#but even then there’s a little birdie in my head saying that I don’t have it and I’m just lazy or making up excuses and that ppl w/o adhd | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lisired · 2 months

Text

change your mind yet?

pairing: haechan x (f) reader

genre/warnings: smut, enemies to lovers-esque, choking, spit kink, haechan’s lowkey a cocky piece of shit, he calls you a bitch Lol

summary: You’re going to kill him. You swear, You’re going to kill him. how did Liu Yangyang accidentally tell Lee Donghyuck—your greatest enemy—that you think he’s hot and that you’ve been in a dry spell recently? Now you have to avoid the inevitable confrontation, and worst of all, deal with the most stubborn person alive (who ironically thinks that you’re the most stubborn person alive).

word count: 4.6k

a/n: very much an oldie… not so sure about a goodie but i do love the ending. i had written this for a friend lol

You love him to bits, but Liu Yangyang is not your favorite friend right now.

Fairly, you one-hundred percent blame him for the predicament you’re currently in. You know he can be a blabbermouth at times and wouldn’t do it on purpose, but there’s no way you’d let him get away with quote-unquote accidentally telling your mortal enemy that you think he’s hot, and that you’ve been having trouble getting off.

It was yesterday evening that you were on FaceTime with your best friend, simply conversating as per usual. You were ranting comfortably to Yangyang about your troubles and how sexually frustrated you are, and he suggested you getting laid. That’s how the topic of Lee Donghyuck came. He was suggesting people, and when he asked you if you thought Donghyuck was hot, you replied yeah, but I wouldn’t touch his dick with laboratory safety gloves.

Fast-forward some hours later, he’s consentfully telling your mutual friend Renjun about your conversation, in hopes of playing matchmaker and finding someone for you to fuck. The problem? Donghyuck was around, and somehow overheard everything except the part about you saying that you’d never touch his egotistical dick.

So now you’re on campus, avoiding your egotistic mortal enemy like the plague.

Why do you dislike Donghyuck? The answer’s simple, he’s one of those guys. The ones that think they own the world, and that it revolves around them. The ones that think they can have any and every person they want, and treat people’s hearts like dirt. In short, you don’t think he’s a good person, no matter how hot he is.

When your final class rolls around, you think you might’ve successfully dodged him. You had another class with him today, but for some reason he was a no-show. Not that you care, his lack of presence was relieving. Then, you see him stroll into your Language Arts class, and the bright red cherry on top? He’s quick to snatch the seat directly next to yours. Oh, brother.

“Hey,” Donghyuck whispers. “Let’s talk.”

Your heart is racing, but you think you manage to conceal it. “In the middle of class?”

He shrugs, “Afterwards.”

You’re running out of here the second your professor dismisses you.

So, Donghyuck cornered you.

There’s no going anywhere as long as he has you like this, backed up against a wall, his hands on either side of you, and his gaze practically rooting you in place. You feel like you’re being stared down by Medusa, still as stone as you look into his eyes.

“So, let’s talk,” he grins, tilting his head. “A little birdie tells me you think I’m hot, you’re under a dry spell, and that you’ve been having trouble making yourself cum lately.”

“Did you hear the part where I said I wouldn’t touch your egotistical dick with laboratory safety gloves?”

“Then it’s a good thing that I don’t need my dick to have your thighs shaking, huh,” you’re blushing, actually blushing, cheeks aflame and your skin all hot. To make matters worse, Donghyuck’s hands move from beside you to sitting pretty on your waist, not moving lower or higher, cool texture of his rings pressing gently into your skin. The contact has you in an internal frenzy, but you chalk it up to you simply being touch-starved. “Don’t you see these lips, baby?”

Alas, you do see them. With his face as close as it is to yours, you can’t help but see them. They’re pretty and plush, kissable, and kind of do look like they could eat—no, no, no, no. You’ve been with your share of guys like Donghyuck, ones that like to talk about how good they are, yet are severely disappointing in reality. For you to even be considering sleeping with him just goes to show that you’ve struck rock bottom.

“D-don’t call me that,” you curse yourself for stammering, because he only finds it amusing.

“Why not? I think you like it, baby,” Donghyuck teases, “is that the problem? You like me, but you don’t want to like me? You don’t like that you know I could make you feel good?”

You loosen your gaze, unable to bare eye contact with him any longer, “Fuck you, Donghyuck.”

“Fuck me your fucking self,” he grabs your chin, making you look at him. If you can see anything in his eyes, it’s the unmistakable gleam of lust, so dark yet so tempting. “You want it, don’t you?”

God dammit, you do want it. But you refuse to have your name crossed out on his checklist, to be another notch in his belt. You know it would only boost his ego to have seduced the most stubborn person alive into fucking him, and you absolutely refuse to let that happen.

“No.”

Donghyuck raises his eyebrow, “No?”

“No,” you repeat.

You don’t know how you expected him to react, but he takes it coolly, dropping his hands and stepping away. Aw no, did you hurt his ego? The thought almost makes you laugh.

“Okay, but you know where to find me when you change your mind,” He smirks, and you hate how confident he sounds. Not if, but when. When you change your mind.

He strolls away, and you let him. You have bigger fish to fry, and you refuse to let some grade A fuckboy get in your head.

Unfortunately, you are not as in control of your thoughts as you’d like. This is bad, really fucking bad, you think. Last night, you actually successfully managed to cum on your own. That should be a good thing, but the reason you came is absolutely humiliating. An embarrassing, taking-it-with-me-to-the-grave secret.

