#what i mean by attention is glances and just kind of barely not really acknowledging each other's existence like.....

[d1anna]

i said i wanted attention but..

[murderofravens]

DUSK TILL DAWN

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader.

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, inho is in his late 40s) slowburn. oral fixation. thigh riding. plot with porn. yearning. sexual tension. canon compliant. slight infantilization. no y/n used.

summary: he promised that you will make it out alive. he will make sure of it, no matter what it takes.

word count: 6.5k

BABY I'M RIGHT HERE & FLY ME TO THE MOON POSTED!

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

please ignore any mistakes.

as you wipe the blood from your face, the reality of your situation sets in. you never thought you'd get used to the smell of blood— much less the sight of it. or the texture. and now you're covered in it. the white of your uniform splattered with crimson, the metallic smell of it almost overwhelming. in a situation like the one you're in, you can only laugh. the mere sight of blood used to make you feel faint; make you want to throw up because you're squeamish. now you're covered in it from head to toe.

it's not yours. it's of the people they shot dead during the second game.

you barely remember how you made it out alive. the second one was all thanks to your team— thanos and nam-gyu were the closest to your age, and teaming up with them worked in your favour. your age and gender was a liability to the others, but they were kind enough to take you in. or perhaps they were thinking with their dicks. would it really matter either way?

but with the way they act, you're not sure if you want to continue being in a team with them. especially since thanos keeps trying to woo you with his poor rapping skills. they're way too loud and reckless for you, and you're scared they might get you killed. they're not willing to give up the game anytime soon, either.

then there's the first game— you're alive, because of 456. that crazy man who supposedly had played the games before. if it wasn't for him pulling you behind his back, you would've left the premises in a cardboard box. especially because you fucking sneezed as soon as the doll turned back.

since then, you've decided you don't want to play this game anymore. 456 has been desperately trying to change the other's mind— but they're greedy and insistent. you pressed the cross for his sake, and for the others, and for yourself. hell, you can live in debt, but what use is that money if you die trying? you're not that much of a hard worker. you value your life above anything else.

you walk over to their team— 456, and his two loud team members. another man is sitting there— player 001. the one who ruined your chance of going home on the first vote. he seems ordinary, but you know of him because you saw him beat the shit out of thanos. that was another reason you decided to abandon that team— you could not be seen with a bully, or a loser. as you approach him, you give him a slight nod of acknowledgement, which he returns. you turn your attention to 456, and thank him profusely for what he did for you. he's kind, you'll give him that. you like kind people.

"if you don't mind me asking—" a voice interrupts, and you look over your shoulder. it's player 001. he looks at you curiously. "how old are you?"

"old enough." you retort cheekily. he doesn't look amused as he cocks his head to the side.

"i'm curious as to why a little kid like you would compromise herself for money."

that shuts you up. you're offended, to say the least. who is he to call you a little kid? the entire team also looks on, seemingly baffled. the question makes sense. you're sure you're the youngest out of all players. and people can tell because you look it too. you don't really know how to respond, so you just look on with a frown, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"forgive me—" he lets out an awkward chuckle, "i didn't mean it the wrong way. i'm just worried."

you give him an uneasy smile, rubbing the back of your neck. the others go back to their conversations, and you shrug. he shoots a glance towards gi-hun before sitting back down and shifting slightly, as if making room for you. you take a seat beside him. there's silence before he glances at the symbol on your jacket— the cross.

"i'm sorry." he says with a small smile, looking straight ahead, "you wanted to go home but you had to continue because of me. i put a kid in danger."

"i'm not a kid," you huff softly, straightening up, "i'm twenty. but yeah, you should be sorry."

you give him a small smile to ensure he knows that the last line is lighthearted. he seems to understand and returns it.

"dont worry about it," you sigh, fiddling with the zip of your jacket, "im sure you had your reasons. just like i have mine for coming here."

"and your parents?" he asks. he's so polite, it warms your heart. polite and soft spoken. and visibly tough. probably some officer, you think, judging by his skills you previously saw.

"that's what i need the money for." you sigh, leaning back against the bunker. "i need enough money to establish myself. continue my studies. bring my mom and my sister to come live with me. settle off my father's debts because he's a coward who decided to pass down his sins onto his daughter."

he raises his eyebrows, and you take a sharp breath. there's a moment of silence between you two— you think for a moment, and feel your eyes get slightly glassy. you're not going to cry in front of a stranger. you put on a brave face. "if i die here, my mother—"

he stares at you silently, before putting a comforting hand on your shoulder, interrupting your cursed sentence. "you'll make it out alive."

the doors open, and the staff comes in again. they reveal the number of players left, showcase the money that each person would get, and then the voting starts again.

this time, player 001 doesn't disappoint you. he goes first, and clicks on the cross. the hope it gives you eventually shatters as more and more players begin to vote in favour of continuing the game. you see 456 get increasingly agitated as he begins to make his way towards the front of the crowd. before he can speak, he's interrupted.

001's voice rings out loud and authoritative, and worried. he reprimands the voters in favour, calls them out on their selfishness.

"we'll all die if we keep playing!" he chastises the crowd urgently. "you have to survive first, or there won't be a next step—"

"there's no next step for us!" he's interrupted by player 100. a stout old man who had been at odds against 456 since the start— you remember him having 10 billion won in debt. it makes you snicker. he eggs on the crowd. "with that money, we won't be able to pay our debts. we need to play one more game, then the money will increase to 240 million. with that we can pay atleast a little of our debts! isn't that right!?"

"you're going to die trying!" you snap, making your way to the front of the crowd. you glare at player 100, at all his little supporters cheering at the back. "your greed is going to get you killed. how can you be so confident to say that you'll survive the next game? what if you die?"

"you shut up, young lady!" he hisses, mouth scrunching bitterly. "is that how you speak to your elders? your brain is too small to comprehend real life problems. we can't continue with our lives with that little money!"

"continue your lives?" a laugh bubbles out of your throat. "look at that greying head of yours, you barely have a life ahead of you! why don't you let us live ours?!"

that seems to have ticked him off, because he quite literally turns red as he takes a threatening step towards you.

"what did you just say?"

"i said—" you step forward, shooting him a challenging glare, "you're too old to be playing children's games. vote wisely and let us go home."

he lets out a snarl before trying to lunge at you, but you're pulled back as player 001 steps between the two of you. like a wall. he looks at the old man, eyes cold, his voice low. "that's enough."

since the incident with thanos, nobody has really tried anything with 001. it's obvious enough they're intimidated by him, and they don't want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. 100 doesn't either, with the way he collects himself and steps back, embarrassed. you look over 001's shoulder, make eye contact with the old man and shoot him a taunting smile. you know it's childish, but you've resented him from the start.

before the old man can say anything, player 001 drags you to the side where you can't argue with people anymore. and the voting continues.

"you can't talk to people like this," he says lowly, gaze focused on the crowd. staring at something that you can't figure out. "you never know what they might do."

you huff bitterly. you know what he means.

"i don't care. i fucking hate bullies."

"potty mouth." he chastises, but theres a smirk on his face. he's teasing. you chuckle.

"remember you need to get out of here alive." he repeats, looking at you with an intensity that is almost terrifying. "you can't do that if you keep this up."

"jeez, okay dad." you joke, rolling your eyes. your words make him smile lightly.

"thanks for having my back there." you tell him sincerely. he looks at you for a bit before nodding in acknowledgement.

the voting ends, and they announce that the games will continue tomorrow. it makes your heart drop.

that night, you feel uneasy when you try to sleep. your clothes stick to your skin, and the side of your face keeps itching. with an irritated grumble, you get off the bunker and walk over to your new friend's side. you squint your eyes before looking for 001— and when you find him, you gently shake him.

"are you sleeping?" you whisper.

he opens his eyes, wincing slightly before sitting up. his voice is hushed as he responds, "not anymore. what is it?"

you bite your lower lip nervously before reluctantly asking, "will you go to the restroom with me? i'm kinda scared to go alone."

he blinks at you, confused. you continue out of sheer desperation.

"those guards just stare weirdly with their weird little masks and it makes me nervous." you hope your voice doesn't shake as you speak. "last time one of them kept knocking on the door while i was in the washroom and it just— scared the shit out of me. and my face is itching and i really need to go. please?"

he listens patiently. for a moment you think he'd decline but he just sighs and nods, and you cheer just a little as he steps out and follows you to the door. you bang on it, loudly telling the guards that you need to go. one of them opens the sliding window, and then immediately opens the door. it makes you feel strange, because usually it takes a lot more effort to convince them. either way, you're grateful.

you know your better option would've been to take one of the girls with you, but the sad fact is you haven't had the chance to get friendly with any of the female players yet. and for some reason, player 001 makes you feel a sense of safety and security that is almost strange— you feel at ease around him.

"i'll be in the men's room," he tells you, and you nod. he shoots a glance to the guard standing outside the women's restroom before walking away. you quickly go inside, and the first thing you do is splash water on your face.

you quickly clean the blood off your skin, holding back the urge to cry. you scrub at your cheeks till you're sure you can scratch the itch away for good. your nails dig a little too deep, and a little blood oozes out of the scratches on the side of your face. you clean that too, and then try to scrub the splatters of blood off your t-shirt. it's white, and you have no soap— so the stains remain. a faint reminder. you take your time, and anticipate the knocking— but it never comes.

you look in the mirror, at your tired face and sunken eyes, before giving yourself a nod and stepping out. 001 is waiting for you outside, looking to the side. he gives you an odd look as you step out, before walking alongside you.

"are you alright?" he asks gently, concerned. kind as ever.

you look at him again, give him a nod. "thank you."

when you two reach the room, he returns the smile with one of his own.

as you make your way to the bunker, he grabs your shoulder, "why don't you start sleeping on our side?" he says quietly, "join the team. there's a bed near mine. you won't feel so scared that way."

you blink, trying to see his face in the darkness. the offer is enticing— and most of all, it warms your heart.

"really?" you ask hopefully.

"really." he says kindly.

you follow him to the bunker, and he covers the railing with his hand to avoid you getting hurt as you bend down to get into the bed. he looks at the slightly wet patches on your shirt— blinks before getting a bedsheet and putting it over you. "get some sleep. we got a game to play tomorrow."

you smile softly at him. as he turns to get into his own bed, you grab his hand. it's warm against yours— big and rough. you don't allow your mind to drift that way. it's not right. he looks at you, gaze questioning.

"thanks again," you say softly, "it means a lot to me."

he leans down a little to ruffle your hair before going back to his bed and laying down. you close your eyes and drift to sleep— unaware that he stays up, thinking.

breakfast is boring— bread and milk. you sit on the bed, scowling. player 456 is surprised as he sees you there, before you two share understanding smiles. you bow a little and he bows back before going along with his friend. 001 comes to sit by you then, munching on his own breakfast.

"i miss home," you mumble, "how am i supposed to survive on just this? it's not even chocolate milk."

001 laughs, "don't worry, you can have whatever you want once you get out of here."

"will i?"

he looks at you, raising his eyebrows. you take his silence as a cue to continue, "im scared i'll die in here."

he looks down, before shifting to be closer to you. "you made it this far, didn't you?"

you look at him, voice getting shaky. "and what if i dont make it till the end? what if i die here and my family thinks i abandoned them? i don't want to die. i haven't even lived my life yet."

his expression is hard to read. "you'll make it out of here alive," he tells you with conviction, "ill make sure of it."

your lips wobble as you stare at him, and he smiles before poking you in the nose. "finish your food. you need the energy for the next game. we'll make it out alive, then we'll try to get the voters on our side and go home. sound good?"

you snort, rolling your eyes before nodding. "sounds good."

he gives you his bread then, tells you to eat more. when you protest, he sends a warning glare your way— the one with a quirked eyebrow and a knowing gaze. you roll your eyes, and happily eat it.

you were hungry. perhaps he can tell things like that. you're just grateful.

today, you decided to be a little rebellious. when you first joined the games, you used to spend a long time in the bathrooms— analyzing, looking for a way out. during that time, you'd discovered that one of the screws in the ceiling vent was loose. you hadn't really bothered checking it before, but since it's daytime and you have some time before the next game, you decide to explore.

your hairclip works— the screws were not tightly fixed, so it unscrewed easily. you'd contemplated checking it out last night, but you didn't want to take any risks, especially since player 001 was with you. so now whatever you do, the responsibility will be yours.

when the bathroom gets empty and all the women leave, you pull it down and try climbing up. it's moments like these that you can pride yourself on your agility— work that usually required two people, you could do alone. with one leg on the flush and the other on the top of the cubicle, you climbed up, scratching the side of your arm slightly before finally getting in the vents. you groaned to yourself, and then started crawling inside. there were two ways to go— you chose the left one. you looked down, trying to understand the layout of the place where you were practically held hostage. you keep crawling, making sure not to make too much noise before finally seeing a place through the gaps that you hadn't seen before— you carefully remove the screws and pull it apart.

the place looks empty. the walls are all sorts of pink and green. you put your head down and look both ways, seeing a door at the end of the hallway. carefully, you climb down and lower yourself to the ground with a thump. your shoulder hurts a little. you stand up, and aim for the door. as soon as you begin walking, you hear footsteps. it's as if someone splashed cold water on you— you realize the grave mistake you just made. guards walk here with guns, and you made the impulsive decision to explore a dangerous place like this by yourself?

you look around, running towards the other end of the hallway. the footsteps get louder, and as you look over your shoulder, something grabs you. out of reflex, you go to scream, but a hand clamps down on your mouth, and your back collides with a hard chest.

"shh, it's me." the voice hisses. your wide eyes look up, scared, before realizing who it is.

player 001.

your chest heaves as you break out into a sweat, a tear rolling down your cheek. he keeps you in a tight hold, looking to the side, your breath dampening his hand. the footsteps suddenly become faint, as if walking away. your breaths sync together, and after a moment, he relaxes.

he takes his hand off your mouth before harshly twisting you to face him. his voice is hushed but angry, "what were you thinking?!"

"what are you doing here?" you whisper shakily at the same time.

"everyone was back in the room except you. i came to find you!" he chides, eyes hard. he shakes you slightly, "do you really plan to get killed like this? is this how you want to die? can you go one moment without being a reckless brat—"

his words make you want to cower in on yourself.

"i wanted to find a way out." you try to sound assertive, but your voice betrays you. your words come out panicked, "I wanted to help and— fuck— i got you in trouble too— you shouldn't have come looking for me! fuck— how are we gonna make it out of here?"

he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you tiredly. "the game is about to start. we'll mix in with the crowd when they leave, i doubt they'll notice."

"are you sure it'll work?" you ask. you hear a faint announcement. the game is about to start.

he looks up at the speakers, alert. he grabs you tightly and drags you away with an air of confidence. "let's go."

you don't encounter any guards on the way back. it's strange, but you figure it's because they're all preparing for the next game. player 001's plan worked, because you two mixed in with the crowd, and the guards didn't notice. one of them turned back to look at you, and you panted, staring back at him. your heart raced, but you felt the presence of 001 next to you, and you felt at ease again. the guard looked away.

"i told you to stop being reckless." he says quietly, looking at 456 and 390, before looking back at you. your legs hurt from climbing so many stairs. "what would you have done if they found you?"

you swallow the lump in your throat, staring up at him intensely, eyes glassy. he saved your life. "i guess you stopped that from happening."

he clenches his jaw, his gaze flickering up and down your face before looking away. "i won't always be there to save you."

you look away, heart dropping. "thank you, 001."

"call me young-il."

you look up at him, blinking back tears, quirking an eyebrow as you two walk. "only if you allow me to add 'sir' at the end of it."

he chuckles, eyes crinkling. he has such a nice laugh. "why's that? respect?"

you nod, giving a little bow. "respect is very important in my culture as well. so thank you for saving my life, young-il sir."

he grins a little and pats your head. you thank him again, and decide you like him enough. so you tell him your name.

he tests it on his tongue, and you quite like the way he says it.

the next game had to be the most terrifying so far.

it was called mingle, and you had to run to the rooms in groups according to the number announced. things like these were where you got scared— where you had to group with people. in dangerous situations, you know people usually only look out for two types of people— themselves, and the ones dearest to them.

you were not dear to anyone here. you really should've interacted with more people.

the platform rotates, before the number is announced. six. your eyes widen and you frantically look around, but young-il is faster. he grabs you and drags you to the room with the rest of the team. you pant as the 30 seconds pass, and then look out the window in the door to see how many people were left— quite a few. your eyes widen as the red guards move forward with their guns raised.

young-il leaps forward and covers your eyes with his hand before pulling you into himself as the gunshots ring out— you flinch and shudder at every single one, breathing sharp and your entire frame trembling violently. when there is silence and the doors open, you look up. young-il gently lets go of you, looking around. he's panting too, and you look at him with the most crushed look on your face before he meets your gaze. he can tell what you want to know— why would you do that?

"you shouldn't have to see all this." he says quietly, adjusting his jacket and putting a little distance between you two. 456 pats your shoulder and makes sure people are okay before moving out. you just look at young-il for a while, but he simply looks around, seemingly lost in thought. as if fighting a war within himself. you wish you knew how to reassure him like he did with you, but you realize you barely know anything about him.

the entire floor is painted with blood. the sight makes you want to vomit. you walk carefully, but your foot slips in someone's blood and you begin to fall over. 456 catches you. "are you alright?"

instinctively, your gaze tries to find young-il but he's standing away. his head is lowered.

"yes, thank you." you give 456 a smile, before assuming your place on the platform again.

you play a few more rounds. you're lucky enough to have someone to team with each time— young-il and 456 don't let go of you even once. but then the voice runs out again, and they announce the number 3. this time, 456 is dragged along with the old woman and her son. you look around frantically, and meet young-il's panicked gaze with your own. you begin to run towards him, but two people grab you and drag you towards one of the rooms.

thanos and nam-gyu. you shriek at them, clawing at their arms and trying to run back out. what if young-il doesn't make it? what if something bad happens?

this time, you have no one to cover your eyes or ears. thanos and nam-gyu talk shit within themselves, and you look outside the little window, flinching with every gunshot ringing out, trying to pinpoint if it's young-il's body falling to the ground. you can't help the light sob erupting from your throat, and thanos chooses the wrong moment to come bother you.

"watcha looking for, señorita?" he laughs, poking your side, "is it your old man? did he finally—"

you turn to him and punch him in the face. he falls back and groans dramatically, rubbing the blood running down his nose. nam-gyu rushes to his rescue, giggling. they're both high as a kite. the doors open, and you rush out before they can bother you further.

you look around. 456 is with the rest of the team, but you can't find young-il. frantically, you look towards the dead bodies, heart pounding against your chest and head throbbing. suddenly, there's cheers from your team, and you look up to see young-il walking over with a bright grin on his face.

you don't know what compelled you to do it. you were acting on your emotions— overwhelmed by the relief you felt on the sight of his face. before you can even stop, you're dashing towards him and crashing into his body, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

he's shocked, that much is obvious by the way he tenses slightly. but then he returns the hug, wrapping his arms around you and placing one hand on your head, gently patting. "i told you we'd make it."

you choke on a soft sob, nodding, burying your head further into his chest, as if ready to climb inside him, "i thought you—"

he shushes you softly, voice gentle as he runs a hand through your hair. you can feel his heart racing against his chest too. you wonder if it's for the same reasons as you. "i'm okay."

you wish the game ended there. but there was one more round to go. as you rotated on the platform— the moment you were dreading finally happened as young-il predicted it. the number announced was two.

you were ready to die there. things seemed to happen in slow motion— 456 took his best friend 390, 149 was dragged by her son. you didn't get the chance to see who took who next, because young-il had grabbed your hand and was dragging you towards one of the rooms. there were only fifty rooms— the first one you two got to was taken. he dragged you to another with a mere ten seconds left.

you sighed in relief as you got in, before seeing another man was already there. he was shaking in fear, and you jumped at the harshness of young-il's voice when he ordered him to get out. when the other player refused, young-il lunged at him and put him in a headlock.

your eyes widened and you stepped forward, panic stricken but he looked right at you and called your name, "close your eyes!"

you flinched. you looked at the man, then at young-il, before squeezing your eyes shut. you slid to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest as soon as you heard a 'crack' before opening your eyes.

the player was dead. young-il cracked his neck.

the timer finished at that exact moment, and young-il crawled over to you before pulling you into his chest. the gunshots rang out, and you flinched, sobbing.

young-il killed someone.

"i had to do it," he whispered against your hair, holding your head against his chest, "we both have to make it out alive. i had to do it. you know that right?"

you wanted to believe him, you really did. but in that moment, you felt scared of him for the first time.

the doors opened, and the game finished.

while you wanted to revel in your victory, the incident during mingle had rattled you to your core. the others checked up on you, especially 388 and 456. young-il maintained some distance. you could feel like he thought it's what you wanted. but you could really use his comfort. you just don't know how to talk to him again without being nervous. you force yourself to relive your previous interactions with him— he's still the same young-il who has saved you and comforted you countless times.

he did what he had to do to ensure your survival. that wasn't something you could hold against him. not when both of your lives were on the line.

the voting this time was just as challenging. you made your way to the front of the crowd, praying that they'd choose wisely this time. you need to go home.

one of the players in the old man's team showed you the finger before clicking the 'o' button. the action made your eye twitch, and you grit your teeth before straightening up to attack that guy and scratch his face off, but a hand to your chest held you back.

if looks could kill, young-il's glare could've sent that guy home in a body bag. as the votes in favour of continuing the game increased, you pushed his hand off you and addressed the crowd, "have you all lost your fucking minds?!"

their chitter chatter stopped and they looked at you. you clench your jaw, "after losing so many people out there you still want to play? what the fuck is wrong with you people? are human lives that invaluable to you?"

player 100 steps forward, insufferable as always. "don't you see how much money we're getting for each person? it could settle our debt! we can't give up after how far we've come."

"you're gonna die!" you snap, pointing at him, "you could take this money and go home and be happy instead of risking your life for something that is not assured to you! why won't you listen?! i want to go home!"

the others in favour of terminating the game start chanting with you, a string of 'i want to go home' echoing across the room.

player 100 glares, urging his own team to chant against you. he looks towards young-il, yells something along the lines of, "look after your fucking kid!" before the barell of a gun presses against the back of your head. the whole room freezes, and so do you.

"disruptions against a democratic vote will not be excused." the robotic voice calls out. for a second you think this is it. you look at young-il. if you die here, you'd prefer the man who saved your life to be the last person you see. he glares at the guard, his jaw clenching. the guard lowers the gun and steps back and you let out a breath of relief.

you immediately saunter over to him, gritting your teeth. the vote is a tie— and they announce the next voting to be held tomorrow.

456 says there's about to be a fight. the rest of the team got busy setting up a barricade— and you didn't get the chance to talk to your player. you knew his concern though, when he made sure to especially hide your side of the bed with two mattresses.

you play with the hem of your shirt as you sit in your bed by your lonesome. your food sits by you, untouched. you dont feel like eating. the weight on the bed shifts, and young-il appears into view.

"you're not eating."

you swallow the lump in your throat. "i don't feel like it."

he contemplates, eyes lowered before he looks at you again. "im sorry you had to witness that. I don't want you to be scared of me."

you want to cry. "im not." you whisper, "you.. you had to do what you had to do. to save us."

he blinks, nodding.

"back there, i thought that was it. it's over." you chuckle bitterly. "but you saved me again. you acted on impulse. i could never resent you for it."

your eyes are bloodshot as you look at him again. fat tears roll down your cheeks, and he frowns. he sighs before leaning closer, brushing the tears away. "why are you crying?"

"i wouldn't have survived this far if it wasn't for you." you whisper, voice cracking. "promise me you wouldn't abandon me. promise me you won't die."

his gaze softens. he's silent for a bit, his hand coming to rest on your knee, "i promise."

you sniffle, wiping your tears away. a small smile appears on your face, "i punched thanos."

"thanos?" he frowns, confused before raising his eyebrows in recognition, "ah, the loud kid with the purple hair?"

you nod proudly. "he said something like 'did 001 finally die?' so i punched him."

he laughs heartily— face scrunching cutely, eyes crinkling. he shakes his head fondly before ruffling your hair again. "attagirl."

it makes you blush slightly and you smile, looking down at your lap. he grabs your dinner— the roll sitting next to you and unwraps it, taking out a piece before holding it out, "eat."

you snort before leaning forward and taking a bite. he looks at you for a while with that faraway look in his eyes, before wordlessly continuing to feed you the rest. the words go unsaid. 'what are we doing? why are we so comfortable with each other?'

some sauce sticks to the corner of your mouth. he raises his hand to hold your chin, his thumb gently wiping it off. your breath hitches.

neither of you protest when his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, gaze focused on it like he's hypnotized. he's thinking, mindlessly feeling the plush texture of it.

you've always been impulsive. especially in situations where you shouldn't be. it happens so naturally— how your lips part just slightly. and maybe he's impulsive too, because his thumb slips inside, and his breath hitches as soon as your lips wrap around his thumb.

his gaze raises to meet yours— and you blink almost dazedly. his thumb presses down on your tongue, and he calls out your name in the softest voice.

"i'm too old for you." he whispers, shaking his head in disapproval.

your eyes flutter, and you lean forward, grabbing hold of his wrist. he pulls his thumb out, and you almost whine in protest. to your utter delight, he replaces it with two of his fingers, and your eyes almost roll back as you crawl forward till you're situated on his lap, mouth stuffed with his index and middle finger. you suck on them enthusiastically. they're long and thick and perfect and you don't want them out of your mouth ever again. it elicits a soft moan out of him— and if you could put that sound on repeat for the rest of your life, you'd be happy.

he pulls his fingers out and grabs the back of your head, pulling you close till your foreheads press together. you try to lean forward, to capture his lips with your own. he chuckles slightly, eyes closed, playfully rubbing his nose against yours. you whine.

"so impatient." he whispers, and then his lips are colliding with yours. it would be embarrassing if someone were to catch you two like this— more so for him than for you. thankfully, the others are busy strategizing for the night, and are not looking for either of you.

you moan softly and he bites down on your bottom lip, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. it's desperate and reckless and so full of spit— it makes you whimper into his mouth and he pulls you further into himself, as if telling you to shut up. his experience is obvious in the way he kisses, and you follow his lead. unknowingly, your hips start gently grinding against his thigh, and he lets out a soft hiss. he pulls away slightly, strings of saliva connecting your mouths. he licks it away.

"come on, sweetheart," he whispers, one hand coming down to help your hips grind against his thigh, "make yourself feel good— that's it, that's my good girl."

you moan softly, and his free hand clamps your mouth shut. he speeds his movement, clenching and unclenching the muscle of his thigh, guiding your hips to move faster against his lap. it's been so long since you've masturbated— and this is unarguably the hottest situation you've ever been in, with the hottest man you've ever seen. so you're already close. you cry out into his hand, your voice muffled. he understands what you mean and lets you move on your own speed then, pulling your head into the crook of his neck as he whispers soft words of praise into your ear.

the moment he calls you his good girl again, you cum. he muffles the sound with his hand, squeezing his eyes shut before he looks at you intensely. you collapse against him, slightly sweaty, your hands holding onto his shoulders as you cling to him. he runs his hand through your hair, breathing sharply. it's a small moment of bliss in the hell you've found yourself in.

soon, the lights go out, and dread settles in your stomach once you feel his body tensing. player 388 pulls one of the mattresses back slightly, hisses a quick "get under the bed!"

and the next game begins.

A/N: this was incredibly fun to write. i love writing him a little soft and fatherly, so deal with it. i might write a part 2 for this, if anyone wants that. this idea has been in my head for a while. i love him so, so much. this fic is my baby and i truly hope you guys like reading it as much as i liked writing it.

tags! @carolinevoight @lovers-roq @wildtigerlili @menabuser16 @deadlyobsessivfennec @watasinekoru @hanakokunzz @cowuies

[p0orbaby]

Centre Court

summary: you’re starting to think that tennis is an aphrodisiac

warnings: suggestive, mentions of sexy times

a/n: yes, i know wimbledon is long gone…

word count: 1.2k

-

You’re on your annual trip to Wimbledon. A place where the scent of freshly cut grass and overpriced strawberries mingles with the murmur of the crowd. Leah’s next to you, a distracting presence as always, her elbow grazing yours every time she shifts. You wonder if anyone else can feel the static electricity she generates with every casual brush against your arm.

