you decided to match with me.”

“And leave you hanging? Just wait until you see whatever Mom has got on this year. It's gonna put both of us to shame.” You leaned in to whisper as early morning chaos still reigned.

“Hey lovebirds, say cheese!” Your aunt had her phone out already, and you perked up just in time to smile as the flash dazzled you and Charlie.

“You ready for a whole day of.. That?” You glanced to Charlie, who chuckled.

“Bring it on.”

Rolling your eyes, you waited for everyone to wake up and join the family in the den. The younger kids instantly started opening gifts and throwing wrapping paper everywhere when they were given the go ahead. Eventually your dad started a garbage bag of scraps and tried his best to rally the kids into one area with their new toys as the adults started opening their much smaller gifts.

It was always amusing watching people open gifts, seeing the way even grown adults would get excited over certain things they wanted, or how they tried to hide their dislike or disappointment over certain other gifts. One of your aunts was given an ornate music box that seemed to be hand-crafted, and it seemed like she was ready to cry as she hugged your uncle, thanking him. Meanwhile one of your uncles got a pair of socks with little reindeer printed on them, and you swore you could see him try to set them on fire with his eyes.

Charlie would lift his arm whenever it was your turn to open something, watching you make a neat little pile at your feet of opened gifts. He seemed content to just sit and watch, making little jokes about certain gifts until your father walked over with a small box. He lifted his arm again, but your dad held the box to him a little more insistently.

“Wh.. For me-?” Charlie pointed at himself and sat up, taking it hesitantly.

“Well… We didn't want you to feel left out, but the stores were a bit scarce so close to the holiday when I went to get you something. So we hope it's okay.” Your dad smiled and nodded, stepping back to his place by the tree.

Charlie looked at you a bit bewildered, and carefully tore open the wrapping paper. It was a couple of Pokémon card packs from the store, and a set of six-sided dice. You almost went to say something about how they just did their best to understand, but Charlie's eyes lit up as he pulled them out of the box, carefully holding the dice as he inspected them. It was a set of black dice with white dots, subtly reflecting the lights on the tree.

“You didn't..” He looked up at your parents and shook his head slowly. “You didn't have to get me anything.” His hand slipped into yours, squeezing so tight it shook a little. Glancing at Charlie, you could tell he was trying so hard to play it cool, but the way his lips twitched and fought off a grin was undermining all of his attempts.

Your mother shook her head.

“What kind of parents in law would we be if we left you out?? We’ll get you something better next year, we promise.” She sent a wink your way, and you knew it was more for you than it was Charlie. You tried to ignore the warmth that crawled up your neck at the implication there. Next year. Did she really have that much faith in you to fix things? Did she have so much confidence in her ability to see what you can't that she believed Charlie would come home with you next year?

The next gift was picked, and Charlie turned to you with wide, excited eyes as he held up the card packs. It snapped you out of your thoughts and you smiled at him. You hadn't expected it would make him so happy, but the way he glowed was so much better than you could've imagined.

“I take it you're happy then?” You whispered, and he nodded, flipping through the handful of packs.

“I didn't- They didn't need to get me anything! I didn't expect to get anything..”

“Well,” You shrugged and leaned against him, sighing. “If you're part of the family, they're gonna get you something. I'm just glad I didn't tell them what he would've wanted, in case they got something you would've hated.”

Charlie shook his head as he chose one of the packs, setting the others down in his lap gently.

“I wasn't expecting anything, though. I would've enjoyed just watching you open things.” He fiddled with the wrapping of the pack and you looked down at it, then up at him.

“Well.. Go on.”

“What?”

“Open the pack. I wanna see what you got.”

He smiles and you set your head on his shoulder, watching as he opens the pack and flicks through the cards. He explains each card to you, explaining the differences on each of them, and you were more than happy to let him quietly ramble on as he grabbed the next pack.

“Do you wanna open this one?”

“Nah. All yours.”

Charlie nods, peeling open the next pack. It was impressive how quickly he put you at ease, and you couldn't find it in yourself to worry about what may come later, so long as you could stay in the moment of him explaining the rarity of certain cards. It was cute.

The rest of the day went by in a blur as people showed up and left, some family friends popping in for the day just to visit, a few neighbours showing up to gift some treats that you watched your younger cousins sneak into just a little too early. Your mother walked around at one point with her phone facetiming your grandmother, who insisted on having an entire conversation about you wearing the sweater, to which you just had to drag Charlie into frame to show that you were matching. This started a whole new slough of questions about your relationship, and the two of you had to explain repeatedly that you weren't ready for marriage, let alone kids.

Christmas music played loudly and the sound of far too many conversations loudly filled the air during the afternoon, and after being pulled between so many, you found your head was spinning too fast to keep up with, so you snuck out to the front foyer for a bit of space. Charlie seemed to have the same idea as he stumbled out of the kitchen, followed by the sound of your uncles laughing.

“They aren't getting to you in there, are they? Do I need to go tell them to lay off?” You teased lightly, leaning against the doorway as you took a deep breath.

“Pshh, No..” Charlie shook his head and walked up to you with a warm smile, though you noticed his cheeks were slightly pink. “Just got a little warm in there. Your family is really, uh..”

“Nosy?”

“Thorough.”

You laughed loudly and shook your head as you straightened up. Your gaze drifts up and your face falls slightly.

Mistletoe.

Charlie's gaze follows yours and he freezes. The buzz of the house seems to fade away as you focus on it, as if you found yourself locked in this little bubble with Charlie, and suddenly every guilty feeling writhed under your skin all at once.

“Oh.”

“I'm- I’m sorry,” You start, shaking your head as you turn to step to the side. You had been doing so well acting normal, of course you'd find yourself under the very same mistletoe he helped you hang. “We can move-”

“Wait.”

Charlie's arm stops you, and you look at his face to see him flushed, with the same expression from when you started talking last night.

“I..” He shifts, and you move back to standing under the mistletoe with him, looking at him intently. “I know that when you asked me to help you with this, you were a bit desperate and just looking for somebody to help you, and I’m sure I wasn't your first choice considering how little time we had spent together, but… This week has been the best week of my life I think, and I don't ever want it to end if it means we have to go back to the way things were. I don't want to go another day without hearing your voice, or watching you try not to laugh at my jokes - which I know you think are funny. I know this was mostly to save face in front of your family and that we haven't gotten much of a chance to genuinely get to know each other, but I would love to get to know you better, if I can.” His eyes soften and the confliction on his face fades into something much more vulnerable. Charlie's hands move up to your shoulders, and that feeling of freezer burn starts radiating under his touch again. “I want more of this, if you're okay with that. More of you.”