You may or not may not have came to the thought of Donghyuck. How his fluffy hair would look clamped to his forehead, or how his forehead would look dripping with sweat. Imagining his fingers replacing your own, fingering you with his rings on, the coolness of them against your skin. But what really did it was probably the image of him between your thighs that was planted in your brain the second he offered himself to you. You thought of what good his lips could do, and how they’d look dripping all wet.

This is fucking terrible. You haven’t came in god knows how long, and the one time you do after forever, it’s because of the man you’ve sworn to hate until the day you die. Usually this is something you’d rant to your best friend about, but after what happened the last time you told him about your sexual frustrations, you decide you’re going to keep this one to yourself. If Donghyuck ever heard you came to the thought of him eating you out, he’d literally never in a million years ever let you live it down.

Today’s a new day, but you haven’t been able to shake off the shame, particularly because tonight’s Renjun’s party, and being one of his best friend’s, Donghyuck will undoubtedly be there. He’s posted it on his story and everything, not that you were checking. You overheard Yangyang talking about it. But either way, you don’t know if you’ll be able look him in the eye again.

“It’s a good thing you’re going out again,” Yangyang assures, walking next to you as you two stroll into the party, “maybe you’ll meet someone else to help you get out of your dry spell.”

He’s right. This is your chance to get laid, get over whatever that was with Donghyuck, and move on. You’re like, ninety-nine point nine percent convinced you’re only attracted to him out of sheer desperation. The measly zero point one percent comes from you being aware that you’ve thought he was attractive long before yesterday happened, but whatever. Forget it.

So you nod in agreement. Soon enough, you’ve settled with the party atmosphere. You’ve had a drink but you’re not drunk, and you’ve tried socializing but everyone seems so not your style, which is insane, because Donghyuck isn’t your style either. You don’t think. No, he’s not.

This is worse than you initially suspected. You can’t find anyone, and Donghyuck’s still running through your mind, being a complete and utter distraction and he’s not even here—

Speaking of the devil himself, “Hey.”

You spoke too soon.

“Ohmygod, if you’re here to try and seduce me again, I’m not interested,” you groan, hoping he gets the message and leaves you the fuck alone. At the same time you really don’t, but you definitely think you should.

Donghyuck raises his hands, “But I’m egotistical. I just came here to invite you to a game of truth of dare with the gang, lighten up a lil, won’t ya?”

You sigh. “Where?”

He leads you to the room where everyone is, and you make sure to scoot next to Ningning and Jennie, refusing to sit anywhere besides Donghyuck. All you hope now is that the bottle doesn’t land on you after him.

A couple of rounds fly by, and you’re still safe. You’re having fun, and the thought of him escapes your mind with ease. Even when the bottle does land on you, he doesn’t dare you to do anything crazy that you thought he would.

After Yangyang’s turn, the bottle lands on you. You’re not worried, because Yangyang’s your best friend, he wouldn’t dare you to do anything stupid.

Then he does exactly that.

“Seven minutes in heaven with Donghyuck!”

You’re going to kill him. You’re mentally plotting his murder right now. How you’re going to do it, when, and where you’ll hide his body. If he suspiciously winds up missing, you’re more than likely the reason why.

“Pucker up, buttercup,” Yangyang blows you a kiss.

You spit back, “Shut up, bubble guts.”

You hear him gasp in offense, but whatever he says is cut off by Donghyuck.

“Come on, babes. I can hear your lips calling my name,” he teases, and you groan, clutching your fist. You guess there’s no way out of this. Well, technically there is, but Renjun let Yangyang choose the punishment and he decided to make anyone who refused to do a dare eat a spoonful of sour cream. Mind you, sour cream by itself is disgusting, and this is probably why he and his stomach are frequently at war, so your safest option is getting in that room with Donghyuck for seven minutes. You don’t even have to kiss, you can just let everyone think you did.

So you follow him into the bathroom connected to Renjun’s room, and the second the door shuts, he has you backed into yet another wall. He grins, “Change your mind yet?”

You stand your ground. “No.”

“That’s fine, we can make out in the meantime and then see how you feel after seven minutes.” he replies nonchalantly.

Even though you’ve been thinking about it, you grimace. “Gross.”

“What? It’s not my dick, why do you act like you hate me anyways? Not that I’m really complaining, I like when things are hard.”

“Bet you do,” you grumble. “And if I’m acting, then I must be Viola Davis.”

“Eh, I’d give you Keanu Reeves.”

You glare. “On second thought, I’m almost willing to kiss you if it means you’ll keep quiet.”

“Well you’re in luck,” Donghyuck grins, “because that and giving head are the only ways to silence me.”

You cave in soon later, letting him pin you to the wall, your hands above your head as he kisses you hungrily. It kills you to learn that he’s a great kisser, because that means he’s actually good at something other than running his mouth and being the bane of your existence twenty-four seven. Though you don’t know how that’s possible, he’s gentle yet rough. Caring in his movement, though passionate in them too. The way he’s kissing you, you’d think he loved you.

In spite of your obvious attempts to try and touch him, to maybe run your fingers through his hair or hold his cheeks in your hands, Donghyuck doesn’t let you move. You can feel the teasing grin bloom from his lips, and conclude that it’s intentional.

Never in a million years did you think you’d be french kissing Lee Donghyuck of all people, yet here you are. You can’t say you don’t like it, though. That would be lying. While you’d never admit anything like it, the roughness in the way he kisses you has you throbbing.