“You know…” she begins, pulling your attention from the back-and-forth of the second point.

“Hm?” you hum, eyes glued to the court despite the magnetic pull of her voice. It’s the kind of acknowledgement that means, ‘Please don’t say anything outrageous, we’re in public,’ but you both know that’s wishful thinking.

“You’d look good in one of those little skirts,” she murmurs, her tone low and familiarly conspiratorial. There’s a glint in her eye that suggests she’s not really talking about tennis anymore. You’re not sure why you’re so surprised.

You chuckle softly, your eyes drifting to the player’s attire. You had to admit they wouldn’t look out of place in your wardrobe. “Oh, would I now?” you reply, raising an eyebrow at her. “And what makes you think that?” It’s a rhetorical question, though Leah’s known for her uncanny ability to undress you with her eyes.

Leah leans in closer, her breath warm against your ear. “Just a hunch. You’ve got the legs for it. And besides, I’d love to see you show them off.” Her words tickle your ear, and you suppress a shiver even under the rays of the sun.

You smirk, finally turning to meet her gaze. “You’re awfully bold, aren’t you, Miss Williamson?” You try to sound stern, but your lips betray you, curling into a smile.

She shrugs, her grin widening. “I know what I like. And I know I’d like you in one of those skirts.” Her tone is as casual as if she were discussing the weather, but her eyes tell a different story.

You shake your head, amused. “It’s nothing you haven’t already seen, baby”

Leah’s eyes darken, a playful glint there that promises trouble. “True, but these outfits have that certain… je ne sais quoi, don’t you think?”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” you tease, nudging her with your elbow. “A bit of French flair to spice things up?”

The match continues, punctuated by grunts and the rhythmic thwack of the ball. You’re only half paying attention now, Leah’s words and the heat in her stare pulling you in. Her hand rests lightly on your thigh, a touch that’s barely there but feels like a live wire.

“You think you could keep up with me?” you challenge, a playful edge in your tone.

Leah’s smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “Oh, I know I could. I’ve got stamina for days, babe”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a laugh in the quiet of the court. “Big talk for someone who’s never seen me play”

Leah’s fingers tighten slightly on your thigh, her eyes locked onto yours, swimming with amusement and something else that makes your pulse quicken. “Maybe we should find out,” she says, her voice low and full of confident assurance.

You’re about to bite back when a particularly loud cheer from the crowd reminds you of where you are. You glance around, half-expecting to see a camera trained on the two of you, but the spectators are blissfully unaware of the electric current between you and your girlfriend.

“Behave,” you whisper, though the word lack the conviction needed to stop your mate in her tracks.

Leah leans in, her lips brushing your ear. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

You shake your head again, a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible”

Leah’s fingers begin to trace small, infuriatingly light patterns on your thigh, the sensation sending shivers up your spine. “Impossible? I prefer determined,” she says, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

You try to refocus on the game, but it’s a losing battle. The players might as well be on another planet for all you care right now. Leah’s hand inches higher, and you give her a sideways glance.

“Leah, we’re supposed to be watching the match,” you murmur, though your tone lacks any real reprimand.

“Oh, I am,” she assures you, her eyes never leaving yours. “I’m just multitasking.” Her hand gives your thigh a gentle squeeze, her thumb brushing just a bit too close to where it shouldn’t be in public.

You let out a small, involuntary gasp, quickly covering it with a cough. Leah’s grin is all too pleased with herself. “You’re going to get us in trouble,” you warn, though you can’t deny the thrill coursing through you.

Leah’s other hand joins the fun, now resting at the base of your neck. Her thumb begins to make small, maddening circles just behind your ear. You try to keep your focus on the game, but the match is losing its grip on you, fast.

“Remember the first time we came here together?” Leah’s voice breaks into your thoughts, once more.

You do remember. It was less about the game and more about the impromptu christening of the private box. “Vaguely,” you respond, the memory making your cheeks warm. “I recall you getting us kicked out”

Leah laughs, the sound drawing a few more curious glances. “I’d say it was worth it, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s one way to put it,” you reply, grinning at the recollection. Leah had insisted on testing just how soundproof those VIP boxes were. Spoiler: not very.

Leah’s hand squeezes your thigh gently, her fingers drifting higher. “It’s funny, you know. How you always pretend to be so proper and composed”

You arch an eyebrow at her. “Pretend?”

“Yeah,” she continues, her voice a seductive whisper. “Like that time at the charity gala, when you were giving a speech and I—”

“You really want to bring that up here?” you interrupt, your heart pounding at the memory. Leah had been insufferable, sneaking suggestive touches under the table before you tried to maintain your composure on stage.

Leah smirks, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Just saying, you’ve got a wild side. And I love bringing it out”

You glance around again, paranoid about the camera but also thrilling at the risk. Leah’s hand ventures even higher, and you place your hand over hers to stop her. “Leah, we’re in public”

She pouts, but there’s a glimmer of triumph in her eyes. “Fine. For now.” Her fingers retreat, but she leaves a lingering touch that promises more mischief later.

As the match progresses, Leah continues her playful torment, her fingers wandering back to your thigh at every opportunity. You can’t help but recall all the other public places where she’s pushed the boundaries: the quiet corners of museums, the back rows of cinemas, even that one unforgettable time on a nearly deserted beach.

You lean in close to Leah, your lips brushing against her ear. “You keep this up and we’re going to have to find somewhere private,” you warn, your voice a low murmur.

Leah’s grin is positively wicked. “Now that sounds like a plan.” She glances around, then her eyes settle back on you, filled with that familiar, enticing mischief. “How about we slip out after this set?”

[izvmimi]

cw: smut, minors dni. brat!reader. angry sex that turns soft. not really infidelity but a little targeted flirting on the part of reader. female anatomy for reader. f! receiving oral. penetrative sex.

“You’re getting way too good at getting on my damn nerves.”

The door to your hotel room is barely closed by the time he starts his tirade, but neither of the Itoshi brothers are particularly known for having any type of manners, and the current state of affairs is that you’ve successfully pissed Rin off the entire night. It doesn’t help that Rin’s kind of a crybaby, and his beautiful eyelashes line red-rimmed eyes right now; in fact his whole face is red from embarrassment, and as you kick your high heels off, he’s glaring at you with aggravation, hands balled into fists.

“So?” you ask flippantly, turning to him with a flourish in your satin, form-fitting dress that seems to practically mock him. You don’t intend to spin that joyfully but it works for you tremendously. After all, Rin takes himself far too seriously and it’s your God-given task to cut him down to size. Flirting with his brother - well, barely so - has worked wonders for you. Rin is now so hot he’s practically ripping his shirt off at the collar as he tries to loosen it, and you plop onto the king sized bed in practical glee. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve provoked him like this and it works every time.

You don’t have to do much. Just a few heavy lidded glances in Sae’s direction, a little too much interest in whatever the asshole has to say, letting your eyes linger on his drink then on the curve of his lips for a little too long, shrugging when Sae disrespectfully asks you, right in front of his brother, if you’re willing to spend time with an actual athlete before declining.

There will be a point in time where Sae’s advances towards you result in his face drenched in sweetened alcohol, but for now, when Rin’s waffling about how much you mean to him despite being desperate for your attention, keeping you on his arm for event after event, you don’t have to be his ride-or-die.

But you can ride him. 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to prove but if you keep fucking playing with me, you’re going to end up biting off more than you can chew.”

He’s a lot of talk and a lot of energy as he tears off your panties, but he’s the one with his face shoved into your folds just moments later, sliding his tongue up and over and along every part of you, lapping up your cream like milk, drinking up your squeals and moans like sweet ambrosia. His arms are practically wrapped around your lower half, dragging your hips up to his face as he sucks and swallows, spitting on your clit the lesser half out of disgust, the greater half out of sheer desire. Face still covered in your slick, and practically drooling, he takes your lips in his mouth again and kisses fervently, pulling your leg around his waist as he descends on you.

“Stop acknowledging him,” Rin hisses. Your back arches as his cockhead presses first against your entrance, missing first before he re-steadies and slips inside you, biting your lower lip as they pull back in a wince. Your fingers claw into his bare back as he claims you, a shudder leaving his throat as he nestles inside you, warm, inviting, his, oh so necessarily his.

“Stop worrying about him,” you hiss back. “Focus on me.”

Your eyes narrow as they meet, but he’s softening as you look at him. The first few strokes into your center are fast, harsh, quick in the snap of his hips, but the next ones, with his eyes slowly filling with adoration as he watches your reactions, the scrunch of your face and the lust in your eyes as they roll back, are slow and tender. 

“Focus on me,” he whispers now as he rolls his hips against yours. “Be mine.”

Be mine, be mine, be mine. He kisses your neck, marking you with each press of the lips, each squeeze of his fingertips on your flesh, and he wishes you would scratch and claw your name into his skin if only it means he’s definitely yours and only yours and you’re only his, forever.

[sakashq]

Love Drought. jude bellingham x fem!reader

🤍 summary: After his move to Real Madrid, Jude hasn’t been the same loving boyfriend you once had.

🤍 wc: 600+

🤍 warnings: y/n usage. I HATE IT. oh and angst! sorry guys 💕💕💕

🤍 yap! this is based on my current situation i fear 🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️ i swear this is the last time i’ll bring my ex into my work💔

🤍 my girls <3 EXTRA SPECIAL dedication to @hrts4havertz because she is jude’s wife i fear. and to @ar4ujos @halfwayhearted @iovepoem @joaoflms &&. @planetpedri

Flexibility was always something you were capable of. So when your boyfriend Jude signed a contract for a team in Spain, of course you agreed to make the move for him. You loved the beauty of Spain anyway and ended up residing in the heart of the country. Besides, if things didn’t work out, you would still want to live here. You had made new friends and gotten a better job than the one back in Germany — life was just better in Spain.

Until it came time for him to actually play for the team. With Dortmund, Jude was amazing at balancing both you and his career. But now at this higher-level club, it seemed like he had just pushed you aside and only worried about his new club. It was great that he was focused on making the team proud, but that left zero time for you. Whenever he was home (he was always out with his new teammates), he’d barely acknowledge you and brush things off. Your friends called it the “Madrid curse.” Once signing with the team, they brainwash you. Obviously it was a silly joke, but sometimes it lingered in the back of your mind. Was this club destroying your relationship?

You never brought it up because you didn’t wanna seem selfish. He’s focusing on his career, he’s doing big things! That’s amazing, is it not? If you brought it up, it’d just make you seem like a jealous girlfriend. Even if you kind of were.

It got to the point where dates didn’t happen either. Someone who used to try and take you out once a week now only glanced at you once a week, every other time getting ready for football or hanging out with his new football friends. It was all him, him, him. Never any time for you.

Okay, that’s fine. He’s trying to establish relationships with his new teammates. But what about the relationship he already had? The one with his loving and loyal girlfriend that moved across the continent for him? Why was there no time for her?

For the first time in ages, the two of you were sat on the couch together. You sat away from him, sitting in nothing but silence. He looked over at you, raising a brow.

“What’s the matter with you?” He asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” you mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t seem too fine. Talk to me,” he responded, his body now turned and facing you.

You stared blankly at him, unsure if you really wanted to talk to him right now. You sighed, deciding communication was probably needed in this situation. “You barely have time for me anymore. I get it, you’ve joined a new club and you need to bond with your teammates. But do you really need to every night?”

He looked at you, almost as if he was going to laugh. “So you’re jealous of Vini, Aurélien, and Eduardo is what I’m hearing?”

“Jude, I’m being serious.” You looked at him, your face and body language very solemn.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Okay, hear me out. You get ready, dress and wear whatever you want however you want and I take you wherever you wanna go.”

You frowned saying, “You don’t get it. Weeks of craving your attention, and you think it’ll just be resolved by one date. It’s just gonna go back to the way it was afterwards.”

“Well what do you want me to do, Y/n? I’m trying here,” his voice raised a little, startling you. “I can’t make time for Madrid and you.”

Your face dropped, your heart going with it. If you weren’t upset then, you definitely were now. What did he mean by that? “So you could with Dortmund but you can’t now because it’s a slightly bigger club? You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“It’s a lot more draining with Madrid, Y/n. You don’t get it,” he shrugged.

“No, I get it. It’s fine, do what you wanna do. You’re gonna realize how good you had it when it’s gone.” You got up from the couch, grabbing your car keys off the coffee table and heading for the door.

Jude got up, ready to chase after you immediately. “Y/n, come on, we can talk about this. Y/n.”

You opened the door, shutting it behind you. Jude followed not too long after.

“Y/n, I’m sorry. Okay, that was a dickhead move. But you leaving doesn’t solve the problem,” he told you. He had a point, sure, but you were mad at him. No way he was gonna win. He was just worried about whether or not you’d be coming back. He loved you dearly, even if he wasn’t currently showing. You leaving upset with him destroyed him. The thought of something happening to you while you were still mad at him paralysed him. He didn’t know if he’d ever forgive himself if something happened.

“Okay, what?” You turned around.

“Come back inside,” he pleaded, his brown eyes begging with him.

Not giving in to his pleas you replied, “No. I can’t get a conversation with you and now you wanna talk. I’m done trying.”

“I know, I know, I fucked up. I didn’t mean what I said, I was just… saying stuff. I don’t want to lose you.” Your heart broke seeing his face, shattering into a million different pieces. Maybe he really wanted to try, or maybe this was just a manipulative move to get you to stay. Either way, you couldn’t help but feel awful. “Please just talk to me.”

You sighed, not responding but walking back over to him. And after a lengthy conversation, everything was okay again. It wasn’t like how it was before, but things were starting to look up. You two agreed to communicate more and take days off just to spend it with each other. After all this, it ended right where it started— the two of you sitting on the coach together, this time with you in his arms.

[loveinhawkins]

Steve gets the idea from Dustin and Robin, in a roundabout way: Robin insists on buying a camping stove from The War Zone, which Dustin pounces upon with glee as soon as he notices it.

“Oh, we’re cooking with gas now,” he says, which is the worst pun Steve has heard thus far.

Eddie snorts, almost but not quite hidden underneath the sound of the engine. Steve smiles.

“Y’know there’s a stove right here?” he asks in benign exasperation, gestures behind him to the little kitchen area of the RV.

“Steve,” Robin says, “that’s not as fun.”

“Yeah, come on, Steve! It’ll be like at Camp Know Where—”

“Know Nothing,” Steve mutters automatically.

“—we oft dined al fresco.”

“Oft,” Eddie parrots, and Steve can faintly feel the movement of him laughing, from where he’s pressed up against the back of the driver’s seat. “Al fresco. Henderson, what lab did they make you in?”

“Eddie, either shut up or back me up, I wanna get a culturally enriching experience outta this.”

“Oh, excuse me, didn’t realise this was a field trip.”

“You’re excused.”

“Okay,” Steve cuts in, “have fun playing at camping, Henderson, but don’t come crying to me if you, like, blow yourself up.”

Robin chuckles. “Such a happy camper.”

“Boo,” Steve says flatly.

He parks the RV a little bit away from a store just off the main road—heads in alone as it’ll draw less attention. Out loud, he says it’s so he can focus without hearing whining pleas to buy junk food, whether Dustin-approved or not, but he already knows he’ll cater to each and every one of the group’s demands.

Eddie, surprisingly, doesn’t put in a request, says he’s happy to just go along with whatever everyone else wants—a far cry from when Nancy had relayed, with more amusement than frustration, “He said he wants a six-pack.”

Steve figures that the whole being wanted for murder thing would kill anyone’s appetite, but it still makes his stomach sink, that the most substantial meal Eddie’s gotten a chance to eat has been lukewarm Spaghettios.

They set up ‘camp’ in a field, and Robin’s the first to rush outside, shortly followed by Dustin, both intent on using the stove she’s bought.

Steve leaves them all to it, kind of enjoys the temporary peace of just messing about in the RV on his own—it gives him enough time to find where some crockery is kept, anyway.

He’s heating up chicken noodle soup on the stove when Eddie comes back in and tells him, “They got it working, no explosions yet.”

“Oh, miracles can happen. Good timing, by the way.” Steve switches the burner off, pours the soup into a bowl and sets it down on the table—where he’s already laid out a spoon. “Yours is ready.”

At first he doesn’t think the silence is all that unusual. He’s not really looking either, focusing on rinsing out the pan he’d used. But when he does glance up, it’s to see Eddie just standing there, looking at the bowl of soup and blinking rapidly.

It’s almost like… almost like he’s—

“Woah, hey,” Steve says, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Eddie says, even though he’s still quite clearly tearing up. “Absolutely nothing. Jesus Christ.” He groans, presses a couple of fingers to the inner corner of his eyes. “This is fucking mortifying, just pretend you didn’t—ugh.”

In barely a blink, he shuts himself away in the bathroom.

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “Hate soup that much, huh?”

A watery laugh from behind the door. “No.”

There’s a silence. Steve dries the pan and puts it away before calling, “It’s gonna get cold!”

It won’t for a while yet; he can still see tendrils of steam rising from the bowl.

There’s a long, drawn out sigh, and then Eddie opens the door, sidles in to take a seat at the table.

For a moment, Steve thinks he isn’t going to acknowledge it, which is fine. But as Eddie picks up the spoon he says, head down, “It’s just. That was, uh. Really—really nice.”

Steve’s concern abates a little; he can’t help giving a slight smirk. “Would it help if I was mean instead?”

Eddie laughs again, no tears in it this time. He shrugs with a grin. “Do whatever you want, man.”

He’s eating slowly, his spoon dragging through the soup. His eyes seem distant.

“It’s just… I miss—” His voice threatens to break, but doesn’t quite get there. “I miss… home.”

Before Steve can think of a reasonable reply, Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes. He drops the spoon with a clatter. “God, that sounds so—”

“It doesn’t,” Steve interrupts.

“Yeah, sure.” Eddie picks up the spoon again, keeps scraping it against the bottom of the bowl.

“Dude, what did I tell you? You’ve gotta give yourself a break.”

Steve pauses, stuck on what to say next.

He can’t even relate, honestly. Home has long become something he couldn’t… Something he couldn’t really miss, exactly.

It’s ever-changing: the luxury of eating a late breakfast in History; the crunch of leaves underfoot as he walked the railroad tracks with Dustin; the chill of the freezer in Scoops Ahoy, Robin’s snorting laugh bouncing off the walls.

Now it’s his car radio playing as he gives rides on busy school mornings. A high school basketball game. A goddamn video store.

“I think you have this thing,” Steve says slowly.

“A promising start,” Eddie says, lips twitching.

He’s finished the soup. The sight spurs Steve on.

“I think you have this thing,” he repeats, more confidently, “where you think that, like, we’re seasoned monster-killers, and you’re—”

“Uh, speaking objectively, Harrington, that’s kinda what you are.”

“My point is,” Steve says, “that you don’t need to—shit, I don’t know, man. Just. You don’t need to apologise or whatever. You’re doing fine.”

Eddie blinks. He’s cupping the empty bowl with his hands, breathing a little deeper, like the residual warmth is calming.

And that Steve can relate to: in the days after Starcourt, when Robin pretty much dragged him to her house, empty thanks to her folks visiting extended family. They both pretended that they just wanted to stay up late because they could, because they were just teenagers enjoying the summer, and Robin had made shitty hot chocolate from a powder, heating up milk on the stove; when Steve complained that he could hardly enjoy it through a busted lip, she’d said, still jittery, “I just thought—it’s just nice to hold, y’know?”

She was right.

One of Eddie’s fingers starts tapping against the bowl, the underside of his ring making a series of restless clinks. Steve wants to still his hand, gently press it further into the warmth. Settle him.

Eddie stands up with the bowl.

“I can—”

“Nah, I’ve got it,” Eddie says, already at the sink. He turns on the faucet, smiles. “Thanks, by the way.”

It’s so simple, so domestic, and all of a sudden, Steve’s struck with a thought: oh, I want this.

“No problem. I’ll get you something better, after… um, everything.”

Eddie chuckles. “Oh, Jesus, I think I actually would kill for some fries.”

Steve clicks his fingers. “So we’ll make it happen.”

“We?”

“Yeah, I hate to break it to you, man, but as soon as they hear about free fries—” Steve jerks his head towards the chatter outside, “—they’re gonna demand to come with, they’re like piranhas.”

He expects Eddie to play up the joke, to groan and complain.

But while he does laugh, Eddie just sighs before saying in earnest, “That sounds fucking fantastic.”

And his eyes are warm and fond, like maybe he’s found another home in all of them, too.

[fuqnia]

college AU! stan x fem bodied YN

stan and yn are reallyyy close friends, like REALLY close, to the point of kissing eachother sometimes. at this point, him and wendy are not a thing (unless you do poly and we could get some poly action, if not thats fine) and stan and YN like eachother romantically. stan knows he likes them but hasn't come to terms with it, while YN themselves are oblivious to their OWN crush on him because they don't understand their own feelings most the time.

can YN also be a brat (like maybe kind of stuck up and prissy) and also be flirty with people they're comfortable with?

that personality leads me to this: stan snapping and ends up fucking them (maybe confrontational? like, holds their cheeks and asks them if they're even aware how they make him feel, so fuzzy, but also so so so mad! (in a good way of course)

can i have themes of dom/sub (dom stan/sub YN), brat taming, light degradation with heavy praise, impact play?(if you're not comfortable with this one thats fine, i was just thinking maybe spanking of the ass, thighs, and clit), edging, orgasm control, dacryphilia, overstimulation, heavy teasing, and overall just mean but also super soft stan?

thankss (if this request makes you uncomfortable then thats okay)

Just Friends

stan marsh x fem!reader insert (college au)

(╥﹏╥) | [A/N] ah my first request ever! this is kinda long for a request, but i wanted to make it special. i'm so sorry for butchering dom/sub dynamics, i haven't really written that yet. and jesus christ i made stan talk alot in this, and i really highlighted how he would definitely wear tons of bracelets for some reason LMAO. again this was a challenge for me bcus i usually write stan kinda softish and quiet. thank u again <3 there's a scene where stan just goes on his phone during the middle of it and i almost died writing it was so funny to me

(╥﹏╥) | [CW] p in v, fingering, p eating, dom/sub dynamics, dacryphilia, edging, overstimulation assholeish stan and reader, cartman is cartman, characters are aged up!

The room was dimly lit, illuminated mostly by the soft glow of Stan’s TV screen as he sat cross-legged on the floor, completely immersed in his game. Faint sounds of gunfire and laughter from Cartman and Kenny filtered through his headset. Stan leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the controller tightly, his brows furrowed in concentration.

On the bed, you sighed loudly, barely glancing up from your phone as you continued scrolling through TikTok and Instagram. The endless feed of videos and posts did little to distract you from the heavy boredom pressing down on you.

You switched apps, opening Snapchat out of sheer desperation for something interesting. As you flipped through stories, your scrolling halted abruptly at one that made your stomach twist.

Bebe and Clyde were out on another date. The photo Bebe posted showed their hands intertwined across a table, captioned: “My fave person 💕.”

Your chest tightened, an uncomfortable heat settling there. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—it wasn’t like you were into Clyde or anything. Still, the jealousy gnawed at you, bitter and unshakable.

Shaking your head, you exited the app and glanced at Stan, who hadn’t once looked in your direction despite your exaggerated sighs. He was totally engrossed in his game, his headset cushioning his ears and his focus glued to the screen.

“Stan,” you called out, your voice edged with impatience.

No response. His lips twitched slightly, like he might’ve heard you, but he made no effort to acknowledge your call.

You huffed, tossing your phone onto the bed. If Stan wasn’t going to pay attention to you willingly, you’d have to force his hand. Sliding off the bed, you walked up behind him and bent down, placing your hands lightly on his shoulders. Without hesitation, you slid into his lap, grinning as his body stiffened in surprise.

“[Y/N]—what the hell dude?” Stan sputtered, almost dropping his controller as he glanced down at you.

Cartman’s voice blared through his headset. “STAN, YOU DUMBASS! MOVE! YOU JUST GOT US KILLED!”

Stan groaned loudly, hastily muting his mic before turning his full attention to you. “I’m in the middle of a game!” he said, his tone exasperated.

You tilted your head, a playful pout forming on your lips. “Yeah, well, I’m bored,” you said, looping your arms around his neck. “Why aren’t you paying attention to me?”

Stan blinked, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief. “Because I’m playing with Cartman and Kenny? You know—my friends?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, your voice dripping with faux innocence. “But I’m more important than Cartman and Kenny, aren’t I?”

Stan stared at you, clearly unsure how to respond. His hands hovered awkwardly near your waist, his usual confidence suddenly replaced by uncertainty. “You’re being weird,” he said finally, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you leaned closer, your face only inches from his. “Weird? You’re so dramatic.”

Before he could reply, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his, your chapstick leaving a faint, sweet taste behind as you kissed him. It wasn’t unusual for you and Stan to kiss—your friendship had always had an element of playfulness—but this time felt different. The way your lips lingered a moment longer, the way your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his hoodie...

You pulled back, giggling softly at the stunned look on his face.

Stan’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as his grip on your hips firmed. His gaze burned with something intense, something unspoken that made your stomach flutter.

But then he exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line as he reached up and unmuted his mic. “I’m back,” he said curtly, his tone clipped as he picked up his controller and resumed his game.

You blinked, taken aback by his reaction. He didn’t push you off, didn’t say anything else—just continued playing as if you weren’t still perched in his lap.

Cartman’s voice crackled through the headset. “About time, dude. You literally lost us the game because you were being a dumbass.”

Stan didn’t respond, his focus locked on the screen. His hands gripped the controller, his movements precise and deliberate, but you could feel the tension radiating from him.

You shifted slightly in his lap, testing his reaction, but he didn’t budge. His jaw was still tight, his eyes fixed on the screen, though you caught the faintest twitch of his lips when you leaned in close and whispered teasingly, “Am I distracting you?”

Stan’s lips pressed into a firmer line, his knuckles whitening on the controller. “You’re fine,” he said evenly, though the edge in his voice betrayed him. His blue eyes stayed locked on the screen, his jaw tight, clearly trying to pretend you weren’t there.

Before he could stop you, you reached up and slipped the headset off his head.

“[Y/N], don’t,” Stan muttered, his voice tense, but you ignored him, slipping the headset onto your own head and adjusting the mic with a sly smile.

“Hey, idiots!” you chirped into the mic.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cartman groaned immediately. “Why the hell are you here? Don’t you have something better to do, like annoying someone else or scamming free drinks with that dumb whore shit you pulll?”

“Cartman, don’t start,” Kenny chimed in, his tone amused. “She’s just here to make sure Stan doesn’t embarrass himself again.”

You laughed, leaning back in Stan’s lap and twirling the cord of the headset. “Aw, Kenny, you’re my favorite. Cartman’s just mad because he missed me.”

“I do not miss you,” Cartman snapped. “You’re like a human migraine. Stan, can you tell your ‘friend’ to fuck off so we can actually play?”

Stan muttered something under his breath, his hands hovering uselessly over the controller. “Give me the headset back, [Y/N].”

But you ignored him, turning your attention back to the game. “Eric, don’t lie. You love when I’m around. It makes your miserable little life less boring.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Cartman barked. “You’re just here to mess with us. And Kenny’s a simp for eating this up.”

“You’re right, I am,” Kenny said, laughing. “At least she’s fun. Unlike you, Cartman.”

“Fuck you, Kenny!” Cartman shot back. “Stan, seriously, can you control your fucking lap gremlin?”

Stan sighed heavily, his jaw clenching as he grabbed the headset off your head and slid it back on. His blue eyes bore into yours, his frustration clear. “Enough,” he said, his voice low and firm.

You blinked at him innocently, your lips twitching into a small smile. “What? I was just being nice.”

“Nobody buys that,” Stan muttered, his hands settling firmly on your waist. “Not even you.”

“Come on, I’m always nice,” you teased, your grin widening as you tilted your head.