Charlie's eyes flicker between your own, carefully watching as you stand there, stunned.

“And.. Stop me, if I’ve taken this wrong. If my attempts to get your attention this week have been unwarranted. Stop me if this isn't what you want.” His hand moves to your cheek. “Please.”

You don't stop him, shaking your head and leaning into his hand.

“I won't.”

Charlie smiles as he pulls your face to his, gently kissing you for just a moment. He pulls away, just enough to breathe. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and quickly pull him into a deeper kiss.

The sound of cheers and whoops fill the hall and you pull away to see a handful of family members standing in the hallway, watching you two. Your mom gives you a knowing smile before you stare and silently wave them all off. Isabella is the last one to leave, holding her phone up with a mischievous grin and a thumbs up.

Charlie chuckled lowly and kissed your cheek, and when you were sure your little audience had dispersed, you two smiled at each other and kissed again.

“I told you I’d surprise you.”

“You didn't let me down.”

The rest of the night was full of playful gazes and quick kisses when nobody's looking. Quiet whispers of private conversation passed back and forth with no room for anyone to eavesdrop. Gentle touches and subtle movements, with something a little more genuine behind them – you find that not much changes in these little acts from the rest of the week, as if they've always had the same intent behind them just with more hesitation.

Dinner goes about as well as you'd expect, with one of your uncles trying to stir up some trouble and having to be talked down as a big scene was made. Usually you'd be much more upset about this sort of thing, but whenever you sighed or tensed up, Charlie's hand squeezed yours from under the table, and everything was okay again. You stayed up and drank a little after with the rest of the adults in the family, the conversations around the house a little more soft spoken, albeit a little more loose lipped as well. Those who were either already planning on staying, or had drank more than they meant to, trickled off one by one to their rooms, and slowly the unused lights were turned off until it was you and Charlie alone in the den with the glittering lights of the tree.

Sure, you were a few drinks in, but so was he as the two of you hummed and danced along to the Christmas music emanating from the radio. His arms wrapped around you and it was like there was nothing else in the world you could possibly bring yourself to think about other than the smell of Charlie and the sound of his low hums as he swayed you two back and forth.

You knew there would have to be a proper conversation about what you two were going to do now, about what this meant for your relationship and how it would affect the people around you, but for now, you were content with what you had, which was Charlie in your arms, smiling warmly at you.

The song changed to something more upbeat, and he grinned, laughing a little as he pulled away and spun you to the tune. The two of you kept up with singing along, even if you wavered a little as Charlie pulled you along. It was fun and it was carefree and you were very dizzy by the end, where Charlie leaned you into a dip and smiled down at you.

“Merry Christmas, Charlie.”

“Merry Christmas, Angel.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips, and you chase him as he leans up to press another kiss to his lips. After a couple more chaste kisses, he pulls away and glances towards the stairs then back at you with an unspoken question, and you find yourself quickly pulled up the stairs, giggling and shushing each other all the way to your room.

#⁉️ ; bang !#🐾 ; checkmate !#slimecicle x reader #charlie slimecicle x reader #if you see any mistakes no you don't

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viviettezheart · 2 months ago

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Cheating ★ Katsuki. B (Mdni)

★ - Kastuki and you have been dating behind your boyfriends back for almost a year now. Today is your and Bakugo’s 10 months anniversary but this day would turn out to be a complete disaster.

You all go to College in Japan and have dorms there were you can sleep if you live further away from the College. Today was a rather normal today or so you thought. After getting ready in the morning you headed to your classes with your Boyfriend. You and your Boyfriend have been dating for almost 5 years now but he never found out in the last 10 months that you have been going behind his back with Kastuki.

You know its wrong but you couldn’t help but fall for that aggressive blond dude in your classes like everyone else but somehow Bakugo’s eyes caught yours and that’s how you ended up one night in his dorm, making out.

A few of the most boring lectures were over as you and your Boyfriend headed over to the cafeteria at lunch time. It wasn’t that packed like always which is surprising but you just shrugged your shoulders and got our food before sitting down with him.

Everything was going great until when suddenly Katsuki and his Friends decided to sit with us at the table. ‘Why our table when there are empty tables around us’. I thought to myself as you day dreamed but was pulled back into reality when Katsuki sat down beside you.

Your Boyfriends hand immediately when to your inner thigh but Katsuki had the same idea and did the same. Now you’re lover and your sneaky link was caressing both your thighs without each other knowing. You began to panic and immediately stood up, not knowing how to handle the situation, you left the Cafeteria.

Both Katsuki and your boyfriend looked at you confused and continued chatting with each other. Only Katsuki knew that he was banging you yesterday in your kitchen while your boyfriend slept in your bed. Memories immediately felt his mind as devilish smirked appears on his lips.

An hour later and it was the hour were the wholesome day would turn into a complete disaster. You came back from your yoga classes you attended at the campus. You were about to put your bag down when suddenly your boyfriend who often waits for you at your dorm, came rushing to you angry. Still in your yoga pants plus top you immediately asked what’s wrong.

“Woah honey come down what happened?!..” You tried calming him down but that only worsened the situation. “You fucking slut, you cheated on me with that blond fucker at the Lunch.” Fuck! How did he find out-“W-What no where did you got that from?! That’s not true honey you have yo believe me…” You lied, immediately caressing his cheeks to comfort him and make you believe him but he was already on the verge of exploding.

Your boyfriend pushed you away. “I’ll kill that motherfucker!…” he yelled as he rushed out and rushed to the Male dorms. He found out which dorm room Katsuki’s is and stormed inside. Slamming the door open. You of course followed him and was shook to see him slamm the door open and rush straight to Katsuki who was sitting at the couch as he was chatting which his friends who sat at his bed.

He had now time to react as he was getting beaten up by your boyfriend. You gasped and tried prying your boyfriends hands away from him but no use. He only let go off katsuki when he had enough. You told him to leave as his friends help him lean against the wall with his back. You returned back to Katsuki who fortunately had no black eyes but a pretty bloody noise and messy hair which even had some blood in it. The blood from his noise was smeared all over his face, making it look like a bucked off blood was just dropped on him. It somehow turned you on, the look of him beaten up…

“K-Katsuki i’m so sorry…he somehow found out about it…” I sobbed as i caressed his blood cheeks. Tears escaping my eyes because a minute ago i thought that yesterday was the last time i saw Katsuki and could feel his hands all over me.

Katsuki smirked as you ran to him. The way you were touching his cheek and all seemed to work his nerves just enough. He looked at you with an amused look on his face. He liked how desperate you got to make him feel better. He chuckled a little and spoke. The smirk never leaving his face. "Oh babydoll don't you worry…" He grabbed your waist and pulled you on top of him so your straddling him.