Donghyuck’s lips are like a drug. You stop for a moment to inhale, and then you’re lips are latched back onto each other. Exhale again, then you take another drag, and the cycle repeats. You could do this for fucking ever.

Then, the timer chimes.

“Time’s up!” Chenle yells from outside the bathroom, and Donghyuck pulls always almost instantly, surprisingly readier than you are.

He looks hot as he pants, chest rising and falling then rising again. He smirks, “Change your mind?”

God fucking damn it. Time went by a little too fast for your liking. Your lips are swollen, but you want more of him, to feel him, to touch him, especially because he didn’t let you. You’re finally admitting to yourself that you want him, and you can’t ignore your cravings anymore.

“Donghyuck,” you whimper, not caring in this moment who hears you, “w-want you.”

He smirks. “I know, baby. You wanna prove to me how much?”

You nod. It’s pathetic, truly, but you need this at this point. So you let Donghyuck lead you out of the bathroom, and essentially the bedroom, ignoring the curious sounds coming from your friends. He leads you down the hall into a different, emptier room, closing and locking the door behind the two of you.

“On the bed,” he instructs.

You comply, the desperation that accompanies having not slept with someone in months and orgasming in weeks making you leap into action in an instant. Then there’s this raw part of you that has lusted after him before you fully came to terms with your desire, making you feel the way blood courses through your veins.

Donghyuck walks up and kisses you again, this time allowing both of your pairs of hands to roam freely as you strip one another almost bare. In an eager motion, you peel away his shirt and jeans, and he matches your yearn, leaving you naked. He pulls away from your lips to eye your body in awe.

“You’re a bitch,” he says, “but a beautiful one.”

“Really turned me on,” you deadpan.

He laughs yet pushes your back flat against the mattress, wasting no time in hovering above your body. The proximity has your heart racing a little quicker, a little faster than it was out of something like anticipation. Donghyuck dips his head but doesn’t kiss you like you anticipate him to, at least not on the lips. His lips scout your neck, soft and sweet against your flesh. He sucks at your skin, and your mouth gapes a little, sounding the most sweet gasp before he digs his teeth in suit. It makes you whimper aloud his name, which he clearly enjoys from the way he smiles.

Donghyuck repeats a course of similar actions as he mouth scoots lower, kissing and sucking and biting at your collarbone. Then he proceeds after some time, traveling lower and taking your breast into his mouth or his tongue swirling over your nipples. He trails kisses at your sternum, your stomach, all the while your breath getting caught up in your throat the more his mouth falls down your body. He’s so obviously teasing you, you know that much. He has a destination yet no rush to get there, taking his sweet, precious time as though he’s rich of it. And maybe he is, but your patience is running thin, and there’s only so much more of this you can take. “Hyuck,” you cry out of sheer desperation, “hurry up.”

“For someone who claimed not to want me up until ten minutes again, you really are desperate for me,” Donghyuck replies, drawing his mouth away, and hence all contact there was.

Refusing to simply take that, you retaliate, “For someone who claimed they could make me feel good, you’re doing a whole lot of nothing right now.”

“Keep running that sharp mouth and I’ll have to put it to better use,” Donghyuck answers. It isn’t like you’re against giving head, and it wouldn’t sound so bad if you weren’t so painfully deprived of the same satisfaction Donghyuck’s offered to give you. Sure, the speed—or lack of the—heightens the anticipation, but you need him to quit teasing or you’ll actually go insane.

“You keep acting like you hate me,” Donghyuck moves between your legs, and you aren’t prepared for what he does next. Something about the way he slowly smooths his single finger through your folds and draws it into his mouth for a taste is hot to you, thus making you wish he’d finally get on with it. “But your cunt is telling me that you love me. Love this.”

Well it isn’t like he’s wrong. You haven’t been this wet in ages, the dry spell you’ve been under being extreme and severe. Touching yourself has gone absolutely no where up until last night, when you somehow managed to cum harder than you have in a minute. You’re starting to think that having Donghyuck as your muse changes things.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh. You’d love this more if he stopped making you wait, but you don’t say that aloud, starting to suspect that the more you complain the longer he silently decides he’s going to test your patience. After what feels like an eternity of touching you everywhere but where you desperately need him to most, Donghyuck’s tongue draws a line between your thighs. Then another, and another. It progresses into more with no particular rush, despite the inevitable whines you can’t prevent from falling out. “Hyuck,” you cry again, wishing he’d stop playing games.

Donghyuck teases, “What’s the magic word?”

“Please,” you beg, “Please, please. I-I want, fuck no, I need this. Please, fuck—”

Your pleas are cut short the moment Donghyuck gives in, lapping at you with an unquenchable thirst and insatiable hunger. It’s so sudden that it gives you whiplash, and he has to grip your thighs to keep them spread a safe distance apart. He’s unstopping once he begins, tongue maneuvering as it pleases, roaming around freely though expertly. Had you known Donghyuck was as much bite as he was bark, you may have gave in to this much sooner than you did. Not only is he making you feel good, but he’s making you feel great. If you could taste heaven, it would be this.

Some moments pass, and the humiliating part is that it isn’t a lot of moments. Your thighs are trembling more with every lick, resulting in Donghyuck’s grip around your thighs to tighten out of consideration that you might successfully slip out of his grasp. You stomach turns, flips, and you’re vision is being clouded white, so close to an orgasm that it hurts. Donghyuck senses it, you know that he can, you can feel the arrogant smirk spreading across his lips once more. Just as you’re getting so close, as your orgasm is right there in arms reach, being dangled in front of you by a string, he snatches it away.