Stan stared at you for a long moment, his blue eyes narrowing as though he were weighing his next move. Then, without a word, he unmuted his mic and picked up the controller again.

“I’m back,” he said flatly, his tone cold as he resumed playing.

“Thank God,” Cartman grumbled. “She’s insufferable. Get her out of here, Stan, or I’m rage-quitting.”

“She’s not that bad,” Kenny said with a laugh. “Honestly, she’s more entertaining than watching Stan suck at this game.”

Stan ignored them both, his eyes glued to the screen, though you noticed the way his grip on the controller tightened.

You stayed perched in Stan’s lap as he continued to play, his focus unwavering despite your presence. The faint sound of gunfire and Cartman’s incessant yelling filled the room, but your mind was elsewhere. Your fingers moved idly to his hair, combing through the strands and twisting them gently.

Stan’s bleached hair had grown out since you helped him with it, leaving a stark contrast between the blonde and his natural dark roots. You smiled faintly, remembering the day he let you bleach it in his bathroom. He’d been skeptical at first, grumbling about how “Cartman’s gonna call me a wannabe TikTok e-boy.”

But when you revealed the final result, the look of surprise on his face had been worth every moment.

“Holy shit,” he’d muttered, running a hand through the freshly bleached strands.

“See? Told you it’d look good dude,” you’d replied smugly. Then, on impulse, you’d pressed a kiss to his cheek, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

That kiss had been casual, friendly. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Your fingers stilled in Stan’s hair as the memory brought another one to the surface—the first time you’d kissed him. It was at a party, the two of you leaning against a wall in some corner, slightly buzzed from cheap vodka. Someone had said something stupid, and you’d both dissolved into laughter.

And then, without thinking, you’d leaned in and kissed him.

It hadn’t lasted long—just a brief press of lips, fueled by alcohol and laughter—but it had been enough to make your head spin. Stan hadn’t pulled away. If anything, he’d leaned in slightly, like he’d been waiting for it.

But the moment passed, and neither of you brought it up again.

Kissing Stan had become familiar since then. It was just... something you did. A casual thing. Or at least, that’s what you convinced yourself.

Your gaze shifted to his profile now, the faint concentration lines between his brows as he played. The glow from the screen lit up his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the soft curve of his lips. You couldn’t help but wonder: Did he ever think about those kisses? Did he feel the same pull you did, the strange comfort of it?

The thought made your chest tighten.

Do you like me?

The question lingered in your mind, unspoken and heavy. Stan had always been a constant in your life—steady, dependable, the one who tolerated your bratty tendencies without complaint. But did he like you?

And more importantly... did you like him?

Your fingers resumed their gentle movement in his hair, your heart beating a little faster as you struggled to untangle your thoughts. Kissing Stan didn’t feel like it should mean anything. But lately, you couldn’t stop wondering if it did.

“You okay dude?” Stan’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. He didn’t look at you, his eyes still on the screen, but the concern in his voice was clear.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just... thinking.”

Stan nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’re quiet.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair one last time before resting your hands on his shoulders. “Guess I’m just tired.”

“Mm-hmm,” Stan muttered, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press further.

You leaned back slightly, watching him play, the weight of your thoughts settling heavily in your chest.

You shifted slightly in Stan’s lap, your fingers still playing with his hair when your phone buzzed on the bed. The sudden noise made you glance over, and Red’s name lit up the screen.

“Oh, hold on, it’s Red,” you said, slipping off Stan’s lap. He didn’t respond, just kept his eyes glued to the game.

You grabbed your phone, swiping to answer as you perched on the edge of Stan’s desk.

“Hey, Red!” you greeted, your voice instantly bright and flirty.

“About time,” Red said, her tone teasing. “So, are you gonna tell me why you’ve been off the grid? And don’t say it’s because you’re studying babe—I know better.”

You laughed, glancing at Stan out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, you know me. Always finding ways to entertain myself. I’m at Stan’s dorm right now.”

Red let out a dramatic gasp. “Stan? Again? Wow, you two might as well move in together at this point.”

Stan’s fingers faltered briefly on the controller, but he didn’t look away from the screen.

“Right? It’s like we’re married already,” you joked, leaning back and toying with the edge of Stan’s desk.

Red cackled. “God, you two are so weird. What’s he doing? Ignoring you like always?”

“Yup,” you said, your voice dripping with fake indignation. “He’s playing his stupid game. As usual.”

Stan adjusted his headset slightly, the earcups slipping off one ear now. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he was listening.

“Honestly,” you continued, keeping your tone light, “it’s kind of tragic how bad he is at multitasking. Like, he can only focus on one thing at a time. I bet if I disappeared, he wouldn’t even notice until he lost the match.”

Red let out a snort. “Come on, [Y/N]. Give him some credit. He’s not that bad. And you’re always hanging around him anyway, so clearly he’s doing something right.”

“Eh,” you replied, smirking. “He’s tolerable. Most of the time.” You glanced at Stan again, noting the way his jaw tightened slightly.

“And?” Red prompted. “What about when he’s not tolerable?”

You grinned mischievously, the words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “When he’s not tolerable? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just trade him in for someone better.”

Stan froze. His hands stopped moving, and the room went silent except for the sound of Cartman and Kenny yelling through his headset.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Red asked, her voice curious but amused.

Before you could answer, Stan stood abruptly, pulling off his headset and letting it rest on the chair. He crossed the room in three long strides, his presence making the small dorm feel even smaller.

“Red, I’ll call you back,” you said quickly, hanging up before she could respond.

Stan loomed over you now, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. He reached past you and pressed the power button on his PS5, the room falling into silence as the screen went black.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, his voice low but tight with frustration.

You blinked up at him, playing innocent even as your heart raced. “What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb, [Y/N],” Stan said, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. “That shit you said to Red. What the hell was that about?”

Stan stared down at you, his blue eyes sharp as he waited for an explanation. You leaned back slightly against the desk, tilting your head innocently as you blinked up at him.

“What?” you said, feigning confusion. “I was just talking to Red about how you’re my bestest friend in the whole world.” You clasped your hands together dramatically, flashing him a teasing grin. “She loves hearing about how much I adore you.”

Stan’s jaw clenched, his brows furrowing deeper. “Your ‘bestest friend,’ huh?” he repeated, his tone skeptical, edged with something darker. “Because that’s exactly how it sounded.”

You shrugged, letting out a playful laugh. “I mean, come on, Stan. Red knows you’re my favorite. I was just hyping you up, obviously.”

“Hyping me up?” His voice was low, incredulous. “You told her you’d trade me in for someone better.”

You waved a dismissive hand, still playing up your act. “Oh, that? That was just a joke. You know I didn’t mean it.”

Stan stepped closer, his hands braced on either side of you against the desk. The space between you disappeared, and his intense gaze locked onto yours. “Do you ever think before you open your mouth?” he asked, his voice calm but heavy with tension. “Or do you just say shit for the fun of it?”

The teasing grin faltered on your lips for a split second before you forced it back into place. “Relax, Marsh,” you said lightly, though your pulse quickened under the weight of his stare. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

Stan’s head tilted slightly, his jaw tightening as he studied you. “Am I?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less commanding. “Because it’s starting to feel like you’re trying to get a rise out of me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you refused to let it show. “Me?” you said with mock innocence, batting your lashes. “Why would I ever do that?”

Stan didn’t answer right away. His eyes flickered down to your lips briefly before meeting your gaze again, the tension between you crackling like static electricity. His presence was overwhelming, and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close he was, how his body practically boxed you in against the desk.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered finally, his voice low and rough.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. For once, the teasing remark you had ready in your head didn’t make it past your lips. The intensity in Stan’s eyes held you in place, your heart pounding in your chest as the air between you grew heavier.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unrelenting, as you blinked up at Stan, trying to piece together what exactly had him so worked up. Sure, you’d teased him plenty of times before—this wasn’t new—but something about tonight was different. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was genuinely mad, and it caught you off guard.

“Stan,” you said, your voice softer now, though still carrying that teasing edge. “Why are you so mad? We’re friends. We do this all the time!”

Stan’s brows knit together, his jaw tightening as he took a slow breath. “Friends,” he repeated, his voice low and almost to himself, like he was testing how the word felt on his tongue. He leaned back slightly, straightening up, but his hands stayed braced on the desk, keeping you effectively trapped. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” you asked, tilting your head in genuine confusion. “We joke around like this all the time. Why is it such a big deal tonight?”

Stan’s blue eyes flicked over your face, searching for something, but whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it. He let out a frustrated exhale, running a hand through his bleached hair, his fingers catching in the grown-out roots. “Jesus Christ, [Y/N],” he muttered, his voice tight. “You can’t just—”

He stopped himself, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he visibly struggled to keep his cool. For a moment, he looked like he was going to let it go, like he was going to step back and walk away from whatever was eating at him. But then his gaze snapped back to yours, and you saw the flicker of something raw and unresolved in his eyes.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me,” he said finally, his voice quiet but heavy, each word carefully measured.

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words hitting you like a freight train. “What I do to you?” you echoed, your brows furrowing as you tried to process what he was saying. “Stan, I—”

“You don’t get to act like this doesn’t mean something,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now, though his voice never rose above a low murmur. “You don’t get to sit in my lap, kiss me whenever you feel like it, say the shit you just said to Red, and then turn around and call me your ‘bestest friend.’” He spat the last words with a bitterness that made your chest tighten.

“I thought we were just... I mean, that’s just how we are,” you stammered, the confusion in your voice genuine. “We always mess around like that. It’s not—”

“It’s not just messing around for me,” he cut in, his voice breaking slightly at the end. He took a step closer, closing the gap between you again, his hands moving to grip the edge of the desk on either side of you. “I don’t think you even understand what the fuck you’re doing to me, [Y/N]. How you make me feel.”

Your heart was racing now, the weight of his words sinking in but not fully connecting in your mind. “Stan,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to make you feel—”

“You make me feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind,” he said, his voice strained, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “You waltz in here, act like you own the place, and... fuck. You make me feel so much, and then you just brush it off like it’s nothing. Like it’s some fucking game.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. You’d never seen Stan like this—so raw, so vulnerable—and it left you reeling. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain that you hadn’t meant to hurt him, that you hadn’t even realized you were doing it.

“I... I didn’t know,” you whispered finally, your voice barely audible.

Stan’s eyes were sharp and unwavering, his frustration palpable as he leaned closer, boxing you in against the desk. “You didn’t know?” he echoed, his voice low and edged with disbelief. “Really? So, what about all those times you kiss me out of nowhere? Like at that party last month, when you were drunk and decided to make me your personal fucking experiment.”

Your heart raced, and your lips parted to defend yourself, but he didn’t give you a chance. He pressed on, his tone growing sharper. “Or what about when you sat in my lap at Kenny’s place during movie night and kept playing with my hair? You acted like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean a damn thing, even though everyone was staring.”

“It’s just how I am,” you said defensively, your voice trembling as you tried to process the weight of his words. “You know that! I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just... it’s just fun.”

“Fun?” he repeated, his jaw tightening as he let out a bitter laugh. “Dude, do you even hear yourself? You sit here, playing with me like I’m some toy, and you call it fun? Like it doesn’t fuck me up every single time you do it?”

“I didn’t realize—” you began, but he cut you off again, stepping closer until his face was inches from yours.

“Of course you didn’t,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “Because you don’t think. You don’t stop for one goddamn second to think about how the shit you do might affect me.”

The weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The air between you was heavy, charged with a tension you couldn’t name, and for the first time, you didn’t know how to talk your way out of it.

Stan’s gaze softened just slightly, though the frustration in his eyes didn’t fade. “You can’t keep doing this, [Y/N],” he said quietly, his voice raw. “You can’t keep acting like this is nothing, like I’m nothing.”

Your chest tightened, and you felt your breath hitch as the gravity of his words sank in. “Stan,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “I didn’t know you felt this way. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his blue eyes searching yours for something—an answer, an apology, a sign that you understood. But all he found was confusion and guilt, and it made his shoulders tense even more.

“I don’t think you even know what you want,” he said finally, his voice softer now but laced with frustration. “And maybe that’s the problem.”

The silence was suffocating, your chest tight with a mix of emotions you didn’t fully understand. Stan’s words hung heavy in the air, but something about them—something about the way he said you didn’t know what you wanted—set you off.

Your brows furrowed, and you straightened up, leaning closer to him, your voice sharp as you snapped, “Excuse me? You think you know me so well, Stan? That I don’t know what I want? Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t have a clue.”

Stan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he stared at you. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his tone low and simmering with barely restrained anger.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at him. “It means you don’t get to stand there and act like you’ve got it all figured out while calling me out for being confused. Maybe you’re just pissed because you’re too scared to deal with your own feelings.”

Stan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his blue eyes darkening as he took a step closer to you. The tension between you crackled like a live wire, and for a moment, you thought he was going to say something. Instead, he closed the distance in a single, deliberate motion, his hand gripping your wrist as he pulled you toward him.

“Stan—” you started, but the words were cut off as his other hand cupped the back of your head, dragging you into a searing kiss.

It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fierce, overwhelming, and commanding, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that left you breathless. Your body instinctively leaned into him, your hands clutching at his shirt as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. His grip on you was firm, grounding, and you could feel the frustration and need pouring out of him in every movement.

Your heart raced, your head spinning as you pulled away from him. “Stan—”

“Stop,” Stan interrupted, his tone sharp as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the bed. “You don’t get to play dumb about this. Not anymore.”

Your back hit the mattress before you could say a word, his body towering over you as he leaned down, his bracelets clinking faintly with the movement. His bleached hair fell into his eyes, messy and slightly damp with sweat, and his tan skin glowed in the low light of the room. His hands framed your face, steady but firm, his thumbs brushing over your warm cheeks as his intense gaze locked onto yours.

“You’ve been screwing with my head for months,” he started, his voice low but taut with emotion. “Kissing me like it’s no big deal, running your hands all over me, batting your damn eyelashes like... like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.” His jaw clenched, and he shook his head slightly, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Your breath hitched, your lips parting to speak, but Stan didn’t give you the chance. “Don’t even try to tell me it’s ‘just you being you,’” he pressed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t get it, do you? How much you get to me.”

His lips crashed into yours, silencing whatever excuse or explanation was forming in your head. The kiss was heated, desperate, and when he pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his face inches from yours. A string of saliva broke between you as he spoke, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “You make me feel insane, [Y/N]. Like I don’t know which way is up.”

Your eyes widened as he cupped your cheek more firmly, his thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth. His brow furrowed, and his voice softened, tinged with an almost hesitant vulnerability. “Have you even thought about it? What it’s like to be me? To deal with this—deal with you?”

You opened your mouth, unsure of what to say, but Stan wasn’t finished. He shook his head, running a hand through his messy bleached hair and laughing humorlessly. “You’re so fucking clueless. You act like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter. But it does. It matters to me.”

His words hit you hard, a swirl of emotions rising in your chest—guilt, confusion, and something deeper that you hadn’t yet put a name to. “Stan...” you started, your voice trembling, but he cut you off again, his hand moving to gently grip your jaw, keeping your attention fixed on him.

“You make me feel so good sometimes,” he admitted, his voice raw and quieter now, almost like it was a confession. “Like... like nothing else in the world matters. But then you turn around, and it’s like you’re trying to drive me insane.”

Your chest tightened as you stared up at him, your breath catching in your throat. The intensity of his words, the sheer weight of his emotions—it was overwhelming. But there was no mistaking the honesty in his gaze, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

He sighed, his frustration ebbing slightly, replaced with something softer. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, shaking his head again, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “You don’t even realize what you do to me.”

“I...” You trailed off, your voice barely a whisper, the words you wanted to say slipping through your grasp. You didn’t know how to explain what you felt—didn’t even know if you understood it yourself.

Stan gave a soft, almost exasperated laugh, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Of course you don’t,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of fondness and frustration. “You never do.”

He leaned in, his forehead brushing against yours as his breathing steadied, his hand still cradling your cheek. “But you’re gonna figure it out, [Y/N]. You’re gonna figure it out real soon.”

Before you could respond, Stan leaned in again, his lips pressing against yours with a raw urgency that caught you off guard. His hand on your cheek softened, but his other arm wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance. His bracelets clinked softly with the movement, grounding the moment in the quiet tension of the room.

His lips moved with an intensity that made your head spin, and he groaned low against your mouth, the sound sending heat coursing through you. But as his hand slid lower, you broke the kiss, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. Stan’s brows furrowed instantly, frustration flashing in his blue eyes as you sat back, a little too smug for his liking.

“What now?” he asked, his voice sharp but low, like he was already bracing himself for whatever nonsense you were about to pull.

You tilted your head, your fingers playing idly with the hem of his t-shirt. “Wow, Stan,” you started, your tone saccharine and laced with mockery. “I didn’t know you were so desperate. Did I mess up your game that badly?”

His jaw ticked, the muscle flexing as he let out a short, humorless laugh. “Shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head. His hands rested on his hips for a moment, his bracelets sliding down his forearms, before he leaned in, his expression darkening.

“No, seriously,” you continued, undeterred, your teasing grin widening. “Do I need to apologize to Cartman and Kenny? Tell them their carry bailed ‘cause you couldn’t handle a little distraction?”

Stan’s patience snapped. His hands grabbed the hem of your shirt, and before you could react, he yanked it over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. The motion left you momentarily stunned, blinking up at him as he loomed over you.

“Stan!” you gasped, more surprised than offended. “What the hell—”

“You wanted my attention?” he cut you off, his voice low, the edge in it sending a jolt through you. “Well, you’ve got it. So go ahead. Say whatever smart-ass thing you were about to.”

Your heart raced as his hands returned to your waist, his grip firm but not rough, pulling you closer. His expression was unreadable, a mix of annoyance, desire, and something deeper that made your stomach twist. The way his messy bleached hair framed his face, the soft flush on his tan skin, and the glint of his bracelets as he adjusted his grip—everything about him right now was so painfully, undeniably Stan, and it made your head spin.

You tried to think of something witty, something sharp, but the intensity in his gaze stole the words from your mouth. Sensing your hesitation, Stan let out a soft, dark chuckle, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

As if to emphasize his point, his hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but deliberate as his fingers grazed over the lace of your bra. His lips dipped to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that left you shivering. When his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse point, you let out a soft moan, your nails digging into his arms.

“You think you’re so funny,” he muttered against your skin, his tone carrying just a hint of exasperation. “Always running that mouth, always pushing me. But when it comes down to it...”

Before you could respond, he pinched lightly at your side, just enough to make you gasp. The sound seemed to satisfy him, and his lips curved into a grin as he kissed his way down your neck. “You never know when to quit, do you?” he added, his voice softer now, almost like he was teasing himself more than you.

“I—” You tried to speak, but your voice faltered as his lips found the edge of your bra, his breath warm against your skin. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips as he pressed you back into the mattress, the weight of him anchoring you in place.

“You’re always so damn smug,” he continued, his tone quiet but sharp. His hand moved to cup your cheek again, tilting your head slightly so his lips hovered just over yours. “But you don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you?”

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your heart racing from the heat in his words and the way his touch seemed to set your skin alight. “Stan...” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

“Shh,” he interrupted, brushing his thumb lightly over your bottom lip. “I don’t want to hear it. You’ve said enough.” His smirk softened slightly, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his expression. “Now it’s my turn.”

Stan pulled his hand away from your mouth, his fingers brushing the strap of your bra as he met your gaze. His expression was sharp, almost unreadable, but there was something deliberate in the way his hand slid to your shoulder, gently pushing the strap down. He moved with an almost casual precision, like he wasn’t just savoring the moment but making damn sure you knew he was in control.

His lips found your neck again, his kisses slow and deliberate as the other strap slid down your arm. You shivered, the cool air against your skin making you hyperaware of every single touch, every bit of pressure from his hands. When his fingers reached the clasp of your bra, he hesitated just long enough to send your heart racing.

“You’re so quiet all of a sudden,” he muttered near your ear, his voice low and full of teasing disbelief. “What happened to all the shit you were saying earlier?”

Your cheeks burned, and before you could retort, he unhooked the clasp with an ease that made your breath hitch. He let the lace fall away like it was nothing, his hands immediately cupping your chest. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, his touch surprisingly tender for a moment—until he gave a sharp, calculated pinch that made you gasp.

“Yeah,” he said, his lips twitching into a smirk as he watched your back arch instinctively. “That’s what I thought.”

His grip stayed firm, his thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks of your chest as his lips trailed along your jaw, hot and deliberate. “All that attitude,” he murmured, the words spilling against your skin. “And now? Not a damn word.”

The heat in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips when he pinched again, rolling your skin between his fingers with just enough pressure to have you squirming under him.

He chuckled at your reaction, the sound low and rough as his lips made their way down to your collarbone. “Does this feel good?” he asked, the mock sweetness in his tone making your stomach twist in the best way.

You tried to form words, but all you managed was a breathy moan. His smirk deepened, his blue eyes flashing with a mix of satisfaction and that familiar intensity that made your chest tighten. 

His hands started to move, one sliding down your side with an almost lazy kind of purpose. His fingers brushed over your waist before dipping under the waistband of your panties. He paused there, just teasing the fabric, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your skin.

“Look at you,” he said, his lips curling into a faint smirk as his thumb toyed with the hemline. “All that confidence, all that fire—and now you’re just laying here, waiting for me to decide what happens next.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers dipped lower, brushing close enough to make your thighs tense. “Stan,” you whispered, your voice shaky, “please...”

His laugh was soft but laced with a kind of smug triumph that made your cheeks flush. “That’s better,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower as he let his fingers skim just a little closer to where you needed him. “See? You don’t always have to run your mouth.”

Your body arched toward him instinctively, the anticipation driving you mad, but his movements stayed deliberate, controlled. “Maybe you’re finally figuring out how this works,” he continued, his tone equal parts teasing and sharp. “Or maybe you’re just that desperate.”

Stan’s fingers hooked under the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down with an almost lazy slowness. The fabric slid down your thighs, the cool air biting against your heated skin as he tossed them aside without a second thought. His movements were deliberate, but there was nothing showy about it—he just knew exactly what he was doing.

He shifted back, the bed creaking slightly as he knelt on the floor in front of you. The sight made your stomach flip—a mix of nervousness and something much hotter. Propped up on your elbows, you stared down at him, your breath catching as the full picture came into view.

His messy bleached hair framed his face, dark roots peeking through like a signature Stan move—half careless, half effort. His lips, swollen and pink from earlier, twitched faintly into a smirk that was both boyish and entirely too knowing. His band t-shirt clung to his chest, the faded logo stretching every time he breathed, and his gray sweatpants hung just low enough to show a hint of the waistband of his boxers. The bracelets circling his wrists—random, colorful, maybe from some flea market—clinked lightly as he moved, his hands sliding up your thighs.

Stan leaned in, pressing his lips against the soft skin of your inner thigh. The warm graze of his breath against you sent a shiver up your spine, and you couldn’t stop the way your hips shifted forward, searching for more contact.

“Seriously?” you teased breathlessly, your voice cracking slightly but still laced with a hint of defiance. “You’re really gonna drag this out?”

His hands froze for a moment, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. His blue eyes burned, sharp with amusement, but there was a glint of something darker too—something that made your stomach twist. A slow, almost smug grin spread across his face.

“Still talking, huh?” he drawled, his voice low, edged with dry humor. “Bold of you, considering where you are right now.”

Before you could even think of a comeback, his fingers caught the lace of your panties and yanked them to the side with deliberate force. The motion left you exposed, and the cool air against your heated skin made you gasp.

Stan leaned in closer, his breath warm as it ghosted over your most sensitive spot. His gaze locked onto yours, and his smirk widened slightly, like he knew exactly how wrecked you were about to be.

“Guess I’ll have to shut you up,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. Then his mouth was on you.

The sensation sent a jolt of white-hot pleasure straight through you, your head tipping back against the bed as you let out a broken cry. His tongue moved slowly at first, tracing over you with an infuriating precision that made you squirm beneath him.

But when you tried to shift your hips, his hands clamped down on your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

“Don’t,” he said against your skin, his voice muffled but firm, sending vibrations through you. “You’re staying right where I want you.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into the sheets as his tongue worked you over. The wet heat of his mouth was relentless, alternating between gentle flicks and firm, lingering strokes that left you trembling. When he slid a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, your hips jerked against his hold despite yourself.

“Stan—fuck,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your chest heaved.

He chuckled softly, his fingers curling inside you in a way that made your head spin. “That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “Not so mouthy now, huh?”

The mix of his teasing tone and his rough hands left you breathless, every nerve in your body alight. Just as the pleasure started to build, his thumb brushed over your clit, adding pressure in a way that had your thighs trembling.

You moaned loudly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the sensation became overwhelming. And then his other hand moved sharply, pinching you directly on your clit.

“Shit—Stan!” you cried, your voice high and breaking as your body jerked from the sudden mix of pleasure and pain.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at you with that same infuriating smirk, his lips glistening, his blue eyes lit with mischief. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone mocking but light, as though this was all a joke to him. “You’ve got all the energy to sass me, but now you’re falling apart? That’s cute.”

His fingers stayed inside you, his movements unrelenting as he dragged you closer to the edge with maddening precision. Your hands fisted the sheets, your body arching toward him despite the overwhelming sensations.

“Stan, please—” you whimpered, your voice trembling as tears pooled in your eyes.

“‘Please,’” he mimicked softly, his voice laced with sarcasm. “That’s new.” His teeth grazed your thigh in a brief nip, and you let out another sharp cry.

Stan’s bracelets clinked faintly as his grip on you tightened, his hands firm against your skin as he kept you pinned exactly where he wanted. The sight of him—his messy bleached hair, his sharp jawline, his flushed face—burned itself into your memory, a perfect mix of control and smug satisfaction.

“Don’t stop,” you managed to choke out, the words barely audible between gasps.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice dipping into something darker, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh. “I’m not stopping until I’ve got exactly what I want.”

Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t even think of a response. His mouth returned to you, his tongue and fingers working in perfect tandem as he pushed you higher and higher. The lingering sting of his pinch only heightened the sensations coursing through your body, leaving you a trembling mess.

Stan's tongue worked you with an intensity that left you breathless, each flick and swirl sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. When he added another finger, sliding it in with the same slow, deliberate motion as before, the stretch left you gasping.

"Stan—ah—I’m so close," you managed to whimper, your voice trembling as tears began to pool at the corners of your eyes. Your chest heaved, your body trembling as you clutched the sheets beneath you.

You sniffled, overwhelmed by the sensations, your head tipping back as your thighs quivered against his grip. "I’m—oh, God—Stan, I’m gonna come," you cried out, your voice cracking with desperation.

Stan’s mouth continued, his tongue teasing you with relentless precision while his fingers curled inside you, pushing you closer to the edge. You felt the pressure building, your entire body tensing as the release hovered just within reach.

And then he stopped.

Stan’s lips hovered over your inner thigh for a moment, his breath warm against your skin, before he pulled back entirely. His fingers left you aching and empty, and the absence was immediate and devastating. Your thighs trembled as you shifted, trying to seek out the friction you desperately needed, but Stan’s hands stopped you with a firm, grounding grip.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice low and steady, with a soft edge of finality that left no room for argument.

Your eyes widened, tears slipping freely now, as you whimpered, “Stan, please… I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted calmly, leaning back and sitting on his heels as he looked at you with a mix of frustration and quiet amusement. “You’ll survive. Trust me.”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, every nerve in your body screaming for relief, but Stan only sighed softly, shaking his head. His messy, bleached hair fell into his eyes again, and he shoved it back carelessly before gripping the hem of his t-shirt.

Before you could say anything else, he tugged the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. The motion revealed the toned lines of his chest and the faint tan that trailed down to the waistband of his sweatpants. His silver chain glinted against his skin, catching the dim light, and you couldn’t help but stare.

Stan raised an eyebrow, catching your gaze as he rested his forearms on his knees, casual but commanding. “You’re staring,” he said softly, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

Your throat felt dry as you tried to find your voice, but all that escaped was a soft whimper. Your hands clenched into the sheets beneath you, and the heat pooling in your stomach twisted painfully as you realized he had no intention of letting you off the hook.