“B-But you’re all bloody…katsuki are you okay?…” you said while caressing his chest over his shirt. Katsuki wrapped his arms around your waist and looked up at you. Even through his nose that was now bloodied he looked fine as hell, He was still looking pretty confident and he had a smirk on his face. "Don't worry about me…." He muttered.

You were looking down at him, eyes still blurry from the tears as you suddenly felt something underneath you growing but ignored it. “I-I’m glad you’re okay…” you whispered. "Of course I'm okay…" Katsuki chuckled a bit as he looked up at you. His hands slowly travelled down to the top of your thighs as he brought his head closer to you until he was nuzzles into the crook of your neck, the smirk on his face still being there. The smirk was so cocky and amused as he spoke again. His breath against your neck. "You seem to be enjoying this a bit too much…" you gulped but didn’t say anything. Kastuki smirked evilish as he suddenly pressed you down into the hard bulge in his pants. A clear sign that he was enjoying the way you cared about him and straddled him at the same time

A few images you sent him this morning also fluttering through his mind making him grow and began grinding you down hardly on him. You clit bumping through your yoga pants against the tip of his cock through his jeans. You both began moaning and soon enough you smacked your lips against his. Your both caught in a heated make out sessions. One hand found its way to the back of your head, pushing you as close as possible to his lips while the others was caressing the pants material over your ass before a few slaps on our ass had you whining and joilting forward.

You both had to break away from the kiss to take a breather. A saliva line connecting your lips to his wet from your tongue ones. Not longe after the make out and grinding you found yourself riding his hard cock on the floor. Your pants and top was long gone, leaving your tits exposed and your panties pushed to the side while katsuki only slide his pants halfway to his thighs down and his shirt was pushed upward as held it with his teeth so it won’t cover his chest and stomach. He loves exposing it for you so you can caress it while riding your way to heaven.

Eyes rolling into the back of your head as Katsuki began playing with your clit. “Feels good doll?…” He said in a mocking your whines tone that had you eagerly nodded your head as you move up and down like a rabbit on the search for a few carotts. “I’m gonna co-!”” You screamed before it was interrupted by the loudest whine you ever let out. Katsuki boucned you up and down for a few more seconds. Fucking your sore pussy up and down his still stiff cock until he also came. Inside you. “See baby i’m fine…don’t worry your pretty ass off…” He chukled before standing up and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder and dragging you like a potato bag over his shoulder to the bathroom…

{note: smut, not proof read, barely any dialogue, MDNI!!!}

#anime smut #anime #bakugou smut #katsuki x reader smut #mha smut #katsuki smut #katsuki bakugou smut #fem reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader smut

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jaeyunluvbot · 2 months ago

Text

sad beautiful tragic

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 angst, lovers to exes, joshua hong x reader, fiance!joshua x reader

word count 𝟅𝟈 4.2k

part two

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s your freshman year of college. You’d taken the risk and moved across the country to go to UCLA. It was your first exam season and you were sorely regretting this choice, wishing you had your family and friends to lean on.

The library is dead silent except for the occasional rustle of pages and the distant hum of the air conditioner. Your head hurts from staring at your statistics textbook for too long, the numbers blurring together like they’re mocking you. You press your palms into your forehead, trying to focus, but it’s useless.

You’re on the verge of packing up and leaving when a voice interrupts your spiral.

“Mind if I sit here?”

You glance up, your eyes landing on a boy holding a tray with two coffees. He’s tall, with a warm smile and a slightly oversized UCLA hoodie that makes him look impossibly soft.

You nod, gesturing to the seat across from you. “Go ahead.”

As he sits down, he slides one of the cups toward you. “You look like you need this more than I do.”

You blink, taken aback. “What—how did you know I needed caffeine?”

He chuckles, the sound light and easy. “You’ve been glaring at that textbook for like ten minutes.”

You laugh despite yourself, the tension in your chest loosening. “Fair point. Thanks... I guess I owe you one now.”

“Nah,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Think of it as my good deed for the day. I’m Joshua, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you reply, taking a cautious sip of the coffee. It’s just the way you like it—strong but not bitter. “This might actually save my grade.”

“Glad to be of service,” he says with a grin.

For the next hour, you pretend to study, but really, you’re watching him out of the corner of your eye. He’s quiet but not shy, the kind of person who makes you feel at ease without even trying. By the time you pack up your things to leave, you realize you don’t feel so alone anymore.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Life after college had been better than you'd ever imagined. When you moved to California for college, you’d never expected to find more than just a degree. Joshua had been the anchor in a world that felt so foreign—your solace when homesickness hit you hard. By the time graduation rolled around, the two of you were inseparable.

Your careers had fallen into place perfectly. You landed a job in New York, but when Joshua asked if you’d stay in California with him, you didn’t hesitate. You turned down the offer, found a great position in LA, and never looked back. Being close to him felt worth every sacrifice.

The proposal had been perfect in its simplicity. One quiet evening in your shared apartment, he’d set the table with your favorite takeout, candles flickering between cartons of food. You’d laughed when he nervously fumbled with the ring box but cried when he asked, “Will you marry me?” The answer had been a resounding yes.

At first, Joshua was just as excited as you were. He’d scroll through the boards with you, offering opinions on everything from table settings to wedding bands. “Simple and elegant,” he’d said, his voice laced with warmth as he picked out a gold band that matched yours. He’d even gotten himself a matching engagement ring, claiming he wanted everyone to know he was spoken for.

But then work started picking up for him.

It was little things at first—missing a cake tasting or zoning out during a discussion about the guest list. “Whatever you think is best, babe,” he’d say with a tired smile. At first, you brushed it off. He was busy, and you didn’t want to add to his stress.

Then, he missed your appointment with the wedding planner. It was supposed to be a big one, the meeting where you’d decide on the venue. You’d picked out three options together, but sitting across from the planner with an empty chair beside you made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

You called him after the meeting. He answered on the third ring, his voice apologetic but distant. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. The meeting at work ran over, and I couldn’t get away. Did you pick something?”

You paused, the lump in your throat growing. “Yeah. I went with the vineyard. It felt right.”

“That sounds perfect,” he said quickly, relief evident in his tone. “I trust your judgment.”

You tried to smile, but it felt forced.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

By the time he missed the florist appointment a week later, it wasn’t a surprise. “Sorry, babe. Just go with whatever you like,” he said when you called him, his voice rushed. “I know you’ll make it beautiful.”

You hung up feeling a mix of frustration and sadness. It wasn’t just the missed appointments. It was the way he seemed to disengage completely, like the wedding was your project and not something you were supposed to be building together.