There’s yet another whine from you, but he answers your question before you even get the chance to ask, “Want you to cum when I fuck you, baby.”

Donghyuck removed his boxers, leaving them on the ground to be cared about later. His erection springs flat against his stomach in a way that makes you so suddenly inhale a breath, and you clench around absolutely nothing at all. You’re gawking at him as though you want to eat hm, and in a sense you do, but you can’t be blamed. It looks better than you could’ve ever imagined, decent length, decent girth. The real brag-worthy factor, however, is if he knows what to do with what god has blessed him with.

His dick nudges your slit. “Ready?”

Without wasting an eighth of second you give him the go-ahead, nodding your head at instance so fast it almost hurts your neck. He reacts equally as fast, prodding his dick between your folds and eventually your walls. It stretches you out perfectly, and the moment he’s in you Donghyuck’s moaning about how tight and wet you are. He takes a moment for himself before he starts to move, gliding in and out of you in an effortless motion.

So far, Donghyuck has lived up perfectly to your imagination and expectations, much better, even. You never would’ve thought he’d actually have the right to brag about how good he is in bed, but you see it now. He’s a god even, not that you’d ever tell him that to his face.

“So pretty, wish I could have gotten to you sooner. Always telling me that you hate me yet letting me fuck you like this. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve always wanted this,” Donghyuck says into your ear, and pecks your neck. “Are you always this needy? So desperate that you’ll let even me fuck you?”

“G-god, yes,” you don’t care about overpriding him anymore, just saying things because you aren’t in the right mind to care about anything other than his dick right now.

“Yeah?” He smirks. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

You’re almost too fucked out to speak, just moaning and whimpering in a way you never thought you would for him, “Feels good, so… so good. Love it.”

If you were in the right mind to have shame, you’d be embarrassed by the way your number-one enemy is making you moan, and not just because of the volume, but because it’s his name your moaning so pathetically. Choruses of “Hyuck” sounding from you in plethoras, calling his name with no actual reason. You’re breathing in little shallow, quick breaths, too, mouth agape as your whimpers tumble into the air. It helps that Donghyuck’s also surprisingly vocal, calling your name back. To say the least, the way he moans your name is hot and gets you off a little more, in spite of you not needing the help. He has it all on his own, fucking into you deep and hard.

Donghyuck gropes your body too, heightening your pleasure by fumbling with your breasts or rubbing your clit with one of his free hands. He doesn’t focus on one particular part of you, showering your figure with pleasure and attention that makes the sex a billion times better.

“Can I choke you?” He asks, and the question catches you a little off-guard, but once you shake off the surprise, you give him permission.

Donghyuck’s hands slither around your neck, and he presses into your jaw with just enough force to make you look at him, and silently communicate that he wants you to keep your eyes him and his actions. His fingers press onto the sides of your throat, and you’re not sure what is a bigger turn on, the fact that he knows how to properly do it or the action itself. You think it’s a bit of both, you enjoy the thrill as you look defeated by your inability breathing, and the dark look in his eyes tells you that he enjoys it too, staring straight into your soul, watching you fail to take a breath.

He doesn’t loosen his grip on your throat as he commands, “Open your mouth.”

You aren’t in the mind to question anything, simply following instructions. His mouth hovers above yours, lips parting to spit in your mouth. The action takes you by surprise yet again, but you swallow almost instinctively, never looking away from him as you do.

He backs away once satisfied, smiling. “So good for me, baby.”

That makes you clench around him, which also brings Donghyuck the satisfaction of a moan or two. He loves the way you clench around him when he says things to you, a telltale sign that you’re enjoying this more than he knows you’d probably like to admit. This whole thing between you and him, him and you is that you’re too stubborn to admit your desire. It prides him that he finally managed to make you confess it, to admit that you’re no different from anybody else. That he can still get under your skin, and does a fairly good job at that. Not only does it make him feel good about himself, but it makes him feel good right now. Your reactions, all your moans and your fucked out face, the whimpering and the begging, it all gets him off more.

That knot in your stomach is forming again, and he has you clenching around him regularly soon afterwards, and he can tell that this time, it’s not because of his words. It’s because you’re about to orgasm. “I’m close,” you announce, once again feeling all the flips and turns twisting about in your gut. It’s a good thing Donghyuck’s close too, being obvious from the way his thrusts aren’t as smooth as they initially were.

“Me, too. C’mon baby, give it to me,” he urges you on, and you let him drive you to the edge.

He makes you see white again, vision fogging the color and your voice a high-pitched moan of his name as you climax, grinding your hips into his as you intend to ride out your orgasm. In some high, trance-like state, you’re not sure when he cums, but you know that it wasn’t that much longer after you did, and then he slid out, flopping beside you on the mattress. You lie there in near-silence that consists of nothing but heavy breathing, wondering to yourself if this actually happened. You don’t regret it, not now anyways, and it was definitely a satisfying way to break your dry spell, but now you’re starting to question if it was a bad decision. He hasn’t even asked if—

“Are you okay?” Donghyuck asks, seemingly needing a moment to catch his breath before he could gather words.

His words cut through your thoughts, leaving you to accept that maybe he’s not that much of an asshole. It’s the bare minimum, so he’s still an asshole, but not that much of an asshole. “Yeah,” you nod. “I’m good.”

“Good,” he grins. “So, you wanna ditch this party and go get some Chinese food? I’m starving.”

“You want to go get food with me?” you say, sounding wholly and utterly surprised and unconvinced. This man spends every other day of his life bothering you, and now he wants to pick up some food with you?