“You’ll live,” Stan muttered again, his tone quiet but deliberate as he stood, giving you one last glance before turning toward his dresser. The lack of attention left you buzzing with frustration and need, but he didn’t seem to care—he was in complete control, and you were left to grapple with the fact that he intended to keep it that way.

Stan walked to his dresser with a lazy confidence, the kind that only made the heat pooling in your stomach worse. More of the hemline of his boxers showed now, and the muscles in his back shifted subtly as he grabbed his phone from the edge of the dresser. He scrolled aimlessly, his bracelets jangling faintly with each movement.

You stared, your breaths shallow, thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to calm the ache he’d left behind. He wasn’t even looking at you, completely unfazed, like he hadn’t just wrecked you moments ago. It made your chest twist—part frustration, part something you didn’t want to name.

“Stan,” you croaked, your voice cracking slightly, and he didn’t even flinch.

He scrolled for another beat, finally glancing over his shoulder at you, one eyebrow arching lazily. “What?” His tone was flat, indifferent, like you’d just interrupted him during an uneventful Tuesday.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You hated how small his lack of reaction made you feel, like the electric tension between you was entirely one-sided.

“I…” you started, but your gaze flicked down to his chest, to the light tan that lingered across his skin and the faint ridge of muscle beneath it. You swallowed hard, trying to piece together your thoughts, but the sight of him standing there— messy-haired, and so effortlessly unaffected—was enough to scramble everything in your head.

Stan sighed like you were being difficult and turned back to his dresser. His hand rifled through the top drawer, and when he pulled back, the foil wrapper of a condom glinted under the soft light.

Your stomach dropped, your body buzzing as he set the condom casually on the dresser, next to his phone. He leaned one arm against the edge, crossing his other hand over his chest, bracelets sliding slightly down his forearm as he glanced back at you.

“You gonna say something, or just keep staring like that?” he said finally, his lips quirking into a faint, cocky smirk.

Your cheeks burned, and you squirmed against the sheets, the ache between your legs sharpening as he stood there, fully in control. “I wasn’t staring,” you mumbled, barely convincing even yourself.

“Right,” Stan said, dragging the word out as he looked back at his phone, tapping the screen lazily. “Sure seemed like it from here.”

The way he brushed you off, so casual and maddening, made the knot in your chest tighten. Your eyes darted to the condom on the dresser, and the implications made your head spin. “Why’d you—” You stopped yourself, biting your lip as frustration prickled at the back of your neck.

“Why’d I what?” Stan drawled, not even bothering to look up this time.

“Y-you…” you faltered again, unsure if it was the tension in your chest or the growing need burning through your veins that had you so tongue-tied.

Stan finally turned, leaning fully against the dresser now, his arms crossed as he looked at you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. His bleached hair was a mess, dark roots peeking through as a few strands fell into his eyes. He shoved them back with one hand, his bracelets clinking faintly before crossing his arms again.

“You’ve been running your mouth all night,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he looked you over. “Now you’ve got nothing to say? Figures.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the heat in your cheeks spreading as you gripped the sheets tightly beneath you.

His smirk deepened, sharp and knowing. “C’mon, [Y/N], spit it out,” he said, his voice low and edged with sarcasm. “You’re looking at me like I’ve got all the answers.”

Your chest tightened, every nerve in your body buzzing as your lips parted again, but the words refused to form. The weight of his gaze, the way his tone was almost mocking but not cruel—it all left you reeling.

“I don’t know,” you whispered finally, the admission feeling heavier than it should.

Stan’s expression softened, just slightly, but his smirk didn’t fade. “Yeah, I got that much,” he said, his voice quieter now but still cutting. His sharp blue eyes lingered on you for a moment, reading you like an open book.

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise in your chest again as the knot of frustration and need twisted tighter. You glanced at the condom on the dresser again, and your voice broke as you murmured, “Why’d you grab that?”

Stan raised an eyebrow, his smirk shifting into something closer to amusement. “Why do you think?” he said plainly, like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your stomach flipped, and you bit your lip hard enough to sting as your gaze dropped to your hands clenched in the sheets. The teasing tilt in his tone, the sheer audacity of his calmness, made your head spin.

He pushed off the dresser and crossed the room in a few slow, deliberate steps, stopping just short of the bed. His sharp gaze bore into you as he leaned down slightly, his bracelets sliding further down his arms.

“Say what you want, [Y/N],” he said softly, the teasing edge in his voice tempered by something quieter, something steadier. “Or don’t. Either way…” His eyes flicked to the condom, then back to you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I-...” you trailed off, your breath catching as you forced yourself to look at him. And in that moment, it hit you all at once, sharp and undeniable.

You liked him.

Not just liked him—you wanted him, craved him in a way that made your heart race and your stomach twist. It hit you all at once: the teasing, the flirting, the way you got jealous over nothing—it wasn’t friendly banter. It was so much more.

Stan leaned against the dresser, his bracelets jingling faintly as he shifted his weight. The condom in his hand hung lazily between two fingers, and his blue eyes locked onto yours with that sharp, assessing look he always gave when he was trying to figure you out. “You… what?” he asked, the slightest tilt of his head adding to the edge in his voice.

Your chest tightened, the words bubbling to the surface before you could stop them. “I want you to come back to the bed.”

Stan’s brows lifted, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He swung the condom lightly, his voice dipping into a teasing drawl. “Oh, yeah? And what exactly do you want if I do?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even as heat crept up your neck. “I want to kiss you,” you admitted, your voice trembling but firm. “I need to.”

The smirk on Stan’s face faltered, replaced by something softer, more serious. He straightened slightly, the humor in his eyes fading as he stepped closer, the condom now forgotten at his side. “You need to kiss me,” he repeated, his tone lower, testing.

“Yes,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Stan’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his lips quirking as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. He placed the condom on the bedside table and leaned down, his hands bracing on either side of you. His lips brushed yours, a soft, fleeting touch that left you breathless.

“You could’ve just said so earlier,” he muttered, and then his mouth pressed firmly against yours, stealing whatever response you might’ve had.

The kiss was different—no teasing smirks or playful jabs, just raw, unfiltered emotion. His hands cupped your face, tilting it slightly to deepen the kiss as his body pressed closer. You melted into him, your hands instinctively clutching at his bare shoulders as the heat between you grew.

Stan pulled back, his lips lingering just a breath away from yours, and his eyes searched yours like he was trying to piece together something important. “Do you even get what you’re doing to me?” he asked, his voice low and rough around the edges.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked up at him, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “I wasn’t sure what I felt,” you said softly, the words stumbling out. “But I know now. I—I want this. I want you.”

Stan’s gaze flickered, something vulnerable slipping through his usual guarded expression. His jaw worked for a moment, like he was chewing over your words, and then he let out a quiet breath, his hand sliding to cradle your face. “No more of this back-and-forth shit,” he said, his voice firmer now. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it for real. None of your games. No bullshit.”

“No games,” you echoed, your voice trembling but certain.

His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “Good,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. His other hand settled on your waist, grounding you as he leaned in again, his forehead lightly bumping against yours. “Because I don’t think I can deal with you driving me up the wall anymore without this.”

Stan scooted back slightly, hooking his thumbs casually into the waistband of his sweatpants. His blue eyes stayed locked on yours, that familiar mix of irritation and amusement flickering in his gaze as he tugged them down just enough to reveal snug black boxer briefs. The way they hugged his frame left little to the imagination, and your eyes instinctively dropped, wide and unblinking.

“Wow,” you said quickly, your cheeks heating up as you scrambled to deflect. “Really going for the bold look tonight, huh? What’s the occasion?”

Stan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a dry smirk. “Bold words coming from someone who keeps getting caught staring,” he shot back. His hands dropped to his hips, his stance casual, but the sharpness in his voice made your stomach flip.

“I wasn’t staring,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest in a weak attempt to look unbothered.

His laugh was short and incredulous, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, sure. Totally convincing.” He shoved his sweatpants down the rest of the way with an almost careless motion, stepping out of them as they pooled at his feet. Now just in his boxer briefs, he took a slow step forward, looming over you with that same unimpressed look that made you squirm.

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Always running it, even when you’re caught red-handed.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could get a single word out, he was climbing onto the bed. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart effortlessly, the weight of his body leaving you pinned beneath him. The shift in dynamic was immediate, leaving you breathless as his blue eyes bore into yours, sharp and unrelenting.

“You think you’re funny?” he continued, his voice low and cutting, each word sinking into the tension between you. His thumbs brushed dangerously close to your panties, the teasing touch sending a jolt through your already-overheated body. “Making little comments like that when you’re already soaked? What exactly are you trying to pull here?”

“I wasn’t—” you started defensively, but your words faltered when his fingers trailed up, pressing against the damp fabric of your panties with maddening precision.

“Wasn’t what?” he pressed, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. His voice dipped lower, taking on a mocking edge that sent shivers down your spine. “Wasn’t wet? Wasn’t about to beg me? Careful, [Y/N]. You keep lying to my face, and I might just leave you like this all night.”

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively shifted your hips, trying to get more of his touch. But his grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you firmly in place. He pulled back just enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze, his smirk sharp and unforgiving.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his tone soft but cutting. “That’s what I thought.”

He pushed himself back onto his heels, dragging his boxers down in one smooth motion. When he stood again, his cock stood hard and flushed, and the sight made your breath catch in your throat. Without thinking, your hand reached out to touch him, but he caught your wrist before you could get close.

“Seriously?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of sarcasm that was so uniquely Stan. He shook his head, letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You’ve been running your mouth all night, and now you think you get to do whatever you want? Cute.”

His free hand came up to grip your cheek, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make your lips part slightly. “Look at me,” he said, his blue eyes locking onto yours. His tone was steady, but there was a flicker of frustration behind it, a heat that had your stomach twisting. “You’ve been pushing me all night, and now you’re just gonna sit there and wait until I’m good and ready. Got it?”

Before you could respond, he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the condom, his movements deliberate. The soft crinkle of the wrapper made your thighs clench instinctively, but he caught the motion immediately, his eyes flicking down and then back up to yours with a faint smirk.

“You talk a big game,” he said, rolling the condom on with an unhurried precision that made your pulse race. “Guess we’ll see if you can actually handle it.”

He leaned back over you, his hands sliding deliberately up your sides before settling on your hips, his grip strong and grounding. His gaze stayed fixed on yours, his expression calm but charged with something unmistakably hungry.

“I—”

Stan cut you off, his hand pressing firmly but not harshly on the back of your head, guiding you down toward the mattress. “Don’t,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with exasperation. The motion wasn’t rough, but it carried no room for argument. He wasn’t playing around anymore.

You turned your head slightly, trying to catch his eye, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout as your manicured nails reached for his arm. “Stan,” you whined softly, dragging out his name in that teasing tone you knew got under his skin.

Instead of rising to your bait, he let out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were still at it. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar sarcastic bite. Without waiting for a response, his hands gripped your hips, shifting you until your head was down against the bed and your ass was up, fully exposed. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if he wanted to draw out every second of the tension until it was unbearable.

Stan’s fingers skimmed lightly over your back, trailing down to the curve of your hips. His touch lingered, warm and steady, before his grip tightened enough to ground you. He leaned in just enough for his voice to reach your ears, low and steady, the faintest edge of a smirk in his tone.

“Look at you now,” he said, his words cutting through the thick air between you. “All that talk, and suddenly you don’t have much to say.”

His hands stayed firm on your hips as he lined himself up with you. The weight of his cock against your entrance made your breath hitch, and before you could brace yourself, he pushed forward in one smooth, deliberate motion. The stretch burned, sharp and overwhelming, and your gasp turned into a broken cry as he seated himself fully, leaving no space between you.

Stan didn’t move right away. He stayed buried inside, letting you feel every inch of him as his hands kept you still. The weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the way he held you—it was all-consuming. Tears pricked at your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

“You’re awful quiet,” he muttered after a moment, his voice low and thick, almost casual. “What happened to all that attitude, huh? Thought you had something smart to say.”

A choked whimper escaped you, and you turned your head slightly, trying to meet his gaze through your tear-blurred vision. Stan’s face was flushed, his messy bleached hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you with a mix of irritation and smug satisfaction. That familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, sharp and knowing, as if he could see right through you.

When you tried to shift your hips, seeking even the smallest bit of relief, his hands clamped down harder, holding you in place. “Uh-uh,” he said, his voice cutting through your quiet protests. “You don’t get to squirm your way out of this. You wanted me back here so bad, right? So take it.”

Your breath hitched again as you buried your face in the mattress, your muffled cries betraying how much you were feeling. “S-Stan…” you hiccupped, your voice trembling, barely able to form his name.

He leaned over you, his chest brushing against your back, his lips close to your ear. “Oh, now you’re playing the soft card?” he murmured, his tone dripping with mock pity. “Too late for that, sweetheart. You’ve been running your mouth all night, and now you’re gonna deal with what you started.”

As if to punctuate his words, he pulled back slightly and then thrust forward again, slow but deep, the motion stealing the air from your lungs. He didn’t let up, finding a deliberate rhythm that left you clawing at the sheets beneath you, every thrust making your body tremble.

“You know,” he said, his voice almost conversational despite the roughness of his movements, “you’re always so damn sure of yourself. Always pushing, always testing me.” He paused, his hips snapping forward harder, making you cry out. “But now? Now you’re not so cocky, are you?”

Tears slipped freely down your cheeks as you tried to keep up, your mind spinning from the overwhelming mix of sensations. When you tried to speak, to form even the smallest response, the words dissolved into broken moans, leaving you completely at his mercy.

Stan noticed, of course. He always noticed. “Aw, what’s wrong?” he teased, his voice softer now, but still carrying that playful edge. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips warm and teasing against your skin. “Too much for you already?”

You managed a shaky nod, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as your body trembled beneath him. His laugh was soft, almost cruel, as he trailed another kiss along your jawline. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with satisfaction. “Maybe now you’ll think twice before trying to mess with me.”

Despite the tears pooling in your eyes, your body betrayed you, rolling your hips back into him as best you could, chasing the pressure and the sensation. Stan let out a quiet groan at your reaction, his hands gripping your waist tighter.

“See?” he said, his tone shifting to something gentler but still laced with control. “You can be good when you really try.”

Stan’s movements faltered slightly, his hands gripping your hips as he took in the way your body responded to him. His lips quirked into a soft smirk, but his blue eyes betrayed something deeper—intensity mixed with that familiar, slightly sarcastic glint that was so him.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and husky. “You’re really losing it, aren’t you?”

You whimpered in response, unable to form words, your head pressed into the mattress. Stan leaned forward, his breath warm against your shoulder, and chuckled softly. It wasn’t mean—it was teasing, familiar, the same way he always had been, but now it carried the weight of everything happening between you.

“That good, huh?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to make your breath hitch. “All this, just from me?”

Your body clenched around him at his words, and his sharp intake of breath was proof he noticed. He paused, his hips pressed flush against you as his hand trailed up your back, coaxing a soft arch from your spine.

“Okay, okay,” he teased, his tone shifting, dripping with playful sarcasm now. “You don’t have to answer. You’re kind of... busy.” He punctuated his statement with a slow roll of his hips, drawing a gasp from your lips.

Stan groaned quietly, his head dipping closer to your ear. “Jesus, you’re soaking me,” he said, his voice breaking slightly at the edges. “I didn’t think you could get any better, but here we are.”

His praise made your chest tighten, heat flooding through you as your mind spun. He caught the way your moans grew louder, how your body tensed with every soft word that slipped from his lips.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity, with that cocky-but-genuine air only Stan could pull off. “You like when I tell you how good you are?”

Your response was a broken whimper, your nails clawing at the sheets as you tried to ground yourself. Stan’s laughter was soft, almost affectionate, as his fingers trailed down your side, his other hand gripping your hip tightly to keep his rhythm steady.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his voice dropping. “Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you? You’re fucking perfect.”

His words sent a shudder through you, and he felt it, his smirk widening as he leaned forward again. “I mean it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before biting down gently, making you gasp. “You’re driving me insane in the best way.”

You let out a choked sob, the intensity of his praise, his rhythm, and his control overwhelming you completely. Your legs trembled beneath you as your body clenched around him, and Stan groaned, his own composure slipping slightly.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse now. “That’s it. Just like that. Keep doing that, baby. You’re perfect.”

His words pushed you closer to the edge, your mind hazy with arousal and emotion. Tears slipped from your eyes, and you gasped his name, your voice trembling as you tried to hold on.

“Stan,” you managed to whisper, your tone pleading and raw.

Stan’s pace faltered for a split second when he heard your shaky voice break through the heavy rhythm of your breathing. His blue eyes darted down to you, catching the way tears spilled down your cheeks, your lips trembling as you turned your head away from the pillow to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, voice thick with emotion as you sniffled, your body trembling beneath him.

Stan’s brows furrowed, his jaw clenching, though his movements didn’t let up. If anything, his pace grew more purposeful, his hips snapping into yours as his hands gripped your waist tightly, grounding you to him.

“Sorry?” he asked, his voice low, strained. “What are you apologizing for, huh?”

Tears streaked your flushed cheeks, your lips trembling as you gasped, “F-for earlier. For... everything.”

Stan let out a breathy laugh, the sound edged with something almost disbelieving, his forehead falling forward slightly as he leaned over you. “You’re apologizing now?” he asked, his tone teasing but not unkind, his words brushing against the shell of your ear as he kept moving. “Right when you’re about to come? Really convenient timing dude, don’t you think?”

You let out a choked sob, your body clenching around him as you struggled to keep your gaze locked with his. “I-I mean it,” you said, your voice breaking as your chest heaved, every nerve in your body alight.

Stan’s lips quirked into a crooked smile, his expression softening for a moment before his hands slid up your body, one moving to your face to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed away a stray tear as his eyes bore into yours, his tone quieter now but no less intense.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle, “I know you mean it. But I’m not letting you off that easy.”

Your eyes widened, another soft cry escaping you as his thrusts grew deeper, hitting the perfect spot that had you unraveling. “S-Stan, I... I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off, his voice dropping even lower, his thumb tracing slow circles over your cheek. “I can feel it. You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?”

You nodded desperately, your fingers clawing at the sheets as your entire body tensed. Tears blurred your vision as you whimpered, “Please.”

Stan groaned softly, his gaze unwavering as he pressed a firm, almost possessive kiss to your lips. “Then come for me,” he commanded, his voice dripping with authority, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you focused on him. “Right now. I want to see you fall apart.”

And with his words ringing in your ears, you did.

Stan’s movements didn’t falter as he kept driving into you, his relentless rhythm drawing ragged whimpers and muffled cries from your lips. His hand stayed firm on your chin, holding your gaze as though daring you to look away. His messy, grown-out bleached hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands, the pale locks contrasting sharply with his slightly tanned skin. The bracelets on his wrists—simple bands and one woven with multicolored threads—shifted and caught the light with every powerful thrust, his forearms flexing with the effort.

The sight of him was dizzying. His swollen lips parted slightly as his breaths came heavy, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten under the warm dorm lighting. It was impossible not to stare, the sharp cut of his jawline and the faint dusting of pink across his cheeks making him look so effortlessly gorgeous, so thoroughly wrecked in the best way.

“God, you’re so tight,” he muttered, his voice strained as his hips snapped against yours. His free hand slid from your hip to grip your waist, his strong fingers digging into your skin to hold you steady. “I should be pissed at you right now, but—fuck—how am I supposed to stay mad when you’re like this?”

You tried to respond, your lips parting, but all that came out was a cracked moan as he hit just the right spot again. Gathering your nerve, you attempted to form words, the teasing edge in your tone still managing to peek through your overstimulated haze. “I-I was just gonna say—”

Stan cut you off immediately, his blue eyes narrowing as a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Nope. Not this time.” He shoved two fingers into your mouth without hesitation, the pads of his fingers pressing down on your tongue firmly enough to silence you. “You wanna say something? Too bad. You’re done talking.”

Your wide-eyed stare and muffled protests only spurred him on. His bracelets shifted again as he adjusted his grip, his thumb brushing across your cheek almost tenderly, contrasting the raw intensity in his movements. “God, you’re such a mess,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “Look at you—tears running down your face, trying to act like you’ve got something smart to say. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Your moan around his fingers was muffled but unmistakably needy, your body trembling under the onslaught of sensation. The fire pooling in your stomach grew unbearable as Stan’s relentless pace brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Bet you love it,” he rasped, his head dipping closer as he brought his lips to your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his hips slammed into yours again. “You can’t get enough, can you? Always pushing, always testing me. And now look where it’s gotten you.”

The warmth of his skin, the weight of his body pressing you down, the unrelenting heat in his gaze—it was overwhelming. You whimpered helplessly around his fingers, your eyes locking with his again, and Stan groaned low in his throat, the sight of you so thoroughly wrecked beneath him pushing him closer to the brink.

“You look so good like this,” he muttered, his voice barely above a growl. “Completely mine.”

His pace faltered slightly, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own release, his bleached hair falling into his eyes. But he didn’t let up, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh and pulling you even closer. “Keep looking at me,” he ordered, his voice hoarse but firm. “Don’t you dare look away.”

Stan’s thrusts slowed, his body trembling as he reached his peak. A guttural moan tore from his throat, raw and unfiltered, as his head tipped back, his bleached hair clinging to his damp skin. His grip on your thigh tightened for a moment before his movements stilled completely, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

For a few seconds, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your labored breathing and the faint hum of the dorm room fan. Stan stayed still, his hands resting on your hips, holding you close as he caught his breath. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face flushed with exertion, and the weight of his release seemed to hit him all at once.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked down at you, there was a flicker of something in his expression—hesitation, maybe even embarrassment. His gaze softened, and his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he gave a faint, almost self-conscious chuckle, his hand brushing lightly over your waist as though grounding himself.

“Shit,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, more to himself than to you. His blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, he looked almost abashed, his usual cocky demeanor stripped away entirely. “You… okay?”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and you nodded, your lips parting to respond, but your voice came out in a whisper. “Yeah.”

Stan exhaled a quiet laugh, running a hand through his messy hair as he pulled back slightly, his movements careful, almost tentative. He reached out to the bedside table, grabbing a tissue and leaning back down to press a quick, soft kiss to your temple. “Good,” he muttered, his voice still tinged with that uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I—I didn’t mean to get so…”

He trailed off, shaking his head slightly as if trying to shake off the unspoken thought. His cheeks were still faintly flushed, his bracelets clinking softly as he adjusted his grip on your waist to help steady you. The moment was quieter now, the intensity replaced with something gentler, almost uncertain.

Stan’s fingers brushed over your cheek lightly, his gaze searching yours. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brows furrowing slightly.

Your heart twisted at the softness in his voice, and you reached up to cover his hand with yours. “I’m okay, Stan,” you said, your voice steadier now. “Promise.”

He gave a small nod, his lips pressing into a faint smile, though the flicker of uncertainty didn’t entirely fade from his eyes. “Good,” he said again, softer this time. Then, after a beat, he added with a wry smirk, “You… really know how to make things complicated, don’t you?”

There was a teasing edge to his words, but his tone was light, almost affectionate. It felt like Stan was trying to bridge the intensity of the moment with something more familiar, something easier to grasp.

Stan exhaled deeply, his forehead briefly resting against your shoulder as he worked to collect himself. When he pulled back, he shifted off the bed, peeling off the condom and tying it off before tossing it into the trash can. His bleached hair was even messier now, sticking to his damp forehead, and the soft jingle of his bracelets filled the quiet room as he reached for a tissue to clean himself up.

You stretched out languidly, turning your head to shoot him a teasing smirk. “So… does this mean you’re not mad anymore?”

Stan froze mid-motion, his head snapping to look at you. The exasperation on his face was instant, though it was laced with amusement. “Don’t start,” he warned, narrowing his eyes but failing to suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You grinned wider, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I mean, you seemed really mad earlier. Like dude, I was kinda scared for a second,” you said, your voice dripping with playful mockery. “But now? I think you’re just a big softie.”

Stan rolled his eyes, chuckling under his breath as he tossed the tissues into the trash with a flick of his wrist. “Keep talking, and I’ll show you how ‘soft’ I am,” he quipped, leaning over to lightly flick your forehead.

You pouted dramatically, rubbing the spot he’d flicked. “Abuse!” you teased, mock-gasping. “I’m gonna tell Red you’re bullying me.”

Stan shook his head, standing up to adjust his bracelets and reaching for his sweatpants. “You’re the worst,” he muttered with a laugh, grabbing the discarded blanket from the floor and tossing it over you. “Now shut up and go to sleep before you actually piss me off again.”

You laughed, pulling the blanket up to your chin as you watched him move around the room. The tension had completely dissolved, replaced with the kind of easy banter that seemed to define whatever the two of you had. Stan shook his head again, but you could see the faint grin on his face as he grabbed his phone off the dresser and flopped back down beside you.

i love red sm...

[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

Can you please do Jack Thompson x reader where reader and him don’t really like each other and argue often but then one day when the SSR does a joint mission with the FBI, an FBI agent starts being really weird, rude and creepy towards her, and Jack gets super protective. Thank you!!

"A Little Bit of Respect"

[Jack Thompson x fem!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: You might not like Jack and he might not like you, but he would protect you like his life depended on it.

Warnings: harassment, inappropriate behaviour, threats (let me know if there's anything else)

Word Count: 1.5k words

A/N: Thank you for the request love! I'm sorry it took so long. I hope you like it!

Jack Thompson was, for lack of a better term, a pain in your ass.

From his smug smirk that made you want to punch him, his constant tendency to stick his nose where it didn't belong to his sexist comments(though those were surprisingly getting fewer nowadays).

The two of you often bickered, sniping back and forth over the smallest things. He'd interrupt you during conversations, roll his eyes when you made a point, and constantly try to undermine your authority. It was infuriating. You both seemed to have a natural ability to get under each other’s skin.

"I swear," you muttered, rubbing your temples. "One day, I'm going to strangle him with my bare hands."

"Preferably not in front of any witnesses," Peggy added dryly, her voice full of the amusement that always seemed to follow when she played devil's advocate.

You grumbled. "It's worse that I must spend the entire day with him too."

She hummed in acknowledgement. "Best of luck to you, dear."

Common interests lead you to work with the FBI today. Unfortunately, Peggy and Sousa were busy with something else so it was just going to be you and Thompson. And the FBI agents that were likely all male.

---

It was straightforward—a joint operation between the SSR and the FBI to gather intel on a potential still active Hydra cell. The agents from the FBI were supposed to be professional, but as you walked into the briefing room with Jack, you felt the eyes on you.

One pair of eyes particularly frayed your nerves. You would learn that his name was Agent Martin Wells. You didn't like the way he was looking at you the entire time. You were used to lingering looks on you, for being a woman in a male-dominated field, for your figure, you were used to it all, but that doesn't mean it made you any less uncomfortable.

It was only for a day though. Hopefully.

You tried to ignore it, focusing on the mission details, but the weight of Agent Wells’ gaze felt like it was pressing on your skin. It wasn’t the curious or professional kind of stare—it was unsettling, almost predatory. And you hated it.

You caught Jack shooting glances at you too, but you couldn’t tell if he noticed what you were feeling or if he was just being his usual annoying self.

"You’re sure you’re okay with this, Thompson?" You snapped, trying to focus on something else, trying to keep the growing discomfort from showing.

Jack didn’t look at you directly. He seemed too busy listening to one of the other agents. But when you shot him a pointed glare, his smirk faded slightly, just enough for you to see the seriousness flicker in his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

You hesitated for just a second. “Wells... He’s been staring at me like I’m some kind of... target.”

Jack followed your gaze and immediately stiffened. You saw the flash of irritation in his eyes before he returned his attention to the briefing.

"You don’t have to worry about him," Jack said in a low voice, though there was an edge to it. "Focus on the mission. We’ll be fine."

You weren’t sure if it was the way he said it or the rare softness in his tone, but something in you relaxed. Still, you weren’t about to let your guard down around Wells.

---

The mission itself was typical, though you felt like Wells was deliberately trying to edge closer to you every chance he got. Whether it was brushing against you when you were organizing supplies or standing a little too close when you were discussing strategy, the man’s presence was inescapable.