He still wore his ring, still kissed you goodnight and said, “Love you.” But his words felt like a habit, something automatic and unthinking. You told yourself he was just busy, that once the stress of work eased up, things would go back to the way they were.

But deep down, you couldn’t ignore the growing ache in your chest.

The phone feels heavy in your hand as you sit cross-legged on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. Joshua isn’t home yet—another late night at the office, or so he says. You’ve been scrolling aimlessly through your wedding Pinterest board, but even the dreamy photos of lace gowns and candlelit venues can’t shake the dull ache in your chest.

When the call connects, your mom’s warm voice cuts through the silence. “Sweetheart, how’s my favorite daughter?”

You manage a smile, even though she can’t see it. “Hi, Mom. I’m... okay.”

“Just okay?” she asks, a hint of concern in her voice.

You hesitate, unsure how much to say. “It’s just... I don’t know. I think I’m feeling a little lonely.”

“Lonely? What about Joshua? You two are practically glued together.”

Your throat tightens at the mention of his name. “He’s been so busy with work lately. And I don’t know, Mom, it’s like... I can’t really talk to him about how I’m feeling. I don’t want to add to his stress.”

“Sweetheart, you can always talk to me,” she says gently.

“I know.” You pause, picking at a thread on the couch cushion. “It’s just hard sometimes. All my friends here are his friends, you know? I can’t exactly call them and say, ‘Hey, I think Joshua’s pulling away from me.’”

There’s a soft sigh on the other end of the line. “Oh, honey. I wish I were closer. Are you sure everything’s okay between you two?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s... different. He’s not excited about the wedding anymore. He misses every appointment, and when I try to talk about it, he just says to do whatever I want. Like it doesn’t even matter to him.”

Your mom’s voice softens even more. “Sweetheart, planning a wedding is stressful for anyone, but it sounds like you’re taking on all the weight by yourself. That’s not fair.”

Tears sting your eyes as you blink rapidly, trying to keep them from falling. “I just miss you, Mom. I wish you were here.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ll come see you next month, okay? We’ll spend some time together, just us girls. Sit tight until then.”

“Okay,” you murmur, even though next month feels like a lifetime away.

After you hang up, the apartment feels even quieter than before. You glance at the dining table, still set with the meal you’d made hours ago, untouched. The ache in your chest feels heavier now, pressing down until it’s hard to breathe.

You wonder, not for the first time, if this is what homesickness feels like—not just for a place, but for a version of your life that feels like it’s slipping away.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

“You really need to decide on your groomsmen soon, Josh,” you say, your voice soft but edged with the faintest hint of impatience. “I can’t finalize the bridesmaids until I know how many you’re having.”

It’s late, and he’s seated at the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone while you try to bring up yet another wedding detail. His hair is tousled from work, and he looks tired, but you push forward. You’ve been asking him about this for weeks now.

He looks up briefly, his expression unreadable. “I know, Y/N. I’ll get to it, I promise.”

You pause, trying to keep your frustration in check. “It’s been two months, Josh. You haven’t even mentioned it to anyone yet.”

“I’ve just been busy,” he says with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’ll figure it out soon. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” you say, forcing a smile. “But you really need to. It’s not just about the numbers—it’s about including people who are important to you.”

He nods distractedly, his eyes already back on his phone.

That night, as you lie awake in bed, you replay the conversation over and over. It’s such a small thing—picking groomsmen. It shouldn’t feel like such a big deal, but somehow, it does.

It’s not the first time he’s brushed off something wedding-related. It’s not the first time he’s promised to “get to it.” And it’s certainly not the first time you’ve felt like you’re the only one putting real effort into planning the day that’s supposed to celebrate both of you.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

By the time another week rolls around, you’re still waiting. Another week of him saying, “I’ve been thinking about it,” without any actual decisions. Another week of you wondering if this is what the rest of your life is going to look like—waiting for Joshua to care about something as much as you do.

When you ask him again, gently but firmly, his response is the same. “I’ll get to it.”

But he doesn’t.

And as you sit at the dining table that night, staring at your wedding planner and a half-empty glass of wine, it hits you like a punch to the gut: he’s not avoiding the groomsmen because he’s busy. He’s avoiding it because it doesn’t matter to him.

Because maybe you don’t matter to him—not the way you used to.

The thought sends a chill down your spine. You push the wedding planner aside, get up, and walk to the bathroom. His ring is still on the counter, where it’s been more and more lately. You stare at it, the dull ache in your chest flaring into something sharper.

“Oh,” you whisper to yourself, the word heavy with realization.

You leave the ring where it is and head to bed, the sheets cold and uninviting. For the first time, you don’t wait up for him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next morning feels heavy before it even starts. You wake up to an empty bed again, the sheets on his side rumpled but cold. You find him in the kitchen, sipping coffee and scrolling through emails on his phone, still wearing the same distracted expression you’ve come to know all too well.

“Hey,” you say softly as you pour yourself a cup. “We need to figure out the wedding party today. We’ve been putting it off too long.”

Joshua glances up, his brow furrowing. “I know. Let’s sit down after breakfast and go through it.”

You nod, hopeful for a moment. Maybe today will be different.

But before you can even finish your coffee, his phone buzzes on the counter. He picks it up, and you watch as his expression shifts from tired to tense.

“It’s my secretary,” he mutters, holding up a hand as he answers.

“Mr. Hong,” her voice is clear even from where you sit, “I’m so sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but the investors are furious about the delay. They’re demanding an emergency meeting.”

Joshua runs a hand through his hair, already moving toward the bedroom to grab his bag. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Thanks for letting me know.”

When he returns, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket and slipping on his shoes. “I’m so sorry, babe,” he says, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You look up at him, frustration and sadness bubbling beneath the surface. “We were supposed to figure out the wedding party today, Josh.”

“I know,” he says, his voice rushed. “We’ll do it tomorrow. I promise.”

You glance at the counter as he heads for the door, and your stomach sinks. His ring is still there, sitting carelessly next to the fruit bowl.

The door closes behind him, and the apartment falls into silence.

You sit there for a long time, staring at the spot where his ring rests. Then, slowly, you slip your own ring off your finger. The weight of it has felt heavier these past few weeks, more a reminder of what’s slipping away than what’s supposed to be.

You carry it to your bedroom and place it gently in the jewelry box on your dresser, nestled between a pair of earrings your mom gave you and an old bracelet from college. It doesn’t feel right, taking it off—but it doesn’t feel wrong, either.

That night, you go to bed alone again, the silence in the apartment pressing down on you. You wonder, as you lie there staring at the ceiling, how many more nights will feel like this.