“I mean, if you don’t want free Chinese food that I’m paying for with my money, then fine, suit yourself, I’ll just get it by my—”

“No!” You interject, sitting up immediately as you scan the room for your clothes. “I’m down. Kinda hungry, too.”

“Good,” Donghyuck says. “Chop, chop. We don’t have all night, they close in like less than an hour from now.”

Standing out of bed to put your clothes on, you consider to yourself that maybe you’ve assumed a lot about him without getting to know him. He’s definitely got an ego on him, that a blind man can tell, but he’s not really an asshole.

“Yo, I just realized something.”

“What?”

Donghyuck smiles bashfully, “I don’t have my wallet on me.”

Nevermind. He’s one-hundred percent definitely an asshole.

#lee haechan smut #haechan smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct

1K notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 1 month

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Hiii how are you? Could i please request a jealousy fic with jason and dick, like how would they react? What would they do about it? I'm sorry its reallyyy cliche, but i love it anyway💕

Hi anon! I’ve been fine, been taking lots of power naps whenever I can, especially after work, but I’ve fine.

Jason’s jealously more or less comes from a place of insecurity.

He fears that one interaction with the right guy/ girl/ whomever would be enough to make you see that there were better options out there than him.

He never doubts your loyalty to him, never. He wasn’t that pathetic. He just didn’t trust everyone else that even looked at you in the same light as he did on the daily, and it was extremely evident when Jason didn’t like the looks of someone; Furrowed brows over narrowed judging eyes, his form practically towering over you protectively as he stares down the person whom he believes might take you from him.

His protectiveness tends to spike up periodically the moment he see the person get a little too close for comfort and he would clench his jaw to prevent himself from saying something he might regret later on; Jason tries to restrain himself for your sake but it was blatantly obvious that he was on the brink of exploding.

So when you both got home Jason didn’t waste any time in letting you know how he felt during the entire interaction after having forced himself to hold his own tongue.

‘Did you find that person attractive?’ He’d ask.

‘No.’ you said. ‘were you jealous?’

‘I thought me staring down the poor bastard was evident enough.’ Jason scoffs and you hugged his waist all the while pressing reassuring kisses at the base of his neck, when his hands reached to hold yours and intertwine your fingers together.

‘I know that you know I love you very much, no one else catches my eye when I have you,’ you reassured as you pressed another kiss to his neck, ‘my beautiful boy, my beautiful jay birdie.’ You added in a whisper as Jason felt the last remnants of jealously fade away into the background with every kiss you gave him.

‘Are you sure you can see yourself being with me? long term I mean.’ He then says as he squeezed your hands in his search of comfort from you and it broke your heart when he didn’t see himself the way you did, but you were more then willing to kiss and cuddle away his troubles if it meant reminding him of his worth.

‘Without question.’ You confidently told him, squeezing his hands. ‘I don’t see myself with anyone else but you because even though you may not think it, you are more then enough and you are not broken, to me you are whole and you are perfect.’ You finished by pressing a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades and resting your head there as you focused on his breathing.

‘Can…can we just forget about all this and just cuddle like any other cliche couples do?’ Jason asked, finding himself feeling a lot better upon hearing you laugh against his back as a smile crossed his face.

‘Sure big guy.’ You replied. ‘We can go cuddle now.’

And with that Jason was quick to pick you up in his arms and carry you off towards the bedroom where you inevitably feel asleep in the other’s arms, happy and content.

Dick wasn’t one to speak up on his emotions much, which was something that he knew he could better work on for the sake of your relationship with him.

He’s seen himself in the mirror. He knows his own appeal very well but physical appearance were secondary to you as it was his personality that won you over in the end. However he knew that beauty was subjective and that one day you might come across someone more physically appealing than him.

He’d act as though nothing was wrong but if you could easily tell something was off by just his stance alone, crossed arms over chest and a look in his eyes, as though he was trying to deduce the person you were trying to have a civil conversation with.

He may stand close to you and put a hand on your waist or throw an arm over your shoulders, pull you into his side and press a kiss to your forehead with a smile plastered across his face, but he wouldn’t say a word in hopes that would be enough to get across to the person that you were very much taken.

Upon arriving home however, Dick acts he wasn’t even remotely jealous to begin with, despite the glaring fact that he very much was.

‘Me? Jealous?’ He asks incredulously but upon seeing your face, he knew that this act of his had long since stopped working the moment you grew the ability to read him.

‘Yes, you were and you weren’t even trying to make it discreet at all.’ You told him as you settled aside your things on the kitchen counter and sighed. ‘I just wish you would talk to me about these things so that we could get this together like couples should.’

Dick frowned as he moved next to you and gently took your hand in his own, caressing it. ‘I know and I’m sorry that I haven’t been more open and honest with you it’s just-‘

‘You find it difficult to do so I know.’ You cut him off, looking him in the eyes. ‘I don’t blame you for that and I never would, you know that but I just wished that you trust me more to speak to me about these things.’ You tell him as you squeezed his hand. ‘I only want to help you.’

Dick kisses your forehead. ‘I know you do and I appreciate it very much.’ He whispered against your skin. ‘I just don’t know what you see in me sometimes, nor do I understand how you could have possibly put up with me as long as you have given how closed off I can be sometimes.’ He adds as he pulls away, his heart weighing heavily in his chest as he awaits your response.

‘I stay with you because I love you stupid.’ You said softly as you bumped his shoulder with your own. ‘And maybe because Hayley is too cute a pup to ever leave.’