"Do you always have to get so close?" You couldn’t help but mutter at one point, after his shoulder practically bumped into yours for what felt like the hundredth time.

Wells flashed you a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m just trying to help, sweetheart."

You recoiled, not liking the way the term of endearment rolled off his tongue. "I can handle myself just fine," you snapped, keeping your voice steady.

But Wells wasn’t deterred. He leaned in a little closer, his breath warm against your ear as he said, "I’m sure you can. But we both know how hard it must be for a woman like you to keep up with all this... real work."

You felt your pulse quicken, the heat of anger rising in your chest. You clenched your fists, but before you could respond, a voice sliced through the air.

"Hey, Martin," Jack’s voice rang out, and you could feel the change in his tone. Gone was the casual arrogance, replaced with a low growl that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "Get the hell away from her."

Wells blinked, taken aback by the force in Jack’s words, but he didn’t back down right away. Instead, he gave Jack a grin, clearly not understanding the situation. "What’s the matter, Thompson? Jealous?"

"Jealous?" Jack took a step forward, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "No. But I take care of my agents."

His agent?

There was a tense moment of silence, the two men locked in some unspoken standoff. You weren’t sure if you should be relieved that Jack was stepping in—or if you should be annoyed that he was making such a scene over something you could’ve handled yourself.

Finally, Wells seemed to get the message. He huffed, stepping back with an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, alright. I’m just trying to make conversation, no need to get all worked up, Thompson."

But Jack wasn’t having it. His jaw was set hard, his hands clenched at his sides, the muscles in his back taut with restraint. "If you make one more comment like that, Wells, you won’t like the consequences. Got it?"

Wells grumbled something under his breath and turned, clearly not thrilled to be called out, but at least he backed off.

After a moment, you speak up. "I don't think threatening someone from the FBI is a good idea."

Jack rolls his eyes. "I can deal with it if it comes to that."

Another moment of silence. Then-

"Thank you. For that. You didn't need to-"

Jack’s gaze softened for a moment. "It’s nothing. Don’t let that guy think he can get away with being a creep."

"Yeah," you muttered, looking away. The last thing you wanted was to admit that his gesture meant something to you—hell, you didn’t even want to acknowledge that, despite everything, it felt like he might’ve just earned a little bit of your respect. "Let's get this over with."

---

Over the following days, the dynamic between you and Jack was noticeably different. You still exchanged barbs from time to time, but there was no longer the same hostility. There was a kind of truce between you, one that neither of you acknowledged outright, but you both felt it.

Then, a week later, you were finishing up some reports at your desk when Jack showed up.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice casual but with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. "You busy?"

You glanced up from your papers. "Not really. What’s up?"

He hesitated, rocking on his heels for a moment. "Look, I know this is probably going to sound strange, but... you want to grab a drink? You know, after work. Just the two of us."

The invitation took you by surprise. Jack was offering to spend time with you outside of work? It didn’t seem like him at all.

You raised an eyebrow, studying him for a moment. "You mean like... outside of work?" you asked, skeptical.

He rolled his eyes, oh you hated when he did that. "Yeah, I know, I’m asking you to do something other than argue with me for once. But I figured we could talk. Without all the usual bickering."

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Jack Thompson, suggesting a drink. And—dare you admit it?—you found the idea... appealing. Maybe it was the way he’d apologized so genuinely. Or maybe you were just curious about what had caused the shift in his behavior.

"Alright," you said, finally relenting. "But I’m warning you now, no annoying comments. I’m only agreeing to this because I’m feeling generous."

He smirked, clearly relieved. "Of course. I wouldn’t dream of annoying you."

He walked off after that and you were left staring at the reports trying to figure out what just happened.

Of course, Peggy chooses that moment to roll her chair over to you. "Did-did Thompson just ask you out on a date? And you accepted?"

"What? No! It's not a date-"

She looked at you like you had grown another head "Right. When is getting drinks and just talking outside of work not a date?"

You opened your mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Oh my god. It is a date, isn't it?"

Then, to the surprise of you and the horror of Peggy, you smiled. "Hm."

Peggy's eyes widened as she leaned back in her chair. "You’re smiling," she said slowly, as though she were trying to comprehend the concept. "I never thought I’d see the day."

You flushed slightly, trying to fight back a small grin but failing miserably. "Shut up, Carter," you muttered, focusing your attention on the papers in front of you as if they held the answers to all the world’s problems.

You really were going on a date with Jack Thompson. The idea didn't sound that bad.

[sheisaquarius-blog]

Ian day prompt if you're still accepting prompts? hehe just really want an ianthony meet cute since we don't have enough of those lol maybe ian out in public? a party? cafe or somewhere and then it's a play on this canon fact of ian not really knowing someone is flirting with him. so maybe he catches anthony's attention and every time anthony locks eyes with him he looks away and then when anthony finally tries to talk and flirt with him, Ian is completely oblivious to all his advancements and anthony thinks he's just absolutely adorable (another canon fact lol)

i have had a seriously hard time writing lately, but this is my best shot! i'm hoping to get all my other prompts completed between tonight and tomorrow, but i've been struggling with writing so much. if you have a kind thought to spare today, think of me and hopefully my fingers will start typing again.

i did my best here, i doubt it's what you had in mind but i hope you still enjoy it!

Anthony is about to get the hell out of this party that he’s been over since before he even got there, but there’s a whole barricade of people before the front door and they all know him (well, they don’t know him, which is part of why he wants to get out in the first place), which means he’ll get so much shit for leaving after only an hour. He barely slips out of view as one of his “friends” scans the room—maybe not for him, but Anthony isn’t about to take that chance, so he ducks back around the corner.

God, he hates making friends in college. It feels like some high political drama where he has to make alliances instead of actually liking people. It’s always who-knows-who? Who can get me here? Who can I trust? At every turn, and Anthony finds it so exhausting. Fucking fake.

Three and a half months into college and he’s really starting to wonder whether this was the right move. He isn’t really sure what else he’d do, but this hasn’t quite felt like the right choice yet.

He’s caught up deliberating the merits of being one of those drop out tech guys in Silicon Valley, trying to find the least crowded room, when he hears a laugh he kind of recognizes. It might be the least crowded room, but Anthony’s stomach still turns over when he sees the kitchen of this college apartment complex. Some number of people too big for Anthony to figure at a glance congregates around the island, but he figures this is his best chance to meld into a group with the least number of people. Plus, not one of the guys in his hall who dragged him here is bothering with the kitchen. It seems more like cool artsy types. Anthony leans into the corner, and then he hears that laugh again. This time, his eyes fall on a guy a couple inches shorter than himself with brown fringe hanging in his eyes. Anthony recognizes him from his film class—he talked about some Korean film Anthony never heard of during the sound design unit—Ian. Ian . . . something about dicks.

He seems cool, to be honest. Unfortunate last name though. College is a little better than high school, but still. Anthony wonders if he’s had trouble making friends too.

Ian’s eyes catch his and Anthony raises his solo cup in acknowledgement, but Ian’s eyes slide away.

That’s fine, there are a lot of people, and Ian seems . . . kinda popular, actually. Maybe he isn’t having the same troubles as Anthony. It doesn’t register until the third time Ian looks away from him that, oh. Oh! Anthony is staring. Yeah, no wonder Ian’s vibe seems weird.

Okay, that makes sense. He needs to be way less intense.

Ian’s eyes are a pretty blue, and he’s funny, so being less intense proves to be a bit of a challenge, actually. Anthony isn’t sure how long he spends at that kitchen island, but it’s easily the best time he’s had at this party or any other, and he’s hardly said a word himself.

The conversation, of course, turns to film, and Anthony feels like maybe he should excuse himself before anyone notices he doesn’t fit in here, either. Everyone’s answer is something highbrow, something foreign. Anthony knew that would be the case, but as the circle goes ‘round and gets closer to him, he feigns like he needs a new drink and slips away.

The front door is still guarded like the fucking Pentagon, so Anthony heads out back to the little lawn area. There are more little groups, but at least in the fresh air, Anthony feels like he can breathe. Plus, maybe if he finishes his punch, he’ll be fucked up enough to actually try and vault over the fence to get out.

He looks down at the drink in his hands that must be pure nail polish remover and Capri sun.

Absolutely nasty. “Cheers,” he mutters to himself, holding his breath and bringing his cup to his lips.

“Hey.” Anthony could thank god from saving him from that chug, but then he turns to see Ian and now he wishes maybe he’d had a little more booze in his system. “Hey,” Anthony says, furrowing his brow. “What are you doing out here?”

Ian shrugs. “You never said your favorite movie. I was curious.”

“Uh,” Anthony stumbles, because he absolutely cannot say his answer. “Citizen Kane?”

Ian frowns, considering. “What a film studies answer. Did you want to try it again, a little stronger, and maybe I’ll believe you this time?”

Anthony is bitten by how direct that is, how absolutely called on his bullshit he is. It makes him laugh, although he’s surprised that he doesn’t feel more uncomfortable about it. “Citizen Kane,” he repeats, in his most deadly serious tone.

“Rosebud,” Ian says, and . . .

And Anthony has absolutely nothing for that. “Huh?” he asks.

Ian shakes his head and laughs—Anthony likes that sound. Even if he isn’t sure why, he’s glad to have been the cause. “Okay, dude. Sure. What’s your real answer?”

What the hell, he’s a lost cause, might as well be honest about it. “Home Alone 2: Lost in New York.”

Ian’s eyebrows shoot up under his fringe and he blinks in surprise. “You could have said anything else.”

Anthony grins a little and shrugs. “You said you wanted the real answer.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Ian replies, a little smile creeping over his mouth. “We’re in film class together, right?”

Anthony nods. “Yeah, that’s why I tried sneaking into your table, but I can’t exactly fake it.”

“Yeah, I hear that’s harder for guys.” It’s Anthony’s turn to laugh—this guy is stupid funny. It would be annoying if it were less funny. “You, uh, you like it? Class, I mean. Or like, all of this, I guess.” He gestures vaguely around them.

Ian considers for a moment, his eyes drifting around thoughtfully. They’re nice eyes. A kind of blue Anthony’s never seen before. “It’s alright, I guess. To be honest, I think about dropping out at least once a day, but I don’t exactly have something better to do.”

“Really?” Anthony asks. Ian seems so with it in class. He always has the answers, he can discuss things like he knows what he’s talking about—he seems perfectly cut out for this.

“I probably won’t,” Ian admits. “But it’s so . . . I dunno. It’s not easy. Not the classes, that stuff’s fine. The rest of it.” He throws a skeptical glance back inside. “I can’t be pretentious for four more years just to end up never making a goddamn movie.”

Boy, does Anthony get that. “Dude, I so get that.”

Ian’s gaze turns back to him, then away once more, but Anthony can’t help but think there’s something in it this time. “What about you?” Ian asks.

“I was thinking of leaving for San Francisco, like, seconds before I walked into the kitchen,” he says with a chuckle. “How hard can it be to be the next Bill Gates? Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna get anywhere in the film department, I just like fun movies.”

“I’ve seen Home Alone, I’ve never seen the second one, but it’s a good movie. John Williams’s score? Unbelievable.”

“I know!” Anthony says, far too excited, a huge smile on his face. “The music is so good! And Joe Pesci could make me piss myself laughing.”

“Is he in the sequel?”

Anthony feels like this is perhaps a moment. A moment for him to test the waters, to see if there’s anyone out there, if there’s a reason to stay. “You wanna watch it?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Ian says casually, taking a drink from his own cup.

Anthony can’t quite tell if Ian is turning him down or completely oblivious, so he pushes harder. “Do you wanna watch it with me?”

“Yeah, that’d be cool.”

Oh.

A little smile climbs from one end of Anthony’s lips to the other. He can work with oblivious.

“I meant, like, do you want to leave this fucking party and go watch it right now,” Anthony clarifies. “I have it in my room on DVD.”

Ian blinks at him, curious.

“With me,” Anthony adds.

Anthony seems to have taken him by surprise for the second time tonight, and there’s a little bit of satisfaction in that. Maybe he’ll have to make it three times before the night is over. “Oh—oh!” Anthony can see the realization happen in his eyes in real time. “Yeah, absolutely, let’s get the hell outta here.”

Anthony smiles. “I think you’ll like it.” Ian chuckles and jerks his head towards the complex, and Anthony doesn’t dread heading back in too much, and only a little bit of that has to do with the fact that he’ll be leaving right away. “Unless you wanna go over the fence,” Ian offers.

Anthony shakes his head. “Next time,” he says as they head in together.

[hisonlykiwi]

falling apart

your relationship with nanami had felt rocky these past few weeks.

wc: 950 (really short but damn did I cry a little writing this)

warnings: none, just nanami being kind of mean.

a/n: please let me know you think in the comments!! <3

-----------------------------------------------------------

You sat on the opposite side of the couch, across from Nanami. He hadn’t said a word to you since he came home late from work, matter of fact, maybe a few days since he last spoke to you. It’s been like this for weeks now, Nanami constantly ignoring you. He has been so angry lately, you tried to not let it get to you but you’ve been dating nearly three years now, something was up. 

You glance over at his direction, he’s reading a book, you know you shouldn’t bother him but the itch of wanting to ask him what’s wrong gets stronger with every passing day. After a few moments, you build up the courage to say “Nanami?” in a gentle voice, careful not to be too loud and startle him.

“What is it?” He signed, putting his book down and looking over in your direction with an annoyed look in his face. You gulped down the lump forming in your throat, “Is everything okay?” You asked, looking over at him. 

Having his eyes on you, finally, it’s felt like weeks since he even bothered to look at you. “Everything is fine.” He replied but there was something off in the way he said it, something betraying the lie that came out of his mouth. 

You looked away, unsure of what to say next, he already seems frustrated at you but you don’t understand why and it’s making you angry that he is acting like this. “Did I do something?” You ask, unable to look in his general direction. It was quiet for a few moments “...No.” His tone became agitated and thick with frustration, “Why does it have to take for something to be wrong for you to ask how I'm doing?" You look over at him with confusion in your features. The confused look on your face seemed to set him off further, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, clearly confused, you always check up on him, make sure he is okay, you don’t know where this frustration is coming from. His voice interrupts your thoughts "I mean, you only ever seem to ask me how I'm doing when there are clear signs of something going on. Why can't you just ask how I'm doing like a normal person? Why wait until everything falls apart?" 

You get up from the couch in disbelief at his tone and his words, the confusion being laced with anger. Seeming to know the answer already, you dare to ask “What exactly has fallen apart, Nanami?” He scoffed and repeated back the words to you in a mimicking tone. 

“This relationship, what else?! Did you think I didn't know why you were so upset this entire evening?” He got up from the couch and walked towards you with a scowl on his face. Tears brimming in your eyes, “This relationship feels like it's falling apart because you hardly ever acknowledge my existence or hardly ever speak to me, I don’t know how to talk to you without getting mad at me. And now you’re throwing your behavior back in my face saying I don’t care about you?” You flail your arms up in disbelief, letting a tear run down your cheek. 

He clenched his jaw tightly, trying even harder to keep his anger in check. However, he failed. “You have to understand. Do you have any clue how draining and stressful my job is? How exhausting it is, not only on my body but on my mental health? I barely have enough willpower to keep going and when I come home, all I want is some time for myself. But instead, you act like a spoiled child begging for attention!” Unsure of what to say, you take a step back, hugging yourself trying to find some comfort with his voice repeating over and over in your head. 

A few tears involuntarily falling down your cheeks. He saw the tears in your eyes and let the scowl on his face soften only a bit. It had become hard for him to hide the pain and exhaustion in his voice. "It just isn't easy for me, you know? After working a long hard day all I want is some peace and quiet. Yet you pester me for my attention as if I don't have enough to deal with as it is. I'm exhausted and I just want to rest...." You look at the floor with an expressionless face, words failing you. 

How long has he felt this way? Has he always felt like this? Why has he been with you so long then if he had thought you were just some nagging woman begging for an ounce of his attention. You look over at him, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “How about I do you one last favor, Nanami?” You took a deep, shaky breath, “We’re done.” 

He looked down at you, expression unchanged. He didn't look surprised one bit. He remained standing there in silence for a few seconds before responding. "Alright. Fine. Leave. I don’t have time for this." You sucked in a breath, trying to not cry more and further humiliate yourself. You didn’t recognize the man standing in front of you, that job of his had changed him so much over the past three years. Nanami turned back to the couch and sat back down. He picked up his book again, resuming where he left off.

It was like you didn't even exist to him at that point. It was hard to see the man you loved turn into an apathetic shell of who he was.

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 2

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 

Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.

At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Warnings: descriptions of past toxic relationship/cheating; consumption of alcohol; anxiety; mentions of sex/sexual situations; Jake being an asshole; Reader takes an extra Melatonin (doctor's advice)

Chapter Word Count: 8.1k

Covet Masterlist

a/n: wooohooo! we have come to chapter 2! 

please forgive me for how long this took to be posted. i am a school teacher, and the end of year is the most hectic. 🫠 so, busyness combined with my need to make sure i personally feel good enough with a chapter to post it. . . it’s not a good combo. lmao although, summer is right around the corner! and i promise when it comes, covet will get much more of my attention!! 

reminder that this is a ~slow burn~ in its truest form. 

i <3 and appreciate you all!! i truly can’t say thank you enough for the support and kind words (it means so much, esp w/ this being my first gvf fic). i love hearing feedback from each and every one of you!! 

alright, i will be done w/ my rambling. i apologize on behalf of myself. lol

hope you enjoy, my loves. 

Disclaimer: this is absolutely, undoubtedly 110% a work of fiction. i do not claim to know greta van fleet. i do not claim that any of this actually occurred. again, this is a complete work of fiction. And, please, DO NOT steal this work, as it is 110% mine. plagiarism isillegal. and, as our friend google puts it, plagiarism is “illegal if it infringes an author's intellectual property rights.” and, being these words/ideas are my intellectual property rights. . .don’t take them. legal action will be taken if you take credit for any of my work.

-🌼🌼🌼 -

Chapter 2

The first month of living with Jake went about as smoothly as one would expect. 

His first full day in the apartment, you’d woken up, ready to be nice. Really. You’d tried your hardest to forget about how he’d acted when he had made his grand entrance. 

But he wasn’t giving up on his act. 

When you’d been standing at the coffee maker in the kitchen that first morning, loading your K-Cup, he’d stopped at the counter. You didn’t know what for, but when you noticed him there, you had tried to start a conversation. Some meaningless small talk to try and break the ice he’d created. 

And his only response? A barely audible hum. 

You did give him credit for glancing up to at least acknowledge your presence. Although, that’s the bare minimum of basic human decency. So, you didn’t give him much credit. 

But, that had been it. And then, he’d left for the day. 

It had instantly caused you to be pissed at everything. Including the coffee maker’s little unnecessary spurts as it poured coffee into your mug. 

Every day since then had gone about the same, sometimes with even less interaction than that. And to you, the lack of desire to even try to associate with you was offensive. 

After all, you were the person who had literally given him a place to live.

To make things worse, he was that kind of asshole that you couldn’t seem to get out of your head. It really just confirmed how truly repulsive he was.

You had gotten an idea midway through that first month to begin compiling a list of apartment rules. 

Initially, it had seemed pointless. Then, you reminded yourself that you were worth better treatment. You knew you deserved for Jake to show at least a sliver of respect towards you in your home.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You decided to tell Josh of the rules you’d crafted. 

“I will be very honest, I really don’t know how well those will go over, Y/N.”

He was giving you a look that instantly made you go into defense mode. 

“Joshua. It’s been a month,” you matched his look with one of your own. You wanted your point to be known. You were going to make damn sure that Josh understood why you wanted to do this. “Josh, he still barely even looks at me. I think rules would give us some sort of common ground. And it would force him to show the place—and me—some respect.”

“Jake has never been one to want to follow the rules — do what he’s told,” he scratched the buzzed side of his head, right above his ear. 

You stood with a hand on your waist, right under your thrifted crop top. You eyed him, making sure he knew he needed to elaborate. 

You didn’t know much at all about your roommate. 

You’d been waiting for Josh to share more, but he didn’t share much. He claimed that it wasn’t his place. You were desperate though. All you knew about Jake was that he was your best friend’s twin, what his record choices were, that he had been in an apparently crappy relationship, and the fact that he was an ungrateful asshole. 

Josh relented slightly. “I’ll tell you this story because it involves me as well. And we were so young,” he leaned with his back against the checkout counter, facing away from customers. “When we were in our freshman year of high school, he played soccer while I participated in theatre. He enjoyed it and he was actually quite good at it, you know,” Josh smiled, obviously replaying memories. “But, high school classes grew increasingly harder. We both struggled, honestly. We love to learn more. . . I mean, you know this about me. He’s the same way. But we really only enjoy doing it most when it concerns the subjects for which we’re passionate. 

So, high school work being less than interesting to us both, our grades dropped. Big time,” his eyes widened, once again reliving it all. At this point, he was staring into space to tell the story. “Our parents and teachers came down on us hard. They told us we would be kicked out of our extracurricular activities if we didn’t raise our grades.”

You shook your head, looking around the store. A couple of regulars were perusing. You knew them well enough to know it would be awhile until they were done. “I know exactly where this is going.”

You both made eye contact then, and as he looked your way, he gave a little closed-mouth grin that made his eyes crinkle. “Yeah? Guess.”

You smirked at your friend. “You, being you, were determined to show that you had what it took to make the grade. You cared enough about theatre to continue it,” he nodded at your words. “And, in the time I’ve known you, you’ve never been one to say no to a challenge. It’s why we are friends. I love a good challenge.”

He made a noise of agreeance. Then, his eyebrows raised and his lips turned down. The look he gave you told you he was impressed. “You know me well,” he continued. “Now, how well do you know your roommate?” 

You scoffed. “As you know, not fucking well. But I know he couldn’t give two shits about what others think of him,” you pointed to yourself. “I’m a shining example. So, —.”

“Essentially, he said ‘fuck it’ and just decided to continue on with what he had been doing in his classes, which was jack shit,” Josh had finished for you, wanting to complete the story he’d begun.

“How did he even pass high school?”

He gave you a deadpan stare and raised his  eyebrows. You rolled your eyes. At the same time, you both said:

“Girls.”

You rolled your eyes even harder this time. “Good God.”

Josh nodded, lips turned down, his eyes still held a little glint. “Yup. Get my point now?”

“Yeah, but like I just said, I’m not one to turn down a challenge. Just like you, Josh,” you smiled at a customer who was finally walking up to the counter, a few records in hand. “And your brother. . .I’ve learned he is nothing if not a challenge.” 

He nodded, he knew you were right. And he’d known you long enough to know that you did indeed enjoy overcoming any problem life may hand you.

In this instance, you hoped he understood your current challenge/problem was Jake.

And you needed to know how to fix it. Josh was your only source. You just had to get him to break for more information. 

Again, you really liked a good challenge. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

The shift rolled on. The two of you had been working the closing shift that day. 

So, as the day shifted to evening, and with about an hour before the store closed up, you started nightly duties. Josh went about straightening vinyls, fixed the ‘Featured’ wall (his favorite), and re-folded the shirts the store carried with the Black and Gold’s logo. 

Meanwhile, you swept and dusted the store. 

You hated to admit it. You really did. But you couldn’t help how the conversation from earlier had piqued your interest even more than before. 

You were now hooked. You wanted to learn more about your mysterious roommate. 

You debated how you were going to ask Josh for more information. What was a way you could ask that would convince him to tell you more about his twin? 

Ever since Jake had moved in, you’d tried so desperately to get information out of Josh. 

And he just refused to budge.

You were putting the broom away when you’d settled on how to ask him. 

You were going to be a jackass and use manipulation. 

You sucked, you knew this. You were just dying to know more about this person with whom you shared your home. And, to reiterate, it had been a damn month of knowing next to nothing about him. 

So, when you joined Josh behind the counter as he balanced the register, you were ready to play your hand. 

“Alright, so, Elsie still isn’t sure if she wants to be in your movie.” There it was. A complete lie using your sister— the one he was completely smitten with. In truth, Elsie had agreed on the spot. 

But, again, desperation had led you to this. 

You didn’t look up from your task of watering the plants that sat at the window. Just keep talking. “I have a proposition for you. You tell me more about Jake and I will convince her with everything I have to star in your film.”

You still didn’t look over to him. You were afraid of rejection. Then, you heard what seemed to be a sigh of defeat out of your best friend. You looked up to him, his eyes still reading uncertainty.

“Y/N,” he sighed. You knew he was about to say the same thing he had said for the past month. 

“I know, Josh. It’s not your story,” you moved forward to be standing right next to him. You balanced your elbow on the counter, you needed to say your piece—needed him to understand. You locked eyes with him, pleading. “Come on, Josh. I am desperate. He won’t offer anything up. He is silent. It’s been a month. He refuses to acknowledge my presence, hence me forcing him to notice me with the rules,” you paused, suddenly looking to the ground. You needed Josh to bend to your vulnerability. “But, I just need something else. You told me that one story earlier,” you urged. “Just something else small that might help me know him a bit better than I do now.”

You looked up. You were anticipating another rejection from him after you’d finished babbling. Though, his eyes seemed to open more at your apparent state of helplessness. 

He knew that it wasn’t fair what Jake was putting you through. He had to acknowledge that. You knew he felt most things with you. And you knew he was someone who had enough integrity to want to help you out. He knew this situation had been less than ideal.

He just had to loosen up on his stance of not wanting to tell his brother’s stories.

He released one more sigh. “Fine,” he looked you in the eyes. “And please try your hardest to get your sister convinced to star in my film. The role was created for her.”

You nodded. You looked to the ground once more at that last part. You felt guilty for using that little white lie. “You’ve got it.”

“Y/N.”

You looked up to him after he’d spoken your name in a tone that was much more serious than his usual. 

His brown irises were intent as he spoke. “You have to know I’m breaking a big rule of mine,” he continued. “I don’t like speaking to stories that belong to other people. Our experiences are unique to us. They deserve to be told by those to whom they happened.” 

You nodded. You understood his point. You totally knew why he felt the way he did. 

“Josh, you can just tell me childhood stories that involve both of you,” you grabbed his arm. You needed him to know you were being genuine. “I don’t want to make you betray your principles.”

He patted the hand you’d placed on his arm. “I appreciate that, Y/N,” he cleared his throat. “I just think you need to know some of the—,” he spread his hands out to emphasize, then clapped them back together. “The bigger pieces of him. At the moment, he won’t let himself show you who he is. He really isn’t a bad person. He’s just been through a hell of a lot recently.” 

All you could do was nod your head once. There wasn’t much left for you to say. You would let the curly headed man begin when he was ready. 

He eyed the clock. You looked with him. Only thirty minutes to eight o’clock. 

You looked down to your palms, wiping them on your jeans. They were suddenly getting clammy at the prospect of what information could be hitting you within the next 30 minutes. 

“I’m going to begin by saying that as his five-minutes-older brother, I’m glad that Jake gets to finally live life for himself without having to worry about being hung up on a girl,” he looked to the two folded chairs that always sat behind the counter. “Let’s sit.” 

You followed him to the chairs. And as he sat in the right chair, you sat in the left. He looked into space, contemplating what to say next. 

“Jake is seriously going through something he has never experienced before. I mean, your significant other being unfaithful to you sucks anyhow. But she’s been all he’s known for so long. . . This is a complete life upheaval for him, of sorts,” he pauses. “He and this girl — they truly were together for a long time. What are he and I . . . 24 now?” 

You nodded.

“Well, they got together when we were juniors in high school. That would make this relationship about seven years old,” he sighed. “Long time to be together—and it began when they were really only kids.”

You nodded again, coaxing him on. 

“So, since they were together that long. . . there was a lot that happened between them in high school alone, but then you have post-high school when he set his life plan on the back burner for her. We had these plans — big ones. A dream we’d shared. All of us. Sammy and Danny included.”

You were wondering what the dream could have been. “What was the dream?”

Josh shook his head. “It was Jake’s first. We all followed along behind him,” he looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “It wouldn’t be right for me to share.” 