And for the first time, you don’t cry. You’re too tired to cry anymore.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next evening, Joshua finally comes home. It’s later than usual, but you’re still awake, sitting on the couch with your wedding planner open in front of you. You’re not really reading it, though. Instead, you’ve been staring at the untouched coffee cup you poured for him hours ago, now cold.

“Hey,” he says softly as he steps inside, setting his bag by the door. He glances at you, and his brow furrows slightly. “You’re still up?”

“Yeah,” you say, keeping your voice steady. “We need to talk.”

He hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Okay. Let me just—”

“Now, Josh,” you interrupt, standing and closing the planner with a soft thud.

He blinks at the sharpness in your tone but joins you in the living room. You sit on the edge of the couch, hands clasped tightly together, while he sinks into the armchair across from you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The tension in the room is palpable, stretching like a rubber band about to snap.

“Are you having an affair?” The words leave your mouth before you can second-guess them.

His eyes widen in shock, and his posture stiffens. “What? No! Y/N, how could you even think that?”

“Because you’ve been pulling away from me for months,” you say, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to keep it even. “You miss every appointment, you don’t care about the wedding, and you keep leaving your ring on the counter like it doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Joshua’s face falls, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Y/N, I swear, it’s not that. Work has just been—”

“Don’t,” you say, cutting him off. “Don’t blame this on work. Be honest with me, Joshua. Do you even want this anymore?”

His silence is deafening.

“I—” he starts, then stops, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know.”

You feel like the air has been knocked out of your lungs. “You don’t know?”

“We’re so young, Y/N,” he says finally, his voice quiet but firm. “I love you, I do, but... I don’t know if I’m ready for this. For marriage. For forever.”

You stare at him, the weight of his words sinking in like stones in your chest. “You don’t feel it anymore,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looks up at you, guilt written all over his face. "I don’t know what I feel anymore."

The tears sting, but you refuse to let them fall. "I stayed here for you, Josh," you say, the words breaking free before you can stop them. "I left everything—my family, my friends, my life—just to be with you. And now you’re telling me you don’t even want this anymore?"

Joshua’s expression falters. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. His silence cuts deeper than any answer could.

“Then let’s break up,” you say firmly, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Y/N, I—”

“No,” you say, standing up. "If you don’t want this, then we’re done. I can’t keep fighting for both of us."

He opens his mouth again to speak, but the words don’t come. He just nods, looking down at his hands.

“I’ll move out,” he says after a long pause.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” you reply, your voice hollow, as if you’re already a stranger to him.

That night, he sleeps on the couch, and you lie in bed alone, staring at the ceiling, feeling the space between you grow wider by the second. The silence in your apartment is suffocating, and for the first time since you moved to California, you feel truly and deeply alone.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next morning, Joshua leaves for work as usual. His footsteps fade down the hallway, and the door clicks shut behind him. The apartment feels cold without his presence, but the tension, the weight of everything that’s happened, keeps you from feeling anything else.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and begin packing your things. You leave behind the little things—the pictures, the mementos from your time together that once meant so much. The engagement ring stays on the counter where he left it the night before, untouched. You gather your essentials—clothes, toiletries, a few items that remind you of who you were before all of this. You’re doing this for you.

As you pack, the tears come, and you can’t hold them back. The weight of it all—the loneliness, the heartbreak, the way he’d stopped caring—finally crashes over you. You grab your phone and dial your mom’s number.

“Mom,” you choke out, barely able to speak through the sobs. "I—I can't... I can't do this anymore. I... I’m so lost."

You hear her soothing voice on the other end, muffled but full of warmth and concern. "Sweetheart, what happened? Where are you?"

“I—I'm in California, but I don’t want to be here anymore. I can’t do this alone. I... I left. I left him. I don't know what to do, mom."

Her voice softens, and you hear her take a deep breath. "Don't worry. You don't have to do it alone. I’ll book your tickets, I’ll get you home, okay?"

The relief that floods through you is overwhelming, but it doesn't stop the tears. Your mom insists on getting the earliest flight available, even going the extra mile to make sure you’re on the next plane out.

You hang up with her, still a mess, but knowing that, at least for now, you won’t be alone. You finish packing quickly, making sure to leave everything behind except what’s truly necessary. You wipe your eyes, trying to pull yourself together.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

By the time you finish, it’s still a few hours before Joshua will come home. You take one last look around the apartment—the place that was once filled with shared moments, warmth, and love. It now feels like a shell of something that used to be, cold and unforgiving. You make sure your essentials are packed, then head out the door, locking it behind you.

When Joshua comes home later that evening, he expects to find you resting, taking the nap you often took after a long day at work. He quietly enters the apartment, shedding his coat and bag, and makes his way to your shared bedroom. He pauses at the doorway, frowning as he notices the emptiness of the room.

There’s no sound of you resting, no gentle hum of your music. The bed is neatly made. A sharp unease twists in his stomach.

He turns toward the dresser, his eyes catching something familiar—something that doesn’t belong there.

It’s the love letter he wrote you years ago, the one you’d always kept in your wallet. The edges are frayed now from years of being carried close to your heart. It’s placed on top of the dresser, in the spot where you used to keep it safe, along with the ring he’d given you.

He picks it up, his hands trembling slightly, and unfolds the letter. The words are still familiar, and yet, they now feel like they were written by someone else.

His eyes scan over the message, the sincerity in his writing that once made you feel loved, now leaving him cold. He puts the letter back down slowly, the full weight of the situation settling in.

Joshua’s gaze moves to the counter, where the engagement ring lies, cold and unclaimed. The reality of it all hits him like a brick wall. You’re gone.

The apartment feels like a vacuum now, empty and silent. His throat tightens, but no words come. All the things left unsaid, all the moments missed, hang heavily in the air around him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The plane ride feels like an eternity. You’re sitting by the window, watching the clouds drift by, but your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, doubts, and emotions that you can’t escape. It’s hard to breathe, to focus on anything other than the overwhelming emptiness that seems to have settled inside you.

Your phone buzzes constantly with messages, and you can’t help but check them. It’s Joshua.

Joshua: Where are you? Please, answer me. We need to talk.Joshua: Y/N, I’m sorry. Please come home. I can’t lose you.Joshua: I was wrong. I didn’t mean for it to end like this. Where are you?

Each message hits you like a punch to the stomach, but you know you can’t respond in the way he wants. You’ve made your decision, and no amount of begging can change the way you feel.

You almost find it funny, how little his words mean to you now that you had left.

You tap out a response, slow and deliberate, your hands trembling slightly as you type.

Y/N: I had to go. I’m sorry, Joshua. I wish you well. It's for the best.