‘I had a feeling Hayley was a major factor in you staying.’ Dick laughed. ‘Can’t say I blame you though, she is indeed very cute.’ He adds as he looks over at the staffy, who was very much fast asleep in her little bed in the living room before looking back to you with gentle eyes. ‘But I’m glad that you did stay. I love you too, dummy.’ He utters softly as he nudged you with his shoulder, vowing to himself to do better by you from this day forth.

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cameronspecial · 3 months

Text

You Will Always Be My Business

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

Summary: Y/N goes on her first date after her break up with Rafe and he has something to say about it.

A/N: This is inspired by this post.

Masterlist

Rafe and Y/N broke up about two months ago. Y/N couldn’t deal with Rafe’s possessiveness and addiction anymore, so she had to end their relationship for her own sanity. She was surprised by how easily he let her go because she expected more of an argument from him, but after his pleas to not leave him were ignored, he accepted their fate and left. Even with his vices, Y/N was heartbroken by their separation. There was a side to Rafe that only she got to see and it showed her the man he could be if he wanted to. It showered her in love with no limit.

Now, two months later, Y/N is getting ready for her first date with Aaron. She is nowhere near healed from the breakup; however, she needs to try to move on to help the process. Aaron knows about Rafe and also just got out of a relationship, so they are both on the same page with what this relationship is. She finishes putting her earrings in when the knock comes at her door. She jogs to the door and opens it with a smile. “Hey, Beautiful. Are you ready to go?” Aaron greets. She nods while grabbing her purse, “Yep, lead the way.”

———

The door to the car shuts with a thud and Y/N thanks Aaron for dropping her off. She jogs to her front door, fumbling with her keys as she places them in the lock. “The date must not have been that great if he isn’t coming inside.” She jumps at the voice coming from her side and turns toward Rafe. The porch sensor finally flicks on, illuminating him clearly. She doesn’t know what to say to him, so he continues. His head flicks toward Aaron’s car, “Might want to tell him you are safe. Don’t want him waiting there all night.” She turns to Aaron and gives him a thumbs-up. When Aaron looks unsure, she nods. The sound of his motor fades as she enters her house with Rafe in tow. “What are you doing here?” she questions, going through the motions of getting comfortable. Rafe drops to a squat to undo the buckles of her heels, “A little birdy told me that you were going on a date. I wanted to check in and see if he treated you like the gentleman you deserve.”

“We aren’t dating anymore, so how I get treated by other men is none of your business.”

Rafe stands to his full height, towering over her. His hands drop onto the back of the couch she is leaning against and traps her within his arms. He leans forward so she can feel his breath against her ear, “You will always be my business. My heart is completely and utterly yours and yours is mine. No matter how long we are apart, we will always be each other’s. So if you need time to play the field, then you take it because, in the end, you are going to come back to me.” Her breath hitches when he presses his lips against her cheek. He takes tentative steps back before leaving her alone to question the validity of his statement.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

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jinjeriffic · 4 months

Text

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 3

Part 2

Tim reached up to rub at his temples and groaned. This was getting him nowhere. Normally he enjoyed going down the research rabbit-hole but this was ridiculous! Paranormal sciences were a bad joke. Most of it was conjecture, hearsay and unprovable theories with just enough scientific sounding jargon peppered in to confuse a layperson. Peer-review was practically non-existent, not to mention a proper scientific method. Francis Bacon would be rolling in his grave!

The slight hiss of the elevator doors opening interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey Replacement, you missed dinner!” Jason called, sauntering over with a loaded plate in hand. He set down a sandwich next to Tim’s elbow. “Alfie says he’s cutting off your coffee supply until you get some damn sleep. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna start prepping the knock-out gas soon!” he quipped, leaning his hip against the Batcomputer’s console. “Research on the League giving you trouble?”

“I wish.” Tim sighed, reaching for the sandwich, “The Assassins have actually been pretty quiet recently. I found some leads on suspicious political donations in Italy, but nothing I can tie to them directly. Talia’s in Paris as far as I can tell, working at an investment firm for God knows what reason. Probably money laundering related. And the ones holed up in Nanda Parbat have been quiet as murderous little church mice.”

“Ra’s isn’t up to anything? Colour me shocked.” Jason drawled sardonically, “You sure he’s not cooking up a new batch of demon spawn in that mountain of his?”

Tim shook his head. “You know Bruce destroyed his cloning labs after the last… incident. And I’ve found no records of the League procuring the necessary materials or equipment to restart production.” he wrinkled his nose, “Of course it’s possible that they used a shell company we haven’t come across yet, but I believe the odds are pretty low.”

“So what’s got your panties in a bunch then?”

Tim’s mouth twisted in a frown. “Ghosts.”

“Ah.”

Jason stared off into space and Tim took a bite of his sandwich. Egg-salad, score! The Cave was silent for a while, only disturbed by the noise of the actual bats heading out for their nightly hunt.

“I can’t tell you for sure if ghosts are real or not. I don’t remember anything from when I was… dead.” Jason said haltingly, and Tim stilled. “But we’ve seen people come back under pretty weird circumstances. So why not ghosts?” Jason shrugged.

Tim chewed and swallowed before replying. “Because it’s one thing for the physical body to be restored, but some kind of nebulous ‘spirit’ lingering? Why don’t we see ghosts all the time then? Why don’t people come back? Why not…” Tim broke off.

“Your Dad?”

Tim nodded and dropped the remains of the sandwich back on the plate. It suddenly looked as appetising as cardboard.