You were left wondering at that, but you did understand why Josh didn’t want to share. There was honor in that. And he wouldn’t be Josh if he didn’t show his honor, especially by showing loyalty to those he loved. 

“So, his dream. . .,” you exaggerated the word by using your hands as jazz hands. “It went down the tubes?”

Josh gave you a look. It was a look that told you to take a step back and try to understand. 

You relented. 

You knew it was only right to put your grumpiness with Jake aside for this story. Josh was showing vulnerability on his brother’s behalf. Plus, you’d been the one to force Josh out of his moral values to divulge Jake things. It wasn’t right to act anything but respectful to these tellings of Jake. For Josh’s sake alone.

And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t dying to hear more. Learning of Jake’s past was like satisfying this raging itch.

“I’m sorry,” your voice was quiet. 

The edges of Josh’s eyes wrinkled as he gave you a reassuring grin. “It’s okay,” he patted your knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I know why you’re blunt about him. I know the man’s entire range of emotions. He acts like a child when he— when his emotions are so big and bad.”

“And right now,” you started. Your heart was growing slightly soft. “He is feeling the most emotions.”

Josh shook his head to agree. “Though, this girl was always a pill,” he rolled his eyes. “I liked her a lot at first, truly. But she started flirting with me an awful lot to be dating my brother,” his body shook as if to shake the memory. “It’s honestly not a shock to me that their relationship ended the way it did.”

Though, as soon as the last words had left his mouth, he looked down to consider them. He was weighed down by an emotion he didn’t need to speak out loud for you to know. Guilt.

It was your turn to reach a hand over to touch his knee. You just sat your hand there and told him. “You cannot blame yourself for any of this.”

He continued looking down. “I should have talked to him about how she would make advances. . . To warn him. Maybe he would have never gone and he could have—.”

He placed a palm to his forehead, eyes closing. He was going to get lost in this thought if you didn’t stop him. 

“Josh, she was a terrible person all along,” you placed a hand on his back, rubbing his right shoulder blade. “Jake isn’t a stupid person. He can’t be. You aren’t. And he’s your twin brother. He could have noticed the signs if he wanted to. It was his responsibility to drop her when he had the chance,” you gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Before any of this happened. Apparently he just loved her too much to fully acknowledge what he needed to do.”

You gave him a couple of minutes to really think about that. Then, finally, he lifted his head. “He wouldn’t have listened to me anyways,” He had a gleam in his eye. “My brother is a stubborn asshole,” he chuckled a little. “If you haven’t noticed.”

You gave him a look that said ‘No? Really?’ That turned a few more giggles loose from his chest. 

He continued, letting his tone become serious again. “So, our senior year, Jake really started getting serious about his dream. We all made these real plans, but they were ruined,” he paused, his mouth becoming a straight line. He was remembering a moment that caused a particular annoyance. “That was until she brought up how she wanted him to move with her if she got accepted to this prestigious school in Illinois,” he cleared his throat. “It makes me angry that she asked, but I also get wanting to ask your serious significant other to move with you. It was different—more than that, though. 

Her selfishness was so prominent so often; I think that’s why her asking rubbed me so wrong then, and still does now. She knew if she asked, he’d go. He’d leave his own aspirations in the dust for her. She knew what he wanted—what he’d always wanted. But still, she deemed her choices, her career, more important.”

You nodded, completely seeing eye-to-eye with your best friend. “I think there’s this sense of justice in you for your brother that he hasn’t always seemed to have for himself.”

“Yes!” Josh’s expression was one of relief that you understood. “And the thing with Jake is

. . . He’s always—girls have—,” he paused, gathering his thoughts. “As soon as his hormones kicked in when we were younger, he started noticing girls. He indulged himself in all of that,” Josh lifted his eyebrows. “He really has a strong appreciation for women, I’ll say that.” 

You rolled your eyes, nodding and then crossing your arms, sitting back. Your stomach leaped in a way you chose to ignore at the mention of his appreciation for women. To you, it was ludicrous that he couldn’t appreciate you in some capacity. If he needed sex in order to appreciate a woman, you were not the one.

“A big piece of him changed when girls started becoming involved. He lost a piece of himself. It’s almost as though he didn’t see himself as worthy without one. And now—.”

“And that’s why it’s so hard for him right now,” you finished the statement, bringing yourself back. “He’s lost a sense of his identity. . .

having to find out who he is without a woman.” 

Josh clicked his tongue, a smirk showing with a dimple in his cheek. “Precisely. It’s been a while for him,” a little spark caught in his eye. “On the drive moving him here, I told him that he needs to take a fucking break from women until he starts understanding what it means to think of what he wants first,” he rubbed at his forehead. “I know it seems like a terrible thing for me to say, but I think it’s important for him to put himself first for once in his goddamned life. He deserves to know who he is without a woman claiming him as her own.”

“Because he is worth knowing himself for who he is,” you concluded.

“Aw, Y/N. . . You growing a soft spot for Jakey?” Josh smiled smugly at you.

You held eye contact with him for a few seconds and then laughed outright at his statement. “You’re funny,” you looked to the clock, realizing you were only a couple of minutes from closing. You got up from the foldable chair and went to grab your purse from a hook behind the desk.

Josh followed your lead, but stopped to look for his phone. He tapped at all of his pockets.  Then, coming up short, he looked around the register and the checkout counter. 

You helped him look. But, the sound of Gloria Gaynor belting that “she will survive” helped you locate it easier. You saw it light up, sitting atop a box of new records at the back of the shop. 

You groaned, already walking to get it for him.

“Josh, you have got to be better about keeping track of your phone.”

Josh tsked at you, “And you have got to be better about not bossing me around,” he turned off the lights around the register. “I refuse to be a slave to such a tiny device that doesn’t serve any purpose to my spiritual healing.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, though you knew he was right. As you approached his phone, you got one final glimpse at the caller ID picture. It had been a picture of Jake. 

Even though you had just taken a deep dive into Jake’s past and grown a tiny fraction of sympathy and understanding for him. . .his picture still made you want to punch things. 

As much as his recent past had sucked, he  treated you with such blatant disrespect for someone who had offered their home to him. 

When you traipsed back over to Josh, he was waiting for you at the door, hand already on the doorknob to leave. “Jake called you.”

Josh turned around. His back was facing you and a thumb pointed behind him. “Pocket,” he said.

You snickered a little bit and did as he told you. Josh was choosing you over his prick of a brother and, quite frankly, you were bursting at the seams. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

You were not ready to go home to more awkwardness and Josh could tell as much, so he invited you to get a quick drink after work with him. 

He filled you in on everything else he deemed necessary as you drank a couple of margaritas on the rocks, him settling on just one Salty Dog.

Josh told a few finishing details about how much it had sucked to be separated from his womb mate for so many years.

“It honestly felt like I was cut off from him.”

Your heart hurt for him. “I’m glad he is nearer to you now,” you paused, curious. “Did he miss you that much too?”

Josh set a look on you, “Who was the first person he called after it happened? He was ready to be with me again,” he put a hand over his heart. “Came back to his understanding, sensitive twin . . . every moon needs its sun.”

You gave a conceding nod and shrug. “Fair,” you smiled. “You're obviously the sun.”

“Obviously,” he flashed a smile your way. “He might not admit it right now, but he was not at his happiest with her,” he stated. “As ironic or untrue it may seem with his moodiness, I think if he isn’t already, Jake is on his way to feeling the most free he has in a long time. I’m glad to have him back with me. Being away from each other wasn’t good for either of us.”

Your heart swelled for the tenderhearted man next to you. You watched as he looked off into space with what could only be described as a soft sort of pensiveness. You were happy for your friend, despite how Jake was acting or made you feel.

You felt your head get slightly light from the alcohol on an almost empty stomach from being at work nearly all day. You were still so curious, you wanted to know more.

“So, how did it happen?”

“Well, all I know is she was getting quite distant for a while, but Jacob thought she was only distracted by her job. Gave her the benefit of the doubt, let her do her thing and just followed along,” he gave you a look. “He did that much too often. My brother isn’t a puppy dog, but he followed her around like one,” Josh’s jaw clenched and he scratched at his bare chin. “One would say that he loved her. But as his twin, if my telepathic brain is worth anything, I believe that more than love, Jake shared so much with her when they were young that he felt obligated to follow her lead. . .no matter what.”

“And that makes you angry.”

“Oh, quite,” he continued, eyebrows bunched together. “The way he put it when he told me of the situation was that it was as though she was,” he held up air quotes. “‘Shooting the shit.’”

“Just told him like it was no big deal?” You shook your head. “That’s harsh.” 

“More than that, told him in a way that made it seem like she was already done. Essentially, his reaction meant nothing to her. She just needed to tell him in order to end things,” he continued. “She told him it had been going on for quite some time and that she didn’t think they could make it work after it all.”

“What did she do after she told him? What happened after?”

Alcohol was interacting with your senses. Otherwise, you wouldn’t show open curiosity like this. You were sure of it. 

“Well, she left,” He chewed his lip lightly. “Left Jake to deal with the aftermath — the knowledge of it all — by himself. She went to stay with a friend and he had exactly a week to get his shit together and move out. So, being the decent and thoughtful person he is,” you made a sound. Josh gave you a look. “He respected her wishes and got the hell out.”

You really had no words for the situation. It was horrid for Jake, you had to admit. You felt bad for him. You really did. Even though he pissed you off beyond belief, you still knew he was deserving of better than any of what she had put him through. 

You just wished he wouldn’t react in a way that made him become an utter jerk. Due to his attitude, you couldn’t claim that you knew the person who seemed so selfless and loving in Josh’s stories. 

The person you knew was the opposite of the one told in Josh’s tales. 

You only knew a self-centered jerk who held absolutely no respect for you in any way. 

You hated to admit to yourself just how much you wished to know the person Josh had told you about this evening. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

As Josh dropped you off at the stoop to your apartment that night, he shared with you an idea that had come to him. 

“This weekend. We need to do something this weekend.”

You quickly agreed, “Yes! I’d love to have a weekend that’s just us. . .like old times.”

“Actually,” he scuffed the bottom of his white sneaker against the stair step he stood on. He eyed you. “How about we involve Sammy and Danny?”

You could be okay with that. Then suddenly, your stomach flipped. “What about Jake?”

He met your eyes. “He would join. All of us. Game night.”

“Josh,” his name came out like a child’s whine. “Why?” 

He put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “It will be good for both of you. He’ll get to be around you with others and you’ll get to be around him while he’s with people he already knows and feels most comfortable with,” he squeezed lightly at your shoulder. “It will be great. He’ll come out of his shell, and surely he’ll act a little more like himself if he’s around myself and the other two.”

Your stomach rolled at the idea of actually spending any sort of time with Jake. 

Establishing rules? Sure, you could do that. It might take 10 minutes max. But an extended amount of time actually hanging out? 

You agreed to it before Josh left you that night, even though you had your hesitations. 

You wanted to bring some joy to the man that had been there for you through so much. You were also desperate to look like the bigger person in this situation. And, surely agreeing to this would make Josh see that you were trying when Jake wasn’t. 

You needed Josh to see the trueness of your heart in all of this, no matter how much bitterness his brother had caused you.

When you’d entered your home that evening, the lights had all been off. Jake’s door was closed. He was asleep. Thank God.

As you stood at the bathroom mirror taking off your makeup, you convinced yourself it would be fine. You could find positives. You’d hung out with the other three before. You all got along very well in a group setting and honestly always had a great time. That part would be all right.

You just had to convince yourself that Jake wouldn’t ruin it by simply being there with his persistent little dark cloud of distemper. 

By the time you tucked yourself under your covers, you decided no matter what, you would have a fun time. If only for the benefit of the other boys and yourself.

You were also determined to show the best parts of yourself to Jake. A darker part of you wanted him to feel slightly (very) guilty for how he’d been treating his simply incredible roommate. 

But before game night, you had to talk to him about your rules. You weren’t looking forward to him blowing you off. You had a terrible idea that would be the response you’d get to you speaking to him. 

But you still had to try.

-🌼🌼🌼-

You thought through the best time to go over the rules with him, and decided the day before your night with the guys was the best option.

Your mind had settled on Jake taking two possible routes with the conversation. You figured going over them on that Friday before would work for both of these possibilities. 

One possibility was that he would sulk and pout and react like an asshole, and doing it on Friday would give him an entire day to do so. The second option was that he could very possibly just straight up ignore you like he usually did. And, you thought it best to do it a day before he would be forced to associate with you. 

It also seemed fitting to do so on the day that marked almost an entire month of him living with you. You were only one day away from it having been a whole month of him sharing your home. What a perfect time to actually acknowledge and officially, really talk to you. 

Time for him to realize all you were was a super kind person. A person who offered him shelter when there was virtually nowhere else for him to go. 

He needed to respect you and your hospitality.

You had gotten used to him usually arriving home by six every night. So, you loomed in the living room until he got home around six that evening. 

And almost right at 6 o’clock, you heard his keys jingle in the lock. 

As soon as he walked in and saw you leaning against the couch, he stopped to stare at you. It was an awkward-ass stare that made you want to slap him right across the smooth skin of his tanned cheek. 

He was just infuriating. 

“Hey,” you started, trying to sound easygoing. You didn’t know why you were nervous, but you were. 

“Hi,” his response was spoken as a question. 

You knew that you standing there probably seemed extremely odd to the man.

You didn’t care if it made him feel uncomfortable. He deserved it after making you feel edgy for the last month in your own home.

He started to move on from you, already deciding to disregard you. 

“So,” you started, sticking to the assignment. And, surprisingly when you spoke, he stopped in his tracks. “I think I’ve decided it might be a good idea to make some apartment rules.”

With his back facing you, you saw him shake his head. His wavy locks caught the streams of the evening sun’s yellow glow, making the head shake that much more offensive. 

When he still didn’t turn around, you continued. “You can go change your clothes if you want,” you folded your arms tighter to your chest. “I’ll wait out here.”

He then turned, crossed back to the kitchen counter and dropped his keys in the key bowl you’d had since Elsie lived at the apartment. Then finally, he faced you. 

Your stomach did a little flip. Why were you nervous to establish these rules for your apartment? You just needed to get it over with. 

He raised his eyebrows and gave you a look that said ‘so?’ 

His face showed that he was already irritated. It was like the mere act of standing across from you was too much. Being forced to interact with you was a hassle. 

And instantly, you were irked. Could he be any more ridiculous? 

Admittedly, you were also already done with this talk. Screw him. You heatedly whipped your phone out of the back pocket of your jean shorts. You clicked through to your notes, where you’d started the rule list. 

You started with the most agreeable rules.

“The first rule: don’t go in each other’s rooms. I think that’s common sense, but just in case it needs to be stated,” you moved on. “Number two: if we buy food or drinks, they belong to us and only us. I was thinking we could even make two separate sides of the fridge. One side for yours and one for mine.”

You looked up when you heard him take a breath. You looked at him just in time to see him breathe out a tight-lipped sigh, a mocking smirk on his face as he bugged his eyes. 

You chose to ignore him, blatantly rolling your eyes and looked back to your phone. 

“Rule number three: do your own dishes and do your best to keep the sink empty. Rule number four: keep our common spaces clean. You know, kitchen, dining room, living room, bathroom. . .clean up after yourself,” you glanced at him, seeing that he was looking into space, eyes still huge. His arms were crossed across his chest as yours had been. “Rule five: do your own laundry. And I think switching off every other day for whose laundry day it is would be a good idea. I get Monday, you get Tuesday, I get Wednesday. . .and so on.”

You paused, giving him room for notes if he had any. His face held a look you couldn’t quite read. 

“Any thoughts?” You questioned. 

He gave a little chuckle that seemed to mock the same air you’d just spoken the rules to. It was insulting. Still, you wanted to hear from him. So you waited. 

And after a solid two minutes of just standing there, he loudly exhaled. His hand combed through the front of his hair, pushing it back. His eyes blinked a couple of times afterwards. “You seem to have it all nailed down, roomie.”

“Well, thanks,” you hesitantly responded. You were pleased that he was okay with what you’d shared so far. But his mention of the nickname seemed more snarky than anything.

“No, I mean,” he cleared his throat, rubbing at his chin. “You’ve got it nailed down. Like, you left no room for any ‘notes.’”

You scoffed at the air quotes he gave the word. “I’ve hardly ‘nailed it down’,” you gave your own air quotes for his words. “These are just an outline of ideas I have.”

“Just keep going,” he sighed as though he was completely exasperated and tucked both hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I have a date in like an hour.”

“A date?” 

“And it’s your business how?”

“You just told me,” you argued. “That’s how.”

“Didn’t mean you could ask questions about it,” he bit back. “I was just telling you so you would know I don’t have time to just stand here and listen to you drag on about these ‘rules’.”

You shook your head, shocked at how rude a person could be. Completely in awe of the man, you decided you would continue. You were ready to be rid of him. 

“Fine,” you angrily pressed your phone back on. “Speaking of dates. . .Rule six: when you have a date over, please keep them out of the common areas and remember the walls are thin. . . In general, no especially loud music, no loud. . .,” you cleared your throat and your skin prickled with embarrassment. “. . .  anything else.”

“Oh,” he seemed interested. Figured. If it had to do with a woman, his interest was suddenly piqued. “That also applies to you and Josh, I assume?”

“What?!” You were suddenly very disturbed at that statement. “Josh and me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He tilted his head down, his eyes sticking onto yours, hair falling to swing next to his face. “Seriously? You apparently know the walls are thin as shit. And our rooms are right next door, so I can hear the two of you stay up all hours of the night talking,” he looked to the side, his eyebrows raising. “Who knows what the hell else you both do after I fall asleep. You are both touchy as fuck with one another, so I’ll just let my mind wander with what happens behind closed doors.”

You started laughing hysterically at the whole statement Jake had just made. You couldn’t even gather your thoughts. Shocked was an understatement for how Jake’s assumptions left you feeling. 

“Are you kidding me?” You stepped towards him, pointing a finger in his direction. “Of course you would assume a friendship is more than what it actually is. Hopeless fuckin’ roma—.”

You stopped yourself. You had almost called him a hopeless romantic. How would you even begin to explain that you knew enough about him to call him that?

He took a step forward, his jaw clenched. He crossed his arms across his chest again. His chest seemed to continue to rise with his irritation. His fingers were digging into his biceps, clad in his light blue button-up.

“No, finish. Please.” 

Your blood pressure was rising, you felt your skin prickling with embarrassment and guilt. Your heart was racing. You shouldn’t have exploded and almost exposed what Josh had told you. You couldn’t betray Josh’s trust like that. You were being errant. You knew an anxiety attack was on the horizon if you didn’t stop soon. Betraying someone you love was known to bring you to tears quicker than almost anything else. 

You also couldn’t deny how bad you felt for referring to something that was probably still a sensitive topic to your roommate. As much as you despised him, you didn’t have to be so overtly uncool towards him in a hard time.

“Let’s just keep on with the rules,” you tried to calm yourself down. You didn’t need to have an anxiety attack in front of him. That was the last thing you needed. “Please?”

He seemed to catch on to your nerves. And luck seemed to be on your side with how he relented so quickly. He still seemed a little irked, but his eyes were softer than they were before.

“Go on.”

You breathed in and out once, then situated your nerves the best you could to finish. 

“I, um, I thought it would be cool to add a little something that would help keep us accountable for getting to know each other,” you didn’t want to meet his eyes, so you kept yours glued to the screen of your phone. “We both love music, so I was thinking. . .Rule seven: we switch off every other night and play a record on the record player. One of our own choosing. It would give us a good idea of who we’re living with.”

“Because the music we love really says so much about who we are,” he agreed honestly. 

You looked up after he’d spoken, and the look on his face as he looked down said he hadn’t meant to speak it out loud. His eyebrows knitted together like he had conflict within himself. He didn’t want you to know he thought similarly to you, you were sure of it. He’d let his precious little guard down the slightest, smallest bit. 

You couldn’t help it when a teeny-tiny grin landed on your lips. You shook it away before he could possibly see.

“Yep. Totally,” you said very quietly in response. But you knew he heard you when he blinked a couple times and then ran a hand through his hair, bringing his head back up in the process. 

He was making you feel very antsy, and his date would be here soon. So, you tried to finish quickly. 

“And finally, rule eight: we keep a work schedule posted to the fridge so we’re aware of when the other one will be at home. It will be helpful to know if the other one is at work; just in case of an emergency or anything, I thought it’d be helpful.”

You looked up as you finished, he was now leaning back against the kitchen counter. His amber-brown eyes stayed locked on yours earnestly for a bit. You felt your cheeks heat. Then he asked, “And you’re sure there’s not anything else?” 

You shook your head ‘no’.

His previously haughty tone was coming back when he spoke next. “How do you expect me to remember all of these things? And we'll post our schedules on the fridge?”

You couldn’t help it as your heart leapt the slightest bit. He still wasn’t completely rejecting any of the rules. In fact, unless he was somehow being sarcastic, he even wanted a way to remember them. 

“I—I’ll print it all out at work and put everything on the fridge,” you shoved your phone into your back pocket. “I’ll even include a place for our phone numbers, just in case we ever need those.” You added, "And we can just post our schedules when we get them every week."

He nodded once. He looked up at the ceiling then, obviously done with the conversation. You didn’t blame him. You really were too. 

You were suddenly longing for him to ignore you again. His presence was making you tense. You didn’t know how to act around him. You hadn’t had that problem with anyone for a long time. 

The last time was probably middle school when no one knew how to act around each other. 

But now as an adult woman? You hated that someone made you feel like this. 

And in your own home, no less.

He pushed off the counter and started to his room. Then, only steps from his room, he turned on his boot to face you, he held a look of blatant vexation. 

Ugh, what now? You thought.

“Do we really have to have our own sections for our food and drinks in the fridge? Why don’t we just put our initials on things that belong to us?” He reasoned. “I’ll even buy the damned Sharpie.”

You couldn’t find a way to dispute his suggestion in the moment. You could agree with that. “Yeah, sounds good. Good idea.”

He gave an almost-smile (couldn’t show too much cordiality), “I have a few of those every once in a while.” 

He then got a smug grin on his face, “Oh, and you might want to get some earplugs for tonight. . .paper thin walls and all that.”

“Jake,” you were stunned at the audacity. Your shoulders tightened up. “Seriously?”

He set his head back, raising his eyebrows up. A smirk raised his lips, “Nowhere on that rules list did you say I’m not allowed to bring women over. And I really can’t control whether or not I make them scream,” he set you with a stare, raising a brow. “And I’ve gotta say, that’s always been a pretty normal occurrence,” he paused. “And I most likely wouldn’t have been too keen on following a ‘no women’ rule anyway, so.”

“Asshole,” You scoffed, your thighs quivered. The disdain he caused you floated through your whole body. “A little full of yourself?”

“Alright then, don’t plug your ears,” his smirk only grew. “You’ll hear for yourself tonight. Post-breakup recovery fuck, y’know? Gotta get some of this lingering tension out of my system,” he shook his shoulders and arms out to emphasize his words.

Your skin grew angry goosebumps at the thought of everything he’d just said to you. You were amazed by him. Truly. 

Not in a good way. Not amazed in the sense he’d wanted you to be.

He turned on his heel to continue the walk to his room, and you just stood in your spot. Your bare toes dug into the carpet, waiting to hear his door click. 

Once finally alone, you let out a breath you’d apparently been holding. You shook your head at his repulsive words. You were utterly shocked that he would say any of that to you. What the heck? 

This interaction had shown you that it was obviously too much for him to be a pleasant human for an extended period of time.

And he had no issue making you feel completely on edge. 

Distasteful son of a bitch.

You wanted to go hide in your bedroom for the night. You didn’t want to chance running into him again.

You stomped to your room. You had had enough of Jake Kiszka for one night. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

You downed the recommended 2-pill dose of melatonin that evening, but snuck in one extra with a giant swig of water. 

Jake had left about an hour prior and you’d be damned if he woke you up with any sex-related noises. 

You were ready to get some sleep anyway, completely tired after the stress you’d dealt with. Your doctor had suggested melatonin to induce necessary rest after any anxious episodes. 

You knew you were to blame for a part of the stress, sticking your foot in your mouth the way you had. But Jake was the main culprit of the stress.

And you were done with him ruling your emotions for the evening. 

-🌼🌼🌼-

And of course, the next morning, Jake was stuck in your head. 

You hated it. It wasn’t because you wanted him there. It was thanks to a ridiculous dream that had plagued you during the night.

Your sleep had graced you with a reminder of the moment you’d almost outed your knowledge of his past. But in the vision, you weren’t feeling the onslaught of nerves you’d originally felt in the moment anymore.

No, in this version of it, all you could focus on was the vision of his chest, how it had been heaving in the midst of his irritation.

And it wasn’t even a covered chest that haunted your dream. No, it was his chest that seemed to be persistently bare. The bronzed, silky-smooth chest you’d seen one too many times in the month he’d lived with you. 

You couldn’t understand how he was 24 years old and still didn’t know how to button his shirts past two buttons. It maddened you that he didn’t know how to button his entire shirt. His toned light brown, sun-kissed chest was distracting in a way you wished it wasn’t.

All you wanted was to escape your roommate. And now he was literally haunting your dreams. 

You had chosen to deny how you’d woken up with sweat on your forehead, hair stuck to your equally sweaty face. You weren’t going to let him have that control over you. Not even in your dreams.

And now, you were completely dreading spending the evening with him in any capacity. 

You just hoped Josh came armed with damn good booze for game night. You desperately needed to get out of your head.

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: next chapter is game night! we’ll finally get introduced to sammy and danny <3

there is sooo much to come. i can’t wait to share more with you all. like i’ve previously mentioned, their story is quite the rollercoaster. our beloved roomies are both very stubborn . . . it’ll make for a grand ‘ol time! lmao

i hope you enjoyed!! plz message me & let me know what you thought! hearing from you guys is just so wonderful! let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future chapters!! <3

taglist:

@joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @jaketlover, @writingcold, @jessicafg03, @gretavangroove, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @reesetrippingthelight, @lallisonl, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @Fretaganvleet, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @whollyfreeamongstthestars, @llightmyllovee, @sacredjake (even if it seemed to refuse to tag, i still tried - ugh! i apologize for any weirdness of the tagging. if i missed you, please let me know! i think i included everyone, but it's def possible i accidentally left someone out.)

[lotusbl0ck]

Hi,

I really liked you IF post! It was really sweet and want more of that. :)

Description: Calvin x IF! reader

Reader is a imaginary friend just like Calvin. They are a princess and Calvin is her shining armor best friend!

AHH YES THIS IS JUST.. *gibberish noises* I can see Calvin having a soft spot on reader!

In the quiet corners of their shared imagination, Calvin and Y/n, a princess of realms unknown, found solace. They were bound not just by their roles as imaginary friends but by a deeper connection forged through countless adventures and whispered secrets.

On this particular day, Calvin had insisted on taking you to a meadow hidden within the folds of their world. The grass swayed gently under the caress of a soft breeze, and wildflowers nodded their colorful heads in greeting as they passed. Calvin's hand was warm and steady in yours, guiding you with a tenderness reserved for royalty.

"You're too good to me, Calvin," Y/n murmured, your voice carrying a hint of laughter that tinkled like the chime of silver bells.

He glanced at Y/n, his eyes alight with fondness. "You deserve nothing less, Your Highness."

You chuckled, a sound that sparkled like the sunlight filtering through the leaves above. "I told you, Calvin, you don't have to be so formal with me."

"But you are a princess," he replied, stopping to pick a vibrant flower and tuck it behind your ear. "And princesses deserve to be treated with respect and kindness."

Y/n blushed faintly at the gesture, feeling a flutter in your chest that you couldn't quite name. You turned your gaze to meet his, finding comfort in the warmth of his smile. "Thank you, Calvin."

They continued their stroll through the meadow, the air alive with the sweet fragrance of blossoms and the gentle hum of insects. As they reached a quiet spot beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree, Calvin guided you to sit beside him on a soft patch of grass. They leaned against the trunk, the rough bark providing a sturdy support against which they could rest.

"Calvin," Y/n began softly, your fingers absently tracing patterns in the grass beside you.

"Yes, Your Highness?" he responded, turning to look at you with unwavering attention.