You hit send and put the phone down, hoping he’ll respect your silence. The flight attendants come by, offering you a drink, but you don’t take it. You just keep your gaze fixed outside, the horizon blurring as you fight to keep it together.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

By the time you land and step off the plane, you can feel the weight of everything pressing down on you. You’re exhausted, emotionally drained, but there’s one thing you’re certain of: you made the right choice.

Your mom is waiting for you at the airport, her face full of worry and warmth. As soon as she sees you, she pulls you into a tight hug, and you collapse against her, tears streaming down your face. She doesn’t ask any questions. She just holds you, murmuring soft reassurances as she strokes your hair.

“I’m here, sweetheart. You’re home now. I’m here,” she whispers, and somehow, it makes everything feel a little less heavy.

The drive back to the house is quiet, the only sound being the hum of the tires on the road. You try to collect yourself, but the emotions keep rushing back, overwhelming you in waves. You know you’ll have to explain everything, but for now, all you want is to be wrapped in the comfort of your mom’s arms.

Once you’re home, she takes you straight to the living room and sits you down on the couch, making you a cup of tea. “Tell me what happened,” she says gently, her voice soft but insistent. “I’m listening.”

You take a deep breath, recounting everything—from moving to California, to the engagement, the wedding planning, and the slow unraveling of everything. You tell her about how Joshua had been pulling away, about how you tried to wait for him, tried to understand. You tell her about the ring left on the counter, the distance, the fighting, and finally, the breakdown of your relationship.

Your voice cracks as you speak, and she pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around you. “Oh, baby,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t easy. But you did the right thing. You deserve someone who’s all in, who’s going to love you fully, just like you deserve.”

You nod, wiping your eyes. You’re still so raw, but her words give you the strength to keep going.

As the night wears on, she handles everything for you. She cancels the wedding bookings—everything that had been set up for the wedding is erased. The vendors are contacted, the plans are halted, and you don’t have to worry about any of it. Your mom handles it all, taking the burden from your shoulders as you sit there, just trying to breathe.

When she finally gets off the phone with the last vendor, she sits next to you again, her hand resting on yours. “You’ll heal, sweetheart. And when you’re ready, we’ll figure it all out. But for now, just rest. You’re safe here.”

You close your eyes, resting your head on her shoulder, feeling the weight in your chest finally start to ease, if only a little. The pain is still there, but at least for tonight, you’re home.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

author's note 𝟅𝟈 lowkey wanna start a taylor swift songfic thing. i'm obsessed with this song so yk i had to write a fic based on it!

masterlist.

#kpop #jaeyunluvbot #y/n #seventeen #joshua hong #joshua #hong jisoo #svt #svt angst #seventeen angst #joshua x reader #joshua x y/n #angst #lovers to exes

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darling-i-read-it · 1 year ago

Text

Burns

Charlie Swan x fem!reader, Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: age gap (for both men, both are legal but carlisle is like 223297493 years old so do with that what you’d like lol), burns (second and first degree), doctors office, me knowing too much about twilight

Author’s Note: IM WRITING A PART 2 RN BUT WANTED TO SEE IF YOU GUYS LIKED THIS <3 I literally randomly had a burst of inspo to write this and i lowkey love it…

Summary: You’re a waitress at the local diner to pay off tuition in the summer. You have a small crush on the chief of police who comes in to get his coffee from you. You thought that was all it was until you met the resident doctor when you have a mishap and now you’re stuck between two incredibly charming men that both have a little crush on you.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Forks, Washington was under a near constant cover of rain. You were aware of it when you woke up in the morning, prepared to see the dreary weather that greeted you through the window. You could smell the rain on the pavement before it came, see it in the clouds as they hovered above. You were always prepared for it, always ready for it.

Today, the sun was out. Summer usually calls for something more temperate. You found that those days weren’t necessarily unwelcome, but never your favorite. Everyone went outside when it was sunny. You could see people you hadn’t seen in ages. You never made an effort to see them in the first place for a reason. There was an uncharacteristic amount of skin showing. It may only be mid 70s but everyone suddenly acted like the ocean water was a relief to their burning skin.

You sweat easily, especially in the diner. The Lodge had little to no air conditioning and the sun brought people in droves. Everyone wanted a bite to eat. They all remembered the diner had milkshakes. It was never a great mix for a waitress.

You turned the corner on your heel, giving a quaint smile to Cora, your coworker. She looked like she was going to melt away.

“Do you think anyones gonna leave early today?” she asked quietly behind the counter. You shook your head. She had the coffee pot in her hand and was holding it tightly so it didn’t spill. You looked around the packed diner, laughter bubbling from sections where it normally was silent. You shook your head, giving her a sad look.

“We’re in for one.”

“I should’ve called out,” she muttered. “You should’ve called out. This place needs us.” You shook your head.

“You’ve gotta put food on the table,” you reminded her. She had a kid who was going into middle school. You had met her when Cora brought her in, her headphones stuck in her ears and reading some trashy teen novel.

“Always the voice of reason,” she muttered. “Plus, you gotta pay tuition.”

“Don’t remind me.”

You were going to college in Seattle but always worked the summers back in Forks. You loved the little town despite its insanity. You found that most of it was quiet, even on louder days. Plus, it was always easy to find a job back home. You were practically shoved the waitress apron when you returned this summer. You had been doing it since you graduated high school, always trying to find something to keep yourself occupied. You were coming upon your senior year in college and the extra money helped immensely.

“Hey, your boyfriends here,” Cora teased. She pushed herself off the counter to refill someone’s coffee cup. You furrowed your brows in confusion even though you knew exactly who she meant.

You watched as chief of police Charlie Swan walked through the doors with a clink of the bell above his head. He met your eyes and gave you an awkward half wave, which you returned slightly more enthusiastically. He walked up to the counter, squeezing between the people sitting there. Someone said hello to him and he gave them a nod in acknowledgment.

“You guys are busy today huh?” he questioned, scoffing.

“Just a bit,” you admitted. His presence never ceased to bring butterflies to your stomach. Maybe you were harboring a small/not so small crush on the sheriff but you tried your best not to show it. You assured Cora it was just something silly for you to feel as you passed through your work day. Still, her eyes lingered on yours as she went around the counter to greet someone else because she knew you were busy. “It’s the sun.”

“Brings out all the loonies,” he said.

“I imagine you’re busy out there too.” He was always scanning around to make sure no one was doing anything wrong. His eyes flicked from you to the people beside him, then back to you.

“Taking my 15.”

“Just to see lil ol me?” you teased. Even as the words left your mouth you felt self conscious of them. This time though, he gave a half smile.

“You make the best coffee I’ve ever had,” he promised. You tried not to get flustered.

“Well, it looks like you need a double today, Sheriff.”