“I don’t know, birdie. We still don’t know why I came back.” Jason snorted “Maybe the universe just has a sick sense of humour.”

Tim’s lips curled up in a mirthless smile. “Maybe the universe missed your terrible puns. Some of those still haunt me.”

Jason barked out a surprised laugh. “That was terrible!”

“The universe clearly made a grave mistake.”

“Stop it, I can feel my brain cells dying!” Jason groaned and gave Tim a light punch to the shoulder.

“Well we can’t have that, you have so few already!” Tim snarked, then quickly leaned to the side to evade Jason’s attempted noogie. Jason huffed and stepped back, crossing his arms.

“All right mister teenage genius. What have you dug up about ghosts then?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “There’s obviously tons of folklore from all over the world. Pretty much every mythology has stories about the spirits or souls of the dead returning to haunt the living. But if there’s a scientific basis to all this then it’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Even the supposed leaders in the field are hopelessly biased.” He pulled up some documents on the screen. “Take these for example. The Doctors Fenton are supposed experts in the field of ‘Ecto-Biology’ as they call it, but their research papers would never fly with a proper scientific journal. A lot of it comes across as blatantly xenophobic towards the entities they are supposedly studying and their research methods seem geared towards confirming what they view as foregone conclusions. And most of their peers operate on the same track.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully as he skimmed one of the articles in question. “Do you think there’s anything to this, or is it all just a hoax?”

Tim snorted. “If there is, they haven’t offered any conclusive proof. Though they certainly seem to have made it work for them. The Fentons have a series of patents for weapons and defenses against these supposed ‘ecto-entities’ and it looks like there’s plenty of people gullible enough to buy them. I haven’t taken a closer look at their products yet, but a lot of it looks like something out of a pulp sci-fi movie.” He pulled up the image of what looked like a bazooka with green glowing parts. Jason whistled.

“So, con artists or mad scientists?”

“Could be both. Their financial records are all over the place and they’ve had some large transactions with what I’m pretty sure are shell companies in recent years. They live and operate out of a small city in Illinois.” Tim said, pulling up the relevant documents on screen.

“Amity Park?” Jason read aloud.

“Supposedly it’s ‘The Most Haunted City in America’. Seems on brand, doesn’t it?”

“It probably helps them stay in business. It looks like they have kids?” Jason pointed at the tax returns. Tim typed some search queries into the system.

“Two. One in high school, one just started her first semester at Metropolis University. With a full scholarship to boot.” He spent a few more minutes hacking into the university’s systems. “Here we go, Jasmine Fenton. Looks like she’s going for a psychology degree. And… hm…” Tim trailed off. Jason quickly realised what had caught his attention.

“‘The Damaging Effects of Envy Towards Metahumans? That’s a hell of a topic for a freshman-year essay.” Jason remarked.

“Yes. I wonder…” Tim drummed his fingers on the keyboard. “She might have some insight into her parents’ research.”

“And at a cursory glance, she didn’t drink whatever Kool-Aid her parents were serving.” Jason finished for him. “You wanna go pump her for information?”

“I might as well. If nothing else, maybe we can shut down a couple of mad scientists before they become a problem.” Tim stood up and stretched. “Time for a field trip!”

Part 4

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #batfamily #tim drake #red robin #jason todd #red hood #no beta we die like danny #I'm sick and wordvomited this out at like 4am #send throat lozenges #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)

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periprose · 10 months

Text

Fly Away

Michael Berzatto x Reader

You're a family friend of the Berzattos and you're invited to have fun at their annual Christmas dinner. You think you still harbor feelings for Carmy, but as the evening progresses, you feel something for his brother.

Genre: friends to lovers, former crush on carm, really everything w carm is mostly platonic, unrequited stuff, insecurities, age gaps (reader and carm are 25, Michael is 38), takes place in 2017, takes place in S2E6, lots of angst, anxiety, some fluff, no use of y/n (you have a nickname: Birdie)

Word count: 11k

There’s a bauble and trinket everywhere you look. Festive, Christmas spirit seems to ebb from the very walls of the Berzatto household– and you would be remiss not to compliment it vocally in some way.

Donna is clearly waiting, teetering on a response from you as you take everything in from the front door. And you know how she reacts if you don’t say things in that perfect, supportive tone that she so desperately thrives off of.

“Wow, Mrs. Berzatto!” You clasp your hands, trying not to seem too cloying or ironic. “I love what you’ve done with the house. Such an eye for details.”

“Oh, stop.” She giggles, and lightly taps your shoulder as she takes your coat and hangs it up in the closet.

“No, really. I wish my house was so… Christmassy this time of year.” You shrug, knowing that your dad isn’t the festive type after divorcing your mother.

“Aw. Well, we have love to spread here.” It’s a strange unseen sympathy coming from Donna, and she pulls you inside, and you take off your shoes, shuffling around in your socks and your comfy, hopefully chic, green loose turtleneck sweater. “Except you might have to wait a bit, because some of these fuckers are late.”

There’s that bitter tone you remember from Donna. You don’t really care for that– you tend to have an avoidant personality especially with how your own mother acts sometimes– and she yells out for Carmy and Mikey to greet you.

“Boys! Birdie’s here!” She calls from the stairs, and you suddenly feel self conscious.

Ever since your dad, a former co-worker and friend of Cicero’s, starting taking you as a teenager to these Berzatto hangouts, you have always had a eye for Carmen. It was hard not to be, seeing this bashful, slightly angry, awkward boy, around the same age as you, with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. You felt like sometimes, he really, really listened to you, and that was all you needed.