Y/n took a deep breath, gathering courage. "Do you ever wonder... what it would be like if we weren't imaginary? If we were real, I mean."

Calvin considered your question for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes, yes. But then I think about all the adventures we've had together, all the memories we've created... and I realize that it doesn't matter whether we're real or imaginary. What matters is the bond we share, the friendship that has grown between us."

You nodded slowly, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions you couldn't quite articulate. "I'm glad you're here with me, Calvin."

His gaze softened, a tender smile curving his lips. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

In that tranquil moment beneath the tree, with the sunlight filtering through the leaves like shards of gold, Calvin leaned closer to you. His hand reached out, hesitating briefly before cupping your cheek in a gesture that spoke of reverence and affection. The princess's breath caught in your throat as he drew nearer, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, fleeting kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as they lingered in that embrace, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken words that hung between them. When they finally pulled apart, Calvin's gaze held a depth of emotion that mirrored your own.

"Thank you for being my friend, Calvin," Y/n whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Always, Your Highness," he replied, his tone soft yet unwavering.

Hand in hand, they sat beneath the oak tree, basking in the warmth of their bond and the quiet beauty of their imaginary world. In that fleeting moment, they were not just Calvin and the princess, but kindred spirits bound by a love that transcended reality itself.

lotusbl0ck, signing off!

[intheticklecloset]

Hihihi I just wanna say happy you’re back and love your all that you write but was wondering if you could do lee akutagawa and ler dazai with ribs. If not that’s completely ok and thank you for taking the time to read this I hope you have a great day❤️❤️