“Charlie, how many times do I have to tell you?” You rolled your eyes. He leaned against the diner counter even though there were no seats. You turned around, every other table lost in your mind. Cora would help you out until he left.

“Well Charlie, it might be too hot for a hot coffee. You could’ve gone to one of those fancy coffee shops,” you offered, grabbing a coffee pot.

“Yeah, can you imagine me ordering there? I have a hard enough time with you.”

“I think I get what you mean by now,” you joked. You poured him a cup and grabbed three sugars and two creams. “Anything else?”

“You always this quick with your service?” he questioned, looking at the people down the line who hadn’t gotten their food.

“I’m just the coffee girl with a pretty smile. I don’t control the food orders.” You handed him a stirring stick as he opened his sugar packets. “Plus, you’re the chief of police Charlie. I don’t wanna get arrested.” He chuckled, a real genuine laugh.

“I think I’ll let you off for this one.” You smiled at your success. The laugh was guaranteed to be the highlight of your shift.

“Thanks Charlie.” You turned back to the kitchen which was starting to call things out. “Anything else?”

“No ma’am.” He grabbed some cash out of his wallet. “Keep the change.”

“You’re my favorite customer Charlie,” you joked at his more than generous tip of 100%. He did a little salute with his finger and raised the cup to you.

“Go do your job otherwise you’re bound to get more angry customers than I am.”

You nodded once and bowed out of the conversation gracefully. You grabbed the food from behind you and started to bring it out. Cora gave you a look as you passed her, the smile plastered on your face a clear tell of your conversation.

“Peach cobbler,” you said to one of your regulars. She was a small old lady who always came in on Saturdays, at exactly the same time. You enjoyed talking with her and catching up on her life. She got the same thing each time and the consistency was something you appreciated. “Sorry it’s been slower today Miss. Heidi. The heat has the whole of Forks out!” She shook her head, brushing you off.

“No worries at all,” she assured you. “It’s not like I’m not gonna come back.” You shared in her shaky laughter. She picked up her fork just as you were about to leave and pointed it at Charlie. “You making heart eyes at the chief over there sweetheart?” You flushed immediately. Maybe you weren’t so great at hiding it.

“Maybe. But keep your mouth shut Heidi,” you whispered with a smile. She chuckled. Her eyes lingered on Charlie who was finishing his coffee already. He had started a conversation with the man beside him. Charlie seemed to know everyone in town.

“Aren’t you a little young for him?” You rolled your eyes.

“It’s perfectly constenting and legal,” you assured her. “I’m plenty older than his daughter if that’s what you’re gonna say.”

“I was gonna mention.” Her eyes wrinkled at the edges, shaking her head. Her movements didn’t feel like she was disagreeing with you. More so that she was gossiping with a friend, just girls being girls. “He had his heart broken by her mother, you know. He’s a good man.”

“Is that your consent Heidi? Because I don’t even know if he feels the same way.” Your voice was lighthearted. She grabbed your hand, her saggy skin feeling comforting.

“I wouldn’t worry too much sweetheart.” You scrunched your face a little and shook off her words. You were still on the clock.

“Enjoy your peach cobbler Heidi.”

You brushed your hair out of your face. The sun had finally subsided for the evening, giving way for the clouds. You embraced their presence, appreciating the way that the cool air felt on your overworked skin. Cora was still hanging around after her shift, waiting for her husband to come pick her up. You sat on the back steps of The Lodge, watching the trees sway.

“The air feels so crisp,” you muttered.

“You say the weirdest things,” she grumbled, laughing. She was leaning against the building. “It’s the trees.”

“I know.” You were going to leave right after work and finally drive back home but you needed a moment to sit and enjoy the day. It had been a long shift. Cora and you were officially trauma bonded.

“How was the chief?”

“Good,” you promised. “Sweet.”

“A guy can be sweet and catch criminals?”

“He’s assertive,” you argued. When Cora laughed she did it with her whole chest.

“Honey, you’re down bad.” You rolled your eyes and stood up. Cora’s eyes followed you as you did so, turning back to the door inside the diner. “You’re goin back into that hellhole?”

“Forgot my phone,” you said. “Also, I am not. It’s a work crush. I’m entitled to one! Just like you like the produce guy!”

“I do not like the produce guy. I think he’s hot. Big difference!” You rolled your eyes as you opened the door back inside. The heat hit you again, unpleasantly. You had to weave through the cooks to get back to the front. You couldn’t remember when you had put your phone down. You were making a phone call during your break. Maybe you had left it on hte steps outside after all?

“Hey Jerry?!” you called to the cook in the back.

“What?!”

“You seen my phone?”

“No! All I’ve seen are burgers!” You rolled your eyes harder this time and dipped underneath the counter to see if you had put it with the sugars and stuff. You let out an annoyed groan when it wasn’t there.

You turned too quick and ran right into the closing waitress. She was holding a hot pot of coffee and effectively spilled it all over you. You gasped involuntarily, the feeling of scorching coffee seeping through your clothes. The gasp turned into a seethe as you packed up. You could hear her speaking, the high pitched, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” reverberating off your eardrums. You had dropped coffee on yourself before. All you could think of was that you needed a towel and some cold water.

You turned on a dime and walked back to the kitchen. You turned on the sink back there and fumbled your hand around for a towel to use.

“Jerry, towel,” you mumbled, the burning skin now setting into a tingle. He turned his head around and saw you. He started to fumble around. You walked in front of him to grab the towel and just barely lost your balance, causing your hand to fly up onto the table.

Right onto the stove.

This time you yelped. The coffee was already forgotten as there was now more of an issue at hand.

“Woah dollface!” Jerry exclaimed. He grabbed your wrist because you were just staring at your red hand. You had put your entire palm down. You looked up at him, tears staining your eyes from pain, and he brought you over to the sink.

“Oh fuck,” you groaned as he put it under the cold water. It didn’t subside any pain, just added another sensation. “Jerry that hurts!”

“Hey Y/N, I have your phone in my apron.” Cora came through the door to witness you breathing heavily next to the sink, Jerry the cook practically holding you down.

“She burned her hand on the stove,” he explained.

“She spilled coffee on me,” you blubbered childishly. You could feel all your body parts at once, like you were on fire. You had no brain power to say anything else.

“Oh Jesus,” Cora muttered. She rushed forward, grabbing your wrist to look at it. “You gotta get this checked out honey.” You gave her a somber looking face. “I know, I know. I’ll take you. Where’s your car keys?” You reached in your apron with your non burnt hand. It was soaking wet from the coffee.

“Is she okay?” the waitress asked, sticking her head through the window.

“She burned her hand on the stove,” Jerry said.

“She what?!”