Ahhh I'm very late filling this request but I was so happy to get it and work on it! Thank you so much for the opportunity to write for these two! I couldn't help but make it just a liiiiittle longer, hehe. 💖

~~~

For years, Akutagawa had craved Dazai’s attention.

At first it was just that – an acknowledgement of a job well done, a satisfied nod, a proud smile, literally anything that let Akutagawa know he was doing well in the eyes of his mentor.

But then Dazai left the Port Mafia, and the weretiger came along, and his desire for attention became something…more. Now he wasn’t satisfied with a simple “good job.” He wanted affection. A hug, a ruffle of his hair, a pat on the back. Something physical. Something that would help satisfy his craving for the touch of another human.

But of all the things Akutagawa had had in mind, this most certainly was not one of them.

“I said ‘well done,’” Dazai told him with that tiny smile he reserved for when he was about to do something completely out of the blue. The brunette reached for him, and Akutagawa flinched on instinct. “What more you do want?”

“Anything,” Aku rasped, then cleared his throat and glanced away. “Never mind, Dazai. I’m grateful merely for the slightest attention from you.”

Dazai hummed. “Are you sure? Then why do you look like you want a hug?”

Akutagawa had to bite his lip to keep from gasping at the idea. It wasn’t that he was attracted to his former boss in that kind of a way – the universe had seen to it that the weretiger be the sole recipient of that honor – but the thought that he might actually get something so personal from the man he’d long admired was…well, overwhelming.

“No?” Dazai asked when Aku took too long to respond. “Then…maybe something else?”

Akutagawa finally dragged his eyes up to look at him. “Like what?”

There was that tiny glint of mischief. Aku barely had time to register it before Dazai was suddenly very much in his personal space, and the terrible, overwhelming urge to laugh rose up in him. He slapped a hand over his mouth in horror, his brain taking a few extra seconds to process why such an absurd idea would even cross his mind.

Dazai’s fingers were deep in his ribs. He was tickling him.

Shit.

“Wait!” Akutagawa’s voice was pleading, though he didn’t mean for it to be. His lips trembled as he fought off a smile. “Wahahahahait, no!”

“Atsushi says you have dimples,” Dazai commented casually, eyes scanning his features, looking disappointed that he couldn’t see any.

Blast that weretiger for ratting him out, and blast Akutagawa’s stupid pride that he couldn’t even stand disappointing Dazai even in this way.

He let himself give in and smile – really smile – just long enough for Dazai to exclaim, “Oh, you do have dimples! How adorable~”

“Stohohohohop!” Aku begged, raspy laughter escaping his lips as he squirmed. “Unhahahahand me at once!”

Dazai nodded sagely. “Atsushi told me you’d say that. Those exact words, even. ‘Unhand me.’”

“Dazahahahahai!”

“Buuuuut…” the brunette grinned playfully and wrapped his arms around Aku’s waist, further trapping him and tickling the backs of his ribs all in one move, making the younger man’s laughter rise in pitch. “He also told me you didn’t mean it~”

Akutagawa was going to kill the weretiger one day. A slow, torturous, painful death. But in the meantime, he had to find a way out of this predicament.

“Dahahahahahazai…!”

[antichilde]

margin of error: part 3

satoru gojo x fem reader, 3.0k words mdni

in which gojo goes to dinner. twice.

contents: teaching assistant!gojo, student!reader, no curses, college au, slight age difference (gojo is 20, you are a couple years older), he falls first, no smut (for now)

notes: i went back and edited a few things in this chapter (again) because i wasn't super happy with it. thank you to everyone who's stuck with me for this; your likes and comments mean more than i could ever put into words. (image citation)

part one | part two | part four | part five | read on ao3

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Gojo says, half shouting over the music. The party’s in full swing, and his and Geto’s shared apartment is already packed with people. 

“Uh-huh. Sure.” You take another swig from the red solo cup in your hand. “So you didn’t specifically ask Suguru to invite me?”

To his credit he barely reacts to the accusation, taking a sip of Hi-C and looking at you with wide, innocent eyes. “You and Suguru are friends. I don’t know why you think I’d have to ask him to invite you.”

Pulling out your phone, you unlock it and open your texts with Geto. After a moment of scrolling you turn and show him the screen. 

suguroo: You’re coming on Friday right? Satoru keeps asking

“Traitor,” he mutters as you shut the phone off and shove it back into your pocket. He eyes your outfit. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, just jeans and a sweatshirt.

“You could’ve just asked me yourself,” you say, leaning close enough for him to hear.

He looks down at you, his eyes half lidded, and wonders if this is finally you giving in. “Would you have said yes?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you think for a minute. “No, probably not. I’m not much of a party person— I only came because Suguru bribed me with dinner.”

“ I could take you to dinner.” 

Gojo hates the little edge of bitterness buried in the words. Jealousy has never been his style; the feeling is both unpleasant and unfamiliar. 

“You could,” you acknowledge, nodding. “But only if you help me study for midterms. And if you pay.”

There’s no hesitation in Gojo’s answer. 

“Done.” 

You smile at him, humming what he thinks might be a laugh though it’s far too loud to tell. His eyes flicker to your lips and he realizes that this is the first time you’ve smiled in front of him. He doesn’t comment on it, deciding not to fling himself into the metaphorical bear trap saying of  ‘you should smile more often’. Somehow he doubts you’d appreciate that (though to be fair most women don’t), but the expression really does suit you. It’s a splash of color on a blank canvas, and he knows he shouldn’t be staring at your mouth so openly but he doesn’t want to look away.

“Hey, you made it!”

Geto seems to appear out of nowhere, making Gojo jump. He watches you give him a one armed hug, holding your drink to the side so as not to spill it. That’s interesting. Gojo wouldn’t have pegged you as a hugging type of person, but you don’t seem to mind. 

“Yeah, I did. How long did you say I had to stay?”

“Half an hour.”

Taking a sip, your eyes shift to the clock on the wall. “Only ten more minutes then. Is it okay if I crash in your room for a bit? It’s kind of overwhelming being around so many people.”

“Fine with me.” Geto shoots Gojo a semi-apologetic glance before shifting his attention back to you. “I’ll show you where it is.”

You turn to Gojo, leaning closer again so that you don’t have to shout. He’s glad the music’s loud enough to mask his little intake of breath when you brush up against him. 

“See you later, Gojo. I’ll message you about dinner.” 

“Looking forward to it,” he says, managing to keep his voice level.

And then you’re gone, your fingers catching the fabric of Geto’s sleeve to keep from getting separated in such a crowded space. Gojo finishes off his Hi-C like it’s a shot of something strong, eyes lingering on the spot where you’d been a moment before. Despite Suguru’s denial of there being anything going on between you and him, Gojo can’t help but take note of how comfortable the two of you are with each other. It’s probably just paranoia, if he’s being honest with himself. Plus you had just agreed to let him take you out. It’s not quite a date, but Gojo allows himself to feel optimistic.

It’s almost two weeks later, and Gojo’s optimism is long gone. He clicks his pen a couple times, trying and failing to focus on yet another poem he’s been assigned to annotate. Across the table Geto types away on his laptop, drafting an essay.

“Any word on that date?” he asks through a mouthful of trail mix. 

No, there’s been no word. Gojo has come to the unfortunate conclusion that you really are hard to pin down. He sees you a few times a week during office hours, but he has yet to raise the subject, worried that you’ll back out all together if he presses too hard. 

Reaching across the table, Gojo steals a fallen raisin. He pops it into his mouth and grimaces at the taste. “Ugh, gross, I hate dried fruit. Why are you even eating that stuff?”

“I could ask you the same question. Why’d you take some if you know you hate it?” Geto pauses to pick out a blue M&M, passing it to Gojo. “There. That’ll get the taste out of your mouth. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you haven’t heard anything about the date, judging by your not-so-subtle attempt at changing the subject.”

Sometimes Gojo hates having a best friend, especially one that can read him like a fucking book. It doesn’t help that he’d been so sure of himself when he’d talked to Geto the morning after the party, barging into his room at an ungodly hour to brag about what he’d believed was an assured victory. Now, of course, he’s paying the price for his hubris. 

“It’s not that she hasn’t gotten back to me yet,” Gojo says, tapping his pen against his lips as he chooses his words carefully. “It’s that she said she wants to study for midterms, and they’re still a few weeks away. No one starts studying weeks in advance.”

As he says it, Gojo wonders how true that statement is. He doesn’t really know much about other people’s academic habits, since he’s never needed to study. 

“Ah, so it’s a study date. Interesting.”

Shit. That’s right. He’d been careful not to reveal that information when he’d first spoken to Geto about his plans to meet up with you. 

“A study date is still a date,” he says defensively. “And we’re getting dinner.”

“No, you’re getting dinner. That was one of the terms, if I remember correctly.” Checking the time on his phone, Geto frowns. “Speaking of which, aren’t you meeting up with someone tonight?”

Gojo stretches, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, I am. I should get dressed.”

He stands, not bothering to put his papers away, and heads to his room to change out of his sweats. Even Gojo, vain as he is, doesn’t need a full hour to get ready, but he’ll take any opportunity to ditch his Creative Writing homework.

The girl he’s meeting up with, Manami, goes to a technical college a couple towns over. He’d met her through Geto sometime last year, and though they’ve hooked up a couple times since then it’s never been anything serious. Not for Gojo, at least. 

“You look nice tonight,” he says as they take their seats, openly appraising her. 

“Thank you,” she says, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “I wanted to get a little dressed up for you.”

He’s got a flirtatious reply ready on his tongue, leaning forwards just enough to murmur it in her ear, but as he opens his mouth to speak he catches a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. 

Oh no. Oh no. Karmic punishment strikes again. 

You’re here. In the restaurant. With him. And his date that isn’t you. 

It looks like you’re getting ready to leave, the rest of your group still collecting their belongings. Gojo doesn’t know the people you were out with, but he feels jealousy flare in his chest even though he has no right to. Manami is looking at him, confused, and with a concentrated effort he turns his attention back to her. 

“Everything okay?” she asks, and Gojo realizes he’s still leaning forwards. He sits back, pushing his glasses up his nose. He doesn’t really need them in the restaurant’s low lighting, but he has no intention of letting her see where his eyes are. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. What were we talking about?”

“I was saying I got dressed up for you.”

He smiles, though behind his glasses his eyes are still fixed on you. “That’s right. You look beautiful.”

She seems a little put out, turning her attention to the menu, and Gojo finds himself grateful for the reprieve. You’re coming this way, though he’s sure you still haven’t spotted him, too focused on winding your way between the cramped tables. Fuck, at this rate you’re going to pass right by him. Gojo picks up a cocktail menu, pretending to study it like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen as he tracks you out of the corner of his eye. 

You’re only a few feet away when you recognize him. From this angle you can see over the top of his glasses, so it’s not like he can even feign ignorance. 

“Oh, hey Gojo.”

Your voice is as unreadable as ever. He tries to relax, pushing his glasses up to rest them on the top of his head. Manami looks up, narrowing her eyes at your sudden appearance. She’s clearly suspicious, something which is not helped by the fact that you look stunning tonight.

“Hi,” he says, trying not to sound like he’s panicking, which he definitely is. “How’ve you been?”

You give him an odd look, and he swears inwardly because why is he asking how you’ve been when he just saw you yesterday. Your eyes flick over to Manami, who’s still staring you down. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were out with someone. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Dread washes over him as you exchange introductions. This is the last thing he needs, not when he feels like he’s finally started to make progress with you. There’s no way you’ll want to go out now— not when you know he’s seeing other people. Except you really don’t seem to care, greeting her much more warmly than you had greeted Gojo. You even go so far as to smile at her and politely inquire about where she goes to school. 

What the fuck. It had taken him a solid month to get a smile out of you, and here you are chatting it up with the competition like you’re old friends. His dread begins to shift into irritation, though he does his best to push it from his mind.

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” you say, nodding to Manami as you prepare to go. “Have a good night.”

He searches your face as you turn to him, desperate to find any trace of jealousy. Of disappointment. Of something , at the very least. But no, you’re an empty canvas as usual, and then you’re gone before he can even do more than say goodbye.

“She seems nice.” Manami’s outright suspicion has subsided, but she’s still watching him warily. “How do you know each other?”

“I tutor her in biology,” he says, shrugging. “And before you ask, that’s not a euphemism.”

She laughs, and some of the tension dissipates. “Don’t worry, I didn’t think so. I doubt she’s your type.”

I doubt she’s your type. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“Why do you say that?” He tries to keep his tone light, propping his cheek on his palm and looking at her across the table. Manami’s smile falters.

“Don’t you think she’s a little… I don’t know. Dull?” She passes a hand across her face a couple times. “Blank, you know?”

“She smiled at you,” he points out. He knows he’s digging himself into a hole here, but he’s not ready to put down the shovel quite yet. 

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, and? Anyone can fake a smile. My guess is she was just jealous, trying to play it off like she doesn’t care.” Pausing, she takes a sip of her water. “Plus, she’s not even that pretty.”

It’s at this point that Gojo mentally checks out of the conversation, before the red at the corners of his vision makes him say something he’ll regret. He can excuse the comment about your appearance; that one’s easy enough to attribute to envy. It’s the other thing she’d said, the thing about you being blank, that bothers him the most. It’s not like she knows you or how rare your smiles are, or how hard Gojo’s had to work just to catch a glimpse of one, but it still pisses him off because you’d clearly been making an effort to be friendly. 

At the end of the night, before they part ways, Manami invites him back to her place. He declines with all the civility he can muster, and blocks her before he’s even gotten home.

thegirlreadingthis99: Dinner tonight?

Gojo clutches his phone to his chest as he thinks, biting his lip and staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Would it look desperate for him to answer your message right away? He hasn’t actually opened it yet, conscious of the read receipt that will show up once he does. Ah, fuck it. You’re already well aware of his intentions, so what’s the harm in looking a little desperate?

pretty_blue_eyes: Sure. Do you still want to study for midterms?

He swipes away when he sees you’ve read the message, again letting the phone rest on his chest while he waits for a reply. 

thegirlreadingthis99: Yeah

thegirlreadingthis99: [external link] Does this work for you?

It’s the address for a local restaurant, nothing too fancy. 

pretty_blue_eyes: You don’t want to go somewhere nicer? It’s on me remember

thegirlreadingthis99: No this is fine

He sighs, stretching an arm up towards the ceiling. Gojo likes the idea of spending money on you. And he wants this to feel like a date, even if he knows it technically isn’t one. So he showers and picks a nice outfit for himself, careful to choose clothes that could pass for everyday wear but err on the side of formal. It’s cool out, and the last rays of sunlight are still struggling to pierce a heavy blanket of clouds as he slips out of his apartment. By the time he gets to the restaurant it’s beginning to drizzle, though not enough to warrant digging the umbrella out of his bag. He pauses under the awning, brushing away a few stray drops, and pulls the door open. 

You’re not hard to spot, half buried in notes and textbooks. Gojo skirts the hostess’ podium and makes his way over to your table, pulling out a chair across from you.

“You’re here,” you say, not looking up.

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“I wasn’t sure. It was kind of a last minute arrangement.” You pause to dig out a battered copy of the syllabus, sliding it across the table. “I highlighted the sections I’m having trouble with. It’s mostly stuff about enzymes. I feel pretty good about everything else.”

He blinks at you, surprised by the lack of pleasantries, but takes it in stride. By now he should’ve known not to expect any sort of small talk, but even so, he can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Excluding the party, this is the first time that you’ve met up in a non academic setting. Still, he did say he’d help you study, so he takes the paper without complaint. 

Your conversation stays mostly in the realm of your upcoming midterms. Gojo can tell you’ve gotten a lot more comfortable with the material— your semi-weekly visits to office hours have paid off. It’s only when the food arrives that you pause, shoving your textbook and notes aside to make room for the plates. 

“How did your date go?” you ask, carefully pouring dressing onto your salad. 

Gojo’s been expecting this question, but even so he has no idea what answer you want to hear. The truth is probably the best way to go, he thinks, remembering your comment about his eyes giving him away. His glasses are folded on the table beside him and it would look suspicious for him to put them on now. 

“I definitely wouldn’t call it a success,” he says, and you frown.

“I’m sorry. She seemed nice.”

He knows he should be annoyed by your lack of jealousy. It’s not the best reaction, but it’s the one that should come naturally right now. Instead, he remembers what Manami had said about you and feels hurt on your behalf. You’re back to your blank expression, and Gojo wonders how hard you’d had to push yourself to smile at her and add some enthusiasm to your voice. He’d always assumed that your lack of emotion was a mask you donned to keep him out, or perhaps to feign disinterest, but the more time he spends with you the more he realizes that the opposite is true. This is who you are: blank, yes, but not unfeeling. When he’d walked you back to your dorm you’d told Gojo that you didn’t trust him, and yet here you are showing him a part of yourself that not everyone gets to see.

“Gojo?” you ask, and he blinks as he breaks away from his thoughts. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I guess I spaced out there for a second.”

So you don’t trust him, but you’re willing to drop your guard around him (to a certain extent, at least). That’s a contradiction he can accept, and maybe even be happy with.

[tenebraevesper]

Sonic Cyber Revolution, Entry 40: The Spy and the Network

''Waking up, breaking out - this is what it's like to be free. Rip it up, tear it down - this is what it means to be free. Jet sounds a distant roar behind you, as you try to clear your head. You start to look and answers find you, your inner purpose lies ahead.''

– Waking Up by Shadow the Hedgehog

xXxXxXx

''…so most people are not going to trust you. Well, mainly you Shadow, but I don't think they'll feel comfortable around you either, Touka,'' Rouge said. She had given them a tour through the main building, although this time, Touka and Shadow listened to what she had to say, especially since she explained to them how this place worked and what they could expect from their supposed co-workers. ''These people do not like to work alongside Irregulars, even if ARMS focuses on it. There is a strong distrust between both humans and Irregulars.''

''We're not here to make allies,'' Shadow stated sternly.

''I'm sorry, honey, but if you want to get out of here, you will have to act friendly. That's the only way to make people talk and gather information,'' Rouge replied, furrowing a brow. ''If you make them suspicious of you, it will make things only more troublesome for us.''

''Hmph.''

''I hate to say it, Shadow, but Rouge is right,'' Touka said. ''There isn't much that we can do, but we need to make sure to stay out of trouble. We will have to rely on outside help.''

''Speaking of which, I bet you two are getting hungry. Do you even know where the canteen is?'' Rouge asked. Shadow rose an eyebrow, wondering what was up with the change in topic, while Touka shrugged, feeling a bit hungry. The woman from earlier did mention a canteen, but again, neither of the two payed attention. ''I figured. Good thing I led you here then, and I hope you remember your way.''

She then opened the door behind them, showing off the canteen that was filled with people and ARNavs, either talking or eating breakfast. Feeling a bit resigned, Touka and Shadow followed Rouge to get their breakfast and found a free table at a corner, sitting down. Rouge then gave them a curious look, lowering her voice to a whisper so only the siblings could hear her.

''So, have you noticed?'' she asked.

''You mean, the Irregulars?'' Shadow asked. Rouge gave him the slightest of nods, furrowing an eyebrow.

''They don't look too aggressive,'' she commented, her eyes flickering to a nearby Irregular that walked past them. Touka and Shadow had indeed taken note of the fact that the Irregulars appeared to be more languid, constantly staring off into space with their huge empty eyes. They walked and ate in a rigid manner, as if someone put them on autopilot, barely acknowledging the other people in the room. Touka felt a little unnerved by them.

''What happened to them?'' she asked Rouge.

''These Irregulars are the ones captured by the Irregular Hunters and hauled off to this place. You both know just how aggressive a typical Irregular can get when exposed to BioEnergy,'' Rouge gave them a pointed look. ''Well, here, they had finally figured a way out to curb their aggressiveness by essentially lobotomizing them.'' She noted Touka and Shadow's shocked looks. ''I don't know the details, but I do know that they found a way to erase any kind of emotional response, turning the Irregulars into obedient zombies. No sense of emotion, no sense of desire, no aggression.''

''That's awful,'' Touka said, feeling pity for the Irregulars.

''I wouldn't feel too sorry for them. These Irregulars killed people for their BioEnergy,'' Rouge responded. ''The only reason they didn't do the same to me was because I could be negotiated with and didn't show any sign of aggressiveness.'' She then glanced at Shadow. ''What do you think, Shadow? You're being really silent.''

''They wanted to do the same to me,'' Shadow replied in an even tone.

''What?!'' Rouge hissed in surprise, while Touka just stared at him, quite disheartened.

''In the last log that was written before the Codex Research Facility had shut down for good, the Professor mentioned how my emotional response in a situation of great duress was flawed, making me imperfect as a weapon. If he had more time, he would've removed those inhibitions, and I believe he wanted to do this right after he lied to me that Touka died during our encounter with that Irregular,'' Shadow explained.

''That's horrible,'' Rouge said, clearly feeling concern for Shadow, only to be surprised when he shook his head.

''It doesn't matter. As you and Touka had pointed out, we won't be a target as long as we act accordingly,'' he replied, calmly sipping the coffee he brought along, only to scowl when he realized that it tasted weird. He figured it was just a different brand from the one he usually used. Rouge kept staring at him for a moment, wondering just how he managed to remain this calm in such a bleak situation, but then quickly moved on.

''Right,'' she muttered. ''In any case, let's just hope that the Commander will go along with the team up idea.''

xXx

''We need to find a way to get Touka and Shadow back,'' Lucas said, having just explained everything to the rest of the team. Speaking of said team, their reactions ranged from shocked to intrigued.

''Yeah, you're right, but first of all, we're being spied on? Well, that explains that the van that had been following me and Amy,'' Minami said. ''I thought we were about to get kidnapped.''

''We got lucky. Bennet spotted the van outside our property and just told them they're on camera and he'll be calling the police if they don't leave,'' Lily said.

''Even if they attempted to get sneak inside the mansion, they would've fallen into our traps,'' Knuckles added.

''Lucky you, we had to deal with the ARMS van following us towards Lucas and Sonic's house,'' Warren said.

''At least you are living close to each other. We've been followed from Eden through Westoru to Eas until I flew myself and Makoto over,'' Silver replied, glancing at Minami and Amy. ''What about you two?''

''Minami managed to get rid off the van for both of us,'' Amy replied, only to fold her arms across her chest as she shot Minami a pointed look. ''You're a menace to society.''

Minami playfully stuck out her tongue, winking at Amy. ''They had it coming.''

''What did you do?'' Sonic asked.

''Oh, I simply made a ruckus, screaming how there is a black van following me and begging people to call the cops. One woman even offered to do it and the van drove off,'' Minami replied, a devious grin spreading on her lips. Amy just sighed, facepalming.

''Once again, you're a menace,'' Amy said.

''Thanks for the compliment,'' Minami replied proudly. ''After all, I'm quite a skilled actor and my specialty are crocodile tears.''

''Speaking of which, how come all of you guys came here?'' Lucas asked. ''I only asked Warren to pay a visit.''

''There is no way you would write something elaborate like that and expect us not to question it,'' Lily said, folding her arms across her chest.

''There is no Sonic Adventure 2 mod like that. I checked,'' Minami said, placing her hands on her hips.

''I just went along with everyone else's responses,'' Makoto said, shrugging. Lucas sighed in exasperation, while Warren and the Irregulars just chuckled in amusement at the responses.

''Nevertheless, I only wanted Warren and Tails to be here since I was afraid that we might get into trouble if we have a meeting right after Touka and Shadow vanished,'' Lucas explained. ''As I had already told you, the reason I wrote the message was because I was afraid ARMS is monitoring our communication.''

''Using a coded message like that is a smart idea,'' Knuckles commented.

''Right, and since I'm fairly certain that everyone here wants to get Touka and Shadow back, I had realized that we need to come up with a proper plan,'' Lucas replied. ''Unfortunately, we have a bunch of obstacles we need to deal with first, the communication part first.''

''Well, we could continue using the Sonic Adventure 2 as a code,'' Lily suggested, but Lucas shook his head.

''No, we can't. We need to establish a better method of communication,'' he replied. ''It's going to be hard to discuss plans like that.''

Warren hummed, placing his hand under his chin. ''Well, I suppose it would be possible to establish a private communication network. However, given how we're dealing with military agents, they probably have the tech to hack into that as well. We would need to find another way.''

''I'm certain that we will figure it out,'' Tails said.

''Thanks, but that would be just the start. We would need to figure out how to get into contact with Touka and Shadow,'' Lucas replied, glancing at Sonic.

''I had called both of them, but I couldn't reach either. Shadow didn't answer his call, and when I tried to call Touka, I was blocked,'' Sonic explained.

''It is possible that ARMS took Touka's AR Visor to block any number, but what about Shadow? You said that he just didn't answer your call,'' Tails asked, with Sonic nodding. ''Maybe that means that Shadow still has access to his own AR Visor. If that's true, Warren and I would be able to contact them.''

''That's great!'' Sonic said.

''It would take some time, though,'' Tails quickly added, turning to Lucas. ''Do you have any other plans?''

''Other than wait until we get into contact with the two? Unfortunately, no,'' Lucas replied, much to the disappointment of others, especially Sonic. ''Here is the deal. We barely knowing anything about our situation, and we don't know what Touka and Shadow are dealing with. We need more information from the other side to find a way to work around this rather than recklessly rushing into action.''

''Okay, I get it, but can't we just-'' Sonic was cut off by Lucas.

''I'm sorry, but we literally cannot do anything here. We don't have access to any way to discuss plans, we don't know where the ARMS HQ is and we don't know what Touka and Shadow's situation is. We literally cannot do anything until we get some proper information,'' he replied, with Sonic's ears drooping.

He was ready to get into action, but hearing that all they could do was to sit around and wait for a better opportunity didn't sit well with him. He wanted to be proactive, not do nothing. However, he knew that Lucas was right and he trusted his partner's judgement, but it was still quite frustrating to be forced to wait.

''Sonic, listen,'' Amy started, drawing Sonic's attention to her. ''We all know that you're worried about Shadow and Touka, and we're worried about them to. Believe me, I'd love to slam down the door at the ARMS HQ and get them out right this instant.''

''Despite that, recklessly charging into action will not only put us into danger, but Shadow and Touka as well. As the leader of this team, Lucas has made his point and we should listen to him, and wait until we get a better opportunity,'' Knuckles added.

''Besides, Shadow and Touka are capable of their own, aren't they?'' Silver said. ''They will definitely try to find their own way out.''

That was a statement everyone agreed with. They knew that Shadow was someone who could handle himself in a dangerous situation, and being with Touka made him even more powerful thanks to Chaos Surge. They would be able to stand on their own, at least until the rest of Team Neos could find a way to help them out.

''Yeah, you're right…'' Sonic agreed, with his attention wandering back to Lucas who still had a thoughtful look on his expression. It was clear that something still bothered him. ''Lucas?''

''Honestly, there is something that I don't understand,'' Lucas said, leaning against the couch. ''ARMS should know that Shadow is an Irregular, and they know that we are friends with Shadow and Touka and they sent these people to spy on us. This begs the question – do they know that you guys are also Irregulars?''

''What?''

His teammates were staring at him in silence, unsure how to answer this question. They all thought that they were being followed because of their connection to Shadow and Touka, not because they had other Irregulars in the group.

''How would that be even possible?'' Makoto asked. ''We all know that the program Tails implemented in the AR Visor works.''

''Yeah, Makoto's right,'' Sonic added, remembering his own encounter with the Irregular Hunters.

''Right, we know this works because Tails made that programming to counter the scanners the Irregular Hunters use, but if ARMS had observed us in these past weeks, they'd probably pick up on some atypical ARNav behavior,'' Lucas replied.

''You mean, like eating food or being able to stay outside AR Fields for much longer than they should,'' Minami pointed out.

''We had all figured that people wouldn't notice it, and obviously, they wouldn't, because that is not widely known information, but ARMS would probably be aware of it,'' Lily added.

''Not to mention our fights with Dr. Eggman,'' Makoto added.

''There is even more to it,'' Lucas continued.

''More?''

''Yeah. Now, we all know what Touka and Shadow are capable of. They could've returned home immediately with a snap of Chaos Control if they wanted to, but they didn't. I sincerely doubt that they would stay at ARMS out of their own free will. So, why didn't they come back?'' Lucas asked. A sense of dread filled the room.

''So, you think they're being forced to stay there in some way?'' Warren suggested.

''Yeah… and it might have something to do with us,'' Lucas stated, feeling a chill down his spine, and he knew that his friends felt the same. ''It is possible that ARMS has threatened that they would hurt us in some way, maybe expose Sonic and the others as Irregulars. Whatever it is, ARMS made sure that we are completely cut off from each other. They are not going to let them go so easily.''

There was a moment of silence as everyone contemplated the situation, with Sonic breaking it, smiling softly, ''Heh, and to think Shads never liked the idea of having friends or teammates. I can see his point in this situation.''

''Sonic…'' Amy attempted to reach out for him to comfort him, but Sonic shook his head, giving her and everyone else a confident smile.

''Let's then focus on the now, then. I guess it will take a while, but we'll be able to help them return,'' he stated, reigniting the confidence in his friends. He did take note of the weird look Lucas gave him, but he just smiled back, now more self-assured.

Everything would be fine.

xXx

Warren took a deep breath, him and Tails working in at the Taylor Workshop on their respective computers and trying to figure out how to establish a safe communication network without ARMS noticing. It was quite a challenging task for them, especially given how their own resources were limited. Granted, they were quite skilled when it came to technology and inventing stuff, but Warren felt that the only thing they could do was to just launch their own satellite into the atmosphere to achieve their goal, and that was the one thing they couldn't do.

''All of these servers are open to the public… well, I guess we could create our own app and put up enough firewalls, maybe even hide our IP by creating dummy accounts, leave a false trail… agh, that's too complicated!'' Warren groaned, ruffling his hair as he felt as if his head was about to explode.

Being childhood friends with Lucas, he was used to his cautious nature, but this bordered on pure paranoia. However, at the same time, he understood why Lucas acted like this, as they weren't just dealing with an Irregular or even Dr. Eggman. No, they were dealing with a branch of military that was approved by the government and the last thing Warren wanted to do was to get arrested or worse. They were putting themselves into danger for Touka and Shadow's sake, and while the easy way out would be to just write them off, the entirety of Team Neos refused to do that. Touka and Shadow were their friends and they weren't going to leave them hanging.

''Maybe you should take a break,'' Tails, who was sitting on a chair next to him, suggested. He too looked tired, but was still working diligently alongside Warren.

''And leave you work on your own? No way,'' Warren replied, shaking his head.

''Then you could at least take a walk and ask your mum for more mint chocolate chip cookies,'' Tails pointed at the nearly empty plate. Warren chuckled at the young fox's obsession with any mint-flavored food, figuring that he could at least do that.

However, as he stood up, the scanner on their computer alerted them to a strange signal. He and Tails exchanged glances, wondering what they had found, as they had enhanced their computer to find more communication networks and servers they could use for cover. They covered almost all of the public ones, but this one was new.

''Let's see…'' Tails muttered, typing away on the keyboard. Suddenly, on the screen appeared the logo of The Eggman Empire. ''What the-?!''

''I think we somehow managed to track down the EggNet,'' Warren said, just as shocked as Tails when they both saw the result. He then paused for a moment. ''Wait, would it be possible…''

''You mean, that you want to use the EggNet to communicate with our teammates? What about Eggman?! I don't want him to know what happened, let alone listen to our plans,'' Tails asked, alarmed.

''What if we manage to kick him off the EggNet?'' Warren countered, with Tails rasing his eyebrow, giving him a doubtful look. ''Yeah, you're right, this is not going to happen. Nevertheless, depending on how tight Eggman's security is, we might be able to create a private server on the EggNet and making sure he get in. I sincerely doubt that ARMS even knows about the EggNet's existence.''

''I hope that you're right,'' Tails said in resignation. ''I suppose Dr. Eggman is the lesser evil of the two, and even if he gets into our chat room, we would still have the administrative authority to kick him out.''

''Exactly!'' Warren nodded, with both getting to work. While they had gained access to the EggNet, they still needed to infiltrate it and create a safe space that would serve as Team Neos' private chat room. Both were ready to use everything they had for the infiltration process… but surprisingly, getting into the EggNet didn't appear to be too difficult, aside from some minor obstacles. ''Huh, we need a password here to access the main server.''

''Do you want to do some guesswork or…?'' Tails started, with Warren narrowing his eyes.

''Wait, let me try something…'' he muttered, typing in something. ''I swear to God, if this guy's password is…''

ACCESS GRANTED!

''Woah!''

''No way!''

Tails and Warren shocked when they realized that Warren's guess was correct. Both then started laughing uncontrollably, as Tails had seen what Warren guessed to be the password. As it turns out, the password to Eggman's computer network was ''H4T3TH4TH3DGEH0G''.

''I swear I had no idea this would work. I knew about his because Dr. Eggman in the manga had used it,'' Warren explained, wiping a tear.

''I suppose Eggman is just that predictable,'' Tails said, still chuckling, but managed to regain his composure. ''Alright, let's get to…''

''Prower! Taylor! What are you doing in my EggNet?!''

Both Warren and Tails were startled when Dr. Eggman's face suddenly showed up on their screen, almost falling off their chairs. Clearly, their attempts at infiltration didn't go unnoticed.

''I'm sorry Doctor, but this is an emergency and we need to use the EggNet,'' Warren replied, immediately starting his work by typing furiously on the keyboard.

''No you don't! Get off the EggNet this instant!'' Eggman growled furiously, but before he could say more, the screen suddenly closed, as Warren made sure to set up enough firewalls to prevent the doctor from accessing their private server.

''You know, Eggman really needs to invest more into IT… or come up with a better password,'' Tails commented, shaking his head at the situation.

''Yeah, but let's make sure we tell him after we don't need the EggNet anymore,'' Warren replied. ''The last thing we need is for Eggman to kick us off before we can finish our mission.''

xXx

Sonic took a deep breath as he sped down Cross Layer Highway, having decided to go for a run after the meeting. Unlike Lucas, he simply couldn't stay cooped up at their home, and while he understood that he couldn't do much at the moment, he needed to go outside and stretch his legs. It gave him something to do, a temporary reprieve of everything that was going on, and he was certain that there was no way that ARMS would be able to track him like this. He needed this sense of freedom, the exhilarating thrill of knowing that he could go anywhere he desired.

He actually found himself on the highway towards Mikado City, having gone past Infinity Forest and the borders of Neos City, and he knew if he continued, he could easily reach the other side of Starpoint Area and visit other countries, exploring the wide world all on his own. This was something he genuinely enjoyed, the freedom to go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and no one could stop him. He trusted this feeling, embraced the sensation and entered a new adventure.

However, instead of allowing his insticts to take over, Sonic skidded to a halt and entered a nearby open field, getting up on the top of a highway billboard, then turned back to the highway as he sat down and observed the cars passing by him. He knew that, while he could go anywhere he desired, he would always return back to his friends, especially since he knew that there was a new adventure on the horizon.

''Com'n, it'll be fun!''

''So, you want us to use Cross Layer Highway as our personal racing track, ignoring the fact that there is traffic there?''

''Heh… well, nothing happened… so far. I'm sure things will be fine. Besides, don't tell me that you're afraid of a bit of traffic.''

''Hmph. You'll be eating my dust.''

''You'll have to catch me first!''

Sonic chuckled at the memory of him convincing Shadow to go on a race on Cross Layer Highway. The dark hedgehog clearly had some reservations about racing in an area with so much traffic, but after a bit of banter, he accepted the challenge. It was fun overall, both weaving across the highway and trying to outspeed each other. It was an activity both enjoyed to the fullest, with Sonic even spotting Shadow smirking at him whenever he got ahead. The blue hedgehog then shook his head, feeling a sense of hollowness in his chest.

''Great, Shadow hasn't been gone even for a day and I already miss him,'' he grumbled. ''Admittedly, this is different than him going off somewhere on his own. This time, no one knows if he and Touka will return.'' He then grimaced, getting up, still balancing on the top of the billboard. ''Oh, what am I talking about, of course he'll come back. It's Shadow! There's nothing that can slow that guy down!''

Satisfied with this sudden burst of faith and confidence, Sonic smiled, only to get a message from Tails on his AR Visor. At first, he gave it a suspicious look, well aware that the team wasn't supposed to communicate like it, but he still opened the screen, only to find an URL link next to a message that said ''Sonic Adventure 2 Mod''. Curious and trusting Tails, he opened the link, only for the holographic screen to crackle and flash red, and Sonic was shocked to see The Eggman Empire logo appear on it.

''Tails, what did you…?'' Sonic trailed off when the logo disappeared and Tails' face appeared on the screen.

''So, you got my message! Great!'' Tails exclaimed.

''Uh, what did you do, little bro? Why did I see Egghead's mugshot on my screen?'' Sonic asked.

''The link you used is an app that directly connects you to the private chat room on the EggNet. That way, we don't have to worry about ARMS spying in on our conversations,'' Tails explained.

''Wait, the EggNet?'' Sonic was both surprised and impressed that his little brother thought of using Dr. Eggman's private computer network for communication. ''Won't Eggman know what you've done?''

''Oh, he already does, but we managed to restrict his access to the chat room,'' Tails explained. ''Warren is sending out the links to the rest of the group. Let's hope that Shadow will open his.''

''I'm sure that he will,'' Sonic replied, grinning happily. ''Should I stop by at the Workshop?''

''No, you don't have to,'' Tails replied. ''Just keep an eye out for Shadow contacting us.''

''Will do!'' Sonic did a two-finger salute, feeling quite optimistic about their situation, with Tails then vanishing from the screen.

xXx

''You want Agent Rouge as part of your team?'' Commander Williams rose an eyebrow at the demand Touka just made. The teenage girl seemed to have prepared a whole speech about why she wanted Rouge to team up with her and Shadow, mainly pointing out how Rouge had more experience than them and was willing to help them out since they were going to stay at ARMS. Commander Williams wondered what was up with the insistence, but then realized that this would actually solve a completely different issue he was dealing with. ''Fine. You can form a team. I've been already searching for a volunteer to accompany Agent Rouge, but I suppose I can grant you this request.''

Touka was fidgeting for a moment, only to straighten her back, giving the Commander a firm look. ''Yes sir, I do have one more request.'' She noted his questioning look, but when he didn't say anything, she continued, ''I need a hoverboard.'' The Commander gave her a look of surprise, with Touka quickly adding, ''Rouge can fly and Shadow uses his air shoes for travelling. If I want to keep up with them, I'd need a hoverboard. I'm quite skilled in using one and that would also solve the issue of what my mode of transportation would be during a mission.''

''If that's all, it can be arranged. You're dismissed,'' Commander Williams replied. Rouge saluted to the Commander, with Touka and Shadow following her example, then they left the office. Once they were away enough from it, Rouge clasped her hands in glee.

''I can't believe that it worked! This should make things way easier for us,'' she said.

''I suppose that the Commander is convinced that we will remain here, as Agents of ARMS,'' Shadow commented.

''We will… for the time being,'' Touka told the two as they walked back to the dorms. They still had to discuss the situation in private, as they needed to figure out how to get out of ARMS with the new information they had gotten. However, once back there, Shadow got a message on his AR Visor.

''This is from Tails,'' he said, opening the message. The message said ''Sonic Adventure 2 Mod'' with a link next to it. All three of them were confused by the link, as well as a little worried because, even if ARMS wasn't aware of Shadow having access to an AR Visor, that they still would notice something being off.

''Should we open the link?'' Rouge asked. ''It might be an important message from your friends.''

''Weren't you the one who said that ARMS monitors all communication here?'' Shadow responded in a deadpan tone, with Rouge giving him a pointed look. Both then glanced at Touka, as if expecting her to either give her input on the matter or just make the decision. She sighed.

''We'll take the risk,'' she said. Shadow then opened the link, with the trio being startled that they were greeted with The Eggman Empire logo, only for it to disappear and six separate monitors to open.

''Shadow!''

''Touka!''

''Finally!''

''It's great to see you again!''

''Where are you?''

''Are you okay?''

''What's the deal with ARMS?''

''Wait, Rouge?! What are you doing here?!''

Touka, Shadow and Rouge were all surprised by the sudden barrage of greetings and questions coming from the rest of Team Neos. Clearly, their teammates were relieved to see that they managed to contact their friends, but still Touka and Shadow did feel a bit overwhelmed when the questioning started. The only one who noticed Rouge's presence was Knuckles.

Suddenly, Lucas whistled loudly, drawing everyone's attention to him. ''Okay, slow down everyone! I'm sure Touka and Shadow – and Rouge – have also questions for us. We explain our side of the story, while you guys explain what had happened to you.''

''Yeah, I think that would be the better approach than playing 20 Questions,'' Touka replied in a dry tone.

''Well, to keep this short, we know that you two have been taken by ARMS, as Kisaki had told Sonic what had happened, and that we are all being observed by the organization. We didn't want to get into contact with you until we made sure we had a safe communication network, and as you probably noticed, Warren and Tails utilized the EggNet for that,'' Lucas explained. ''I suppose you, Touka, cannot use your AR Visor to call us, right?''

''Yeah, you're right. Fortunately, ARMS doesn't know Shadow has his own AR Visor, so they didn't search for one,'' Touka replied. ''As for our side of the story, well, since Kisaki told you already what had happened, I'll just fill you in on what we found out. ARMS is an abbreviation for Advanced Reconnaissance & Mission Support, and they're basically a military organization focused on fighting Irregular ARNavs all over Starpoint Area and using them for their own goals. Project Shadow was basically part of that goal, which is why they kidnapped me and Shadow, and they also know that you guys are also Irregulars.''

''Huh, so you were right about your assumption, Lucas,'' Sonic said, and when Touka, Shadow and Rouge gave him questioning looks, he added, ''We kinda talked about what happened and that was one of the conclusions.''

''Right, so… The only reason you guys aren't being dragged away as well is because the Commander decided blackmail us into becoming Agents of ARMS. We take a step out of line, you are done for,'' Touka added, a grim expression forming on her face. ''They also know about Sakamoto's death, but I don't believe that they know what really happened, nor that Shadow and I knew the truth before we got there. I also don't know how much ARMS knows about our adventures, specifically the battles with Dr. Eggman. We did manage to convince him to let us team up with Rouge.''

''How did you end up at ARMS?!'' Knuckles asked, still shocked to see his rival.

''It's a long story, but basically, they're keeping me here by force as well,'' Rouge replied, then smiled coyly. ''I have heard that you really missed me, Knuckie.''

Knuckles froze, a tint of pink spreading across his muzzle, only to huff in response. ''I was merely making sure that you are not up to something.''

''So, what do we do now?'' Makoto asked. ''Lucas said that we should first get into contact before we make up some kind of plan.''

Before anyone could say anything, another screen appeared, with a furious Dr. Eggman shouting, ''I told you get off the EggNet!''

''Not again! I thought that the firewalls would work,'' Warren grumbled.

''I would've gotten here faster if it weren't for those. Now get off the EggNet before I make you- Huh?'' Dr. Eggman paused for a moment, taking note of the logo on Touka's uniform. He frowned. ''Don't tell me that you teamed up with that pathetic ARMS organization.''

''What?! No!'' Touka replied, looking quite offended at the accusation. ''We got forced to be here.''

''How do you even know about ARMS, Doctor?'' Shadow asked.

''None of your business,'' Eggman replied offhandedly, adding, ''But, I will say, they've been keeping me busy by targeting my Egg Bases.''

''Well, that explains why you haven't launched an attack in the past week,'' Minami commented, folding her arms across her chest.

''Don't underestimate me! I could easily destroy you then and there, but even a genius like me needs some down time,'' Dr. Eggman told her. Minami just rolled her eyes.

''Wait a second,'' Lucas rose his voice, turning his attention towards Eggman. ''I know you're not going to share much information with us, but could you at least tell us just how problematic would it be for us to get Touka, Shadow and Rouge out of ARMS?''

Eggman gave him a curious look, grinning deviously. ''It is good to see that you're showing some common sense, Kinomoto. To answer your question, it will be impossible for you to save your friends. ARMS is not an organization to be taken lightly. You have no idea of the horrors they're capable of committing, all under the excuse of doing the right thing.''

''So, ARMS has done some shady stuff, haven't they?'' Lucas continued, his eyes narrowed. Eggman nodded, still grinning as he realized that Lucas was up to something. ''Would it be possible to use that information against them?''

''What?!''

''I mean, if Touka, Shadow and Rouge are essentially being held by force and blackmailed, then we could do the same to ARMS,'' Lucas continued, much to his friends' shock. Eggman, however, started laughing.

''Ho ho ho, if I knew that you could be this ruthless, Kinomoto, I would've invited you to join my empire,'' he said, quite enjoying watching the ongoing drama.

''I'm not interested,'' Lucas shot back in an irked tone. ''Also, I have a proposal for you too, Doctor.''

''I'm listening,'' Eggman responded, now suddenly interested in what the leader of Team Neos had to tell him.

''It appears that ARMS is our common enemy, so would you be willing to agree to a truce and allow us to use the EggNet until we achieve our goal?'' Lucas asked. ''Also, no Badnik attacks in the meantime.''

Eggman paused for a moment, thinking about the offer. ''Heh, why should I even agree to this? What do I get from this proposal?''

''Like I said earlier, ARMS is our common enemy, and you also said that they're attacking your Egg Bases. I assume that you would want them off your back as well,'' Lucas pointed out. Eggman hummed in thought.

''You're not wrong about that. I don't like having outsiders intrude into my game, especially when they have no place in it,'' Eggman replied, then nodded. ''Fine, I agree to your terms. However, you will only be using this space you have created within the EggNet. If you try to access any of my other private data, I'm kicking you out. I also won't attack Neos City as long as this trainwreck is ongoing. In return, however, you will give me information in regards to what ARMS is up to.''

Lucas frowned, being silent for a moment, then nodded. ''Fine. I agree to your terms, Doctor.''

''Good.'' With that said, Dr. Eggman turned his screen off.

Lucas, in turn, just took a deep sigh.

''Lucas, are you sure about this? I don't think it's a smart idea to team up with Dr. Eggman,'' Lily said.

''Honestly, I don't think that we have much of a choice now,'' Lucas replied, a tone of regret in his voice. ''I'm sorry for making this decision without consulting you guys, though.'' He glanced at Sonic. ''I guess that this wasn't my best idea…''

''Honestly, I wouldn't trust Eggman with my life, but I do believe that you made the right choice. We can handle Eggman and his attacks. ARMS is a completely different story,'' Sonic replied, then glanced at Shadow. ''What do you say, Shads? Are you up for the challenge?''

''Hmph, why are you even asking?'' Shadow replied, with Sonic shooting him a knowing smile.

''Okay, so, if we all agree, then here's what's going to happen next,'' Lucas started, taking a moment as everyone nodded in acknowledgement, then continued, ''Touka, Shadow and Rouge; you would need to find any information on ARMS that we can use. Anything that they wouldn't want to be leaked out to the public.''

''We will,'' Toula replied.

''That's not going to be easy, though. I've been here for a while and ARMS is quite protective of their data,'' Rouge replied.

''Take your time and make sure that you're safe,'' Lucas replied. ''We'll try to do whatever we can on our side.''

''Good luck guys!'' Silver rose his voice. ''We'll stay in contact, right?''

''Of course,'' Touka replied, exchanging glances with Shadow and Rouge as everyone said their goodbyes and the screens closed. ''I guess it's now our turn.''

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#Sonic Cyber Revolution (Masterlist)

[pastelwitchling]

Hi!! Love your work ! I wish ao3 would allow me to kudos the oneshot series more than once so I could give kudos everytime you post.

Anyways, IDK if you still take prompts, but if yes, what would be your take on: Liz finds out about Malec. Because we saw, Isobel,max, Maria and Kyle have a reaction but Liz went from not knowing to knowing.

***

                Liz started to notice something was going on when Michael came into the Crashdown one morning and ordered, “Waffles, please.”

                That was it. Waffles drenched in chocolate, caramel, and ice cream. That was what he’d asked for. And Liz had narrowed her eyes and frowned and wondered, but whatever, maybe he’d had a specific kind of sweet tooth that morning, so she let it go and forgot about it.

                Until a few days later when Alex came in for dinner and ordered a quesadilla. With extra hot sauce. Interesting . . .

                Alex took the to-go bag with a single glance at Liz and the barest of smirks. “You okay?”

                “Fine,” she dismissed, eying him. “Just . . . strange, is all.”

                “What’s strange?”

                “Nothing,” she said, eyes narrowing further. “Nothing.”

                Alex raised a brow, but his smirk widened. He seemed to know just what Liz was thinking, but refused to acknowledge it.

                “Okay. Good night.”

                “Night.” By the time Alex left the Crashdown, Liz’s eyes were narrowed so much that she could barely see anymore, but damn it, she held her resolve. Something was up, and she had a suspicion she knew what.

                But hey, if Alex and Michael weren’t willing to talk about it, Liz wouldn’t force them. So instead, she went to Isobel and demanded, “Are they dating?”

                Isobel, painting her nails on Max’s couch, nearly painted the back of her hand as she jumped, startled. “Who?”

                “You know who.”

                Isobel stared. “Is the sun getting in your eyes or something, why are they narrowed so much?”

                Liz plopped down on the couch, shoulders scrunched, knees pressed together. “You know, don’t you? You know everything about Michael and Alex, you’d know if they were dating before anyone.”

                “Oh,” she looked back down at her nails, “not really. Max is usually better about that. I still don’t think Alex has completely forgiven me for . . . well, I didn’t exactly discourage Michael from . . .” She huffed, annoyed. “Is there a reason you’re trudging up past guilt?”

                “I just can’t believe it,” Liz breathed, slumping against the couch and starting to smile. “They really did it? They’re dating? Those two together? They’re complete opposites!”

                “Yeah, but,” Isobel shrugged a shoulder, seemingly unable to help but smile herself, “it makes sense, doesn’t it? They really fit.”

                “Yeah,” she nodded, her smile widening. “Why’re they keeping it a secret though? This is great news!”

                “They’re not.”

                “Come again?”

                “They’re not keeping it a secret,” Isobel murmured. “It’s Alex, I think he just doesn’t talk about it because he’s a little insecure after everything. Especially around us, you know?”

                “No,” Liz frowned. “I don’t know. Why would Alex be insecure around me? I love him, he knows that.”

                Isobel met Liz’s gaze and sighed, returning her attention to her nails. “But we knew about his feelings for Michael.” Liz fell silent. “We knew, and we knew Michael loved him, and when we found out about the whole Maria thing . . . well, I egged Michael on and you egged Maria on, and from a certain lens, it starts to look like—”

                “We didn’t think Alex was good enough,” Liz finished in a single breath, appalled. “But . . . I mean, he’s got to know that’s not true. We just . . . we . . .”

                Isobel raised a brow, and Liz realized she couldn’t think of answer that didn’t insult Alex in some way. At the time, she’d only thought about making Maria feel better, not how it would impact Alex and what he might think of himself and their friendship if she played favorites. And she had.

                “Look, Alex never says anything about it,” Isobel shook her head, “but I can see it in his eyes every time I’m around. It’s like he’s convinced I secretly think Michael shouldn’t be dating him. Which is ridiculous, because I know how much they love each other, but . . . I don’t know. I thought I was supporting my brother when he was dating someone else, and now I think that the best way I could’ve supported him was to tell him to get his head out of his ass and go date the person he actually had feelings for. How could I be frustrated with the look on Alex’s face when I know I’m the one that put it there?”

                Liz slowly nodded, thoughts swarming. She fell limp on the couch, nearly upending Isobel’s pink nail polish.

                “Watch it, Ortecho, this stuff’s expensive!”

                Liz knew for a fact that Alex was home alone, which was why she was there. She didn’t want them to get interrupted, not for what she was planning to do.

                She knocked on Alex’s front door and stepped back. As soon as Alex opened it, and before he could voice the greeting she could see on the tip of his tongue, she blurted, “I love you. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I told Maria to go for it. No, that’s wrong, I knew what I was thinking, I was thinking that I should support my friend, but what I really should’ve done was stay out of it because I know now that you looked at it like some kind of betrayal to you and I don’t blame you for that at all. I shouldn’t have said what I said and I’m so sorry, Alex! If I could go back and change anything—well, there’s a lot I’d change actually, I don’t make the best decisions—but this is one of the big ones—”

                “Liz,” Alex calmly cut her off. “Breathe.”

                So Liz did, inhaling deeply and shakily. She realized she’d been playing with her hands and clenched them to fists at her side. “You’re so important to me,” she whispered. “No one suits Michael better than you, and my own boyfriend aside, you’re the best man I know. Michael should feel honored to have you.” She exhaled. “And I’m so sorry that I ever did anything that made you feel like you were anything less than a treasure.”

                Alex looked down, a small smile tugging at his lips. Finally, he said, “I know no one’s better for him than me. I’ve always known, no matter what happened between us, I knew we fit together.”

                It makes sense, doesn’t it? They really fit.

                The memory of Isobel’s words made her smile. “Yeah, you do.” She stepped forward. “I don’t know why I encouraged Maria. I should’ve told her to think about you. I should’ve thought about you, and . . . I didn’t. I’m sorry, Alex.”

                Alex nodded silently, his arms crossed and a sparkle in his eyes as if he was about to tell Liz that she was overreacting, that he wasn’t angry or disappointed at all, that there was no reason to apologize because there was nothing to forgive. That she’d been right to help push Michael in a different direction. And she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want one of her best friends to lie to her face because he thought he wasn’t worth fighting for or defending.

                She opened her mouth to say so when Alex smiled softly and said, “Thanks, Liz.”

                Liz heaved a shaky sigh, something like relief and a lot like love settling in her chest. “You’re welcome.”

                Alex seemed able to read her thoughts once again, and his smile widened, clearly amused now and a little lost as he scratched the back of his head.

“How’d you figure it out? That we were dating?”

“Are you kidding?” she couldn’t help but scoff. “You put freaking ice cream on your fries. There’s no way Michael’s ordering a sugar high for himself.” She shrugged. “That, and he looks happier than I even thought was possible for the brooding cowboy.”

They burst into laughter, any semblance of tension left in the air completely expelled now.

Alex finally sighed and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got some leftover quesadilla’s.”

Liz’s smile widened. “From Michael?”

He only smiled in response and tilted his head. “Hungry?”

She leapt forward, hooking her arm around Alex’s and dragging him into the house. “Starving!”

***

Quite proud of this one, not going to lie. Happy malex Monday ❤