Cora put her hand on your back, leading you out the door. You took deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth. You were fine. You were gonna be fine.

“I’ll be okay,” you whispered. “You have to g-”

“I’ll have Steven do it,” she said. Her husband. You gave her a look of pure thankfulness as she helped you into the passenger seat of her car.

“I really don’t have to go to the hospital over this,” you tried to say.

“I know you don’t. But I think it’s safer than waiting.” You put your head against your headrest.

Cora dragged you by your free arm to the front desk. She was the one who gave your name and your information as you stood beside her, holding your hand. You looked like a mess, given the coffee all over you. You were sure this could all just be fixed by some water and ointment from the store but Cora insisted.

She rambled on about how a family member hadn’t gone in for a burn and it ended up being more severe then they thought, damaging below the skin. Her words were not comforting.

Eventually they called you back to be looked at. You sat on an exam table with a thin paper on top. A nurse had come in to check on you and give you something for your hand while you waited for the doctor.

You were in a row of beds. Cora pulled the curtains aside to give you privacy.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” you said.

“They don't get to know all your business. HIPAA or whatever.” You squinted.

“I don’t think-”

“Ladies.” Carlisle Cullen stepped through the curtain at the open side. He was holding a clipboard, a charming smile plastered on his face. Your breath hitched at the sight of him. He was gorgeous. “Y/N, I hear you burned your hand.” You nodded.

“And her chest,” Cora muttered. She must have noticed Carlisle’s looks as well. Or maybe she just noticed your reaction to him. You cleared your throat.

“I had coffee spilled on me.”

“No, you should check it out. It’s bad.” You gave a look. Carlisle’s smile remained, shaking his head. You had heard of him but never had a reason to come out and see him. You wouldn’t even call this a valid reason.

“Sounds like an awful case of bad luck.” You nodded. “Can I take a look?” He sat on a spinny chair and pulled it towards you. You extended your hand to him.

“I’m gonna go call Steven,” she said to you. You nodded. She patted your back, her eyes lingering on your doctor even as she left. Carlisle held your hand in his, gently looking it over. You looked down at him.

“A stove did this?”

“Yeah. It was dumb,” you promised. “I lost my balance looking for a rag for the coffee burn.”

“And that’s okay?” You nodded.

“I think. I mean, my hand feels way worse,” you assured him.

“Your friend seems to think otherwise.”

“Cora’s dramatic by nature.” He laughed gently.

“Well the stove fought back.” He wheeled backwards towards the table beside your bed. “It looks like second degree burns on your hand. I’ll send you home with some ointment for it and you’ll wanna wrap it up so that you don’t get it caught on your clothes or anything.” You nodded. “I’ll wrap it for you first, show you how to do it.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He stood up and fumbled in the desks drawer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to check on the coffee burns?” He glanced back at you. You looked down at your shirt. It had mostly gotten your stomach. You could still feel pain there, probably driven by the fact you never got to clean it off.

“If you think it’ll help?”

“Stomach burns are interesting just because of their placement. It’s harder to wrap them. I think it would be beneficial for me to make sure they’re only first degree, if anything.” You nodded. You would listen to him read the phone book.

“Okay.” He walked back over. Before even touching your shirt he made eye contact with you.

“Only if you’re comfortable. I can wait till your friend comes back if you want me to.” You shook your head.

“I’m okay!” you promised. You cleared your throat and grabbed the hem of your shirt. You carefully lifted it up over your torso, holding it just above the wet spot. Carlisle’s eyes went down to your body.

“You said the hand hurt more?”

“By far.”

“Can I touch you?” Please. You cleared your throat again.

“Sure.” He put an icy hand on your hip, lightly brushing your burn with his thumb.

“How much does that hurt? Scale one to ten?”

“Five.” He applied more pressure.

“Now?”

“Seven. Your hands are really cold, which could be worsening the effects,” you joked. He chuckled, his lips turning up a bit.

“Sorry about that.” He backed up a bit. You put your shirt back down. “Those are first degree burns. It only hit in some spots. Should feel numb or touchy for a couple days. You can put the ointment there too but you shouldn’t have to wrap it up.”

“The hand needs it.”

“The hand needs it,” he agreed. He had put some stuff on the counter, which he now took in his hands. He squeezed something out a bottle and put a bit of it on his finger, taking your hand back in his. “Let me know if the pressure is too much.”

You watched him, your free hands fingers curled under the bed you were sitting on. He gently covered your hand, using such a light touch that it was like he was barely there.

“You’re good at this.”

“It’s my job,” he said, smiling. “Are you from out of town? I don’t think I’ve had you in here before.”

“Just lucky,” you quipped. “I go to college in Seattle too so I’m usually out there.” He nodded slowly.

“Fancy.”

“The drive back is beautiful.” He nodded slowly. His hand lingered on yours as he examined his work. “So is this town.”

“Do you work at the diner?”

“Yeah! That’s where I got this beauty.” He scooted back, grabbing the bandages.

“I think my son’s seen you there. He’s graduating high school in a year and likes his seclusion,” he explained.

“Son?” you asked.

“Edward.”

“No, I’m just stunned you have a child. You look far too young,” you said, laughing incredibly. He grinned sheepishly. You tried not to think of him being married or the lack of ring on his finger.

“He’s technically my foster son,” he described.

“I see. Do you do it all on your own?” You winced. That was aggressive. “I don’t mean to pry.” “It’s alright,” he said, shaking his head, completely cool. “Yes, they’re all under my care. I haven’t found the right one quite yet. Plus, she’d have to take on more than a couple stragglers with me.” His eyes flicked up to yours. They met for a moment longer than they should have. You had to look away.

“Sounds like a task.”

“It’s definitely not for everyone.” He tightened your bandage. “There. I’ll send you home with some of this, it’ll be sent to wherever you get your prescriptions.” He stepped back from you. “Try to be careful around stoves next time.”

“Yes sir.” He gave you one more look, a kind hearted smile and then was on his way. You followed him until he was gone out of view. You were glad he hadn’t checked your pulse because you were sure it was beating out of your chest. Cora came around the corner.

“He’s too old for you too,” she said. You laughed dryly, shaking your head. You could practically still feel his touch on your hand. So gentle.

“You’ll learn to get used to it,” you teased her. She rolled her eyes. “Were you waiting out there the whole time?”

“Wanted to give you and Doctor Dreamy some alone time.”

“You’re such a wingwoman!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Sheriff.”

Part 2

#carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen x fem!reader #charlie swan x reader #charlie swan x fem!reader #carlisle cullen x reader x charlie swan #charlie swan x fem!reader x carlisle cullen #twilight imagines #twilight fanfiction

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