You wish you could be there for him too.

It’s something you’ve never acted on, never bothered to actually approach him about– he always seemed so absorbed by his own thing.

You relished in the fact that he never had a girlfriend. You felt secure in that, because he just seemed safe. And it’s not like he would’ve been mean about rejecting you if he knew– you were always close to the Berzatto siblings. You were Bear and Birdie, ready to head out on a walk together, while the adults gossiped and drank.

Of course, you haven’t seen him in about… two years now. Around after he left to his apartment, and did his chef-education-training (you’re a bit vague on the details, honestly), and ever since then, as far as you know he’s slowly been doing what he loves. He does text you from time to time, but you’d be overstating those texts’ importance if you pretended it really quantified a relationship.

Mikey clambers down the stairs, wearing what looks to be pajamas, or very chill homebody clothes, and he raises his arm in a big, Italian gesture.

“Oh! Is that little Bird I see?” He exclaims, and pulls you into an eager hug. Maybe a little too eager– you think it’s almost as if you’re comforting him as you hug him back, his face coming down onto your shoulder, as he encapsulates you– and he pulls away, grinning.

He actually looks really good. You don’t know when you started thinking that Mikey was good looking, but it’s true– he has a certain, rough around the edges appeal that you find yourself drawn to.

“Merry Christmas. You’ve been keeping away from us.” Mikey points as you, intended as a stern remark, but you snort.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas. I’ve been busy with work and law school, Michael. I’m not a kid anymore.” You resist the urge to comment on his beard, and then do it anyways. “Are you sure I’ve been keeping away? You’re the one with a hermit-ass beard.”

“Oh… they grow up and just start taking shots at you, don’t they, Ma?” Mikey places his hand over his heart, as if he’s wounded, and Donna shakes her head in agreement, before heading back to the kitchen, already seeming annoyed about something. “Beards are fashionable in 2017, Bird. Maybe come back to our current time– no reason for you to start dressing like a grandma already.”

You scoff at that, pointing at your sweater. “It’s semi-formal, c’mon! It looks nice. Respect the gathering’s rules.”

“It’s my house, babe.” Mikey leans in with maybe a little too much comfort, his eyes shining with some warmth, mirth even, and you don’t exactly pull away– the guy is like thirteen years older than you, and even if he does kid around, play up an older brother thing, you’ve started feeling like he’s restraining something more as of late, maybe some primal level of attraction that he knows better than to mess around with. You know that the feeling is kind of mutual– but you really don’t know how to quantify it. “I’m man of the house, and I say you should wear something that maybe, uh, shows off the pretty twenty-five year old that you are.”

The last part of this sentence has you swallowing a little, and you feel your face turning warm, and Mikey himself looks embarrassed that he’s said it, that he’s given a bit of evidence to your theories– he seems to brush something off, inside himself.

You have never thought you were all that. You’ve always been pretty sure you should be glad that you’ve gotten by without having to worry about your looks. The idea of wearing a nice, somewhat revealing dress to the Berzattos’ house has you cringing, because you know it would just be… bad.

“I’m not–” Mikey scowls at himself and you can visibly see himself fighting something, looking a little anxious, and you tentatively grasp his forearm.

“I know what you mean. I’m not offended.” You smile slightly, making the effort to calm him down a little, because you would never want Michael to beat himself up over you (he really seems to do that as of late and you know you’re not worth the trouble), and he nods and inhales. “You look good, too.”

“Right. Right on, Birdie. You can do what you want, anyways. Not up to me.” He seems to really dial back some of what he said, and before you can respond, Carmy walks downstairs.

“Hi. Hey, Birdie. Merry Christmas.” He says, kind of quietly, and you find yourself somewhat happy to hear him say your nickname again. Carmy looks especially nice– deep blue has always been his colour, it brightens up his eyes– and he has slightly longer hair than you remember.

He leans in for a brief but firm hug, and glances at your eyes once, before looking towards the floor again.

Mikey nods and proceeds to exit to the kitchen, and you’re left with Carmy grappling with what to say.

“How have you–”

“How’s law sch–”

Carmy coughs awkwardly, and you find your face turning warm as he looks towards you.

“Sorry, Bear.” You let him speak, hoping not to scare him away. “How’s everything? You okay?”

“Yeah. Uh… well, I’ve been training at Copenhagen?” He furrows his brows, runs his hand through his hair. “Just learning as much as I can.”

“Oh. Uh-huh.” Your curiosity is piqued– you didn’t know he was in Denmark, much to your disappointment– but you want to pry more of an answer out of him. He doesn’t seem interested in talking about it more than that.

“Sorry. Sorry. Stupid answer, there’s just not much to say.” Carmy shrugs, and then realizes suddenly that you’ve been standing at the foyer of the house for quite some time now, which isn’t very polite or inviting of him. “Wait, hold on. Let’s go sit inside and talk.”

Carmy makes some offhand comment about how you need to speak up sometimes and stop being so nice and accommodating to idiots like him, and you snicker, knowing that this is the Carmy you remember– snarky, ready to fight people on sometimes, even if he is a little weird and bashful. Although he’s short– he makes up for it with his resilience.

Carmy leads you through golden-lit hallways, a certain pepperminty, pine tree scent seeming to overlay the entire house, and there’s bushels and wreathes and mistletoe everywhere, and somehow even more baubles, ornaments, trinkets, knickknacks, all gold and red and warm tones that do make you feel a little fuzzy.

Carmy sits you down in the living room, on the sofa, and you’re next to him, and you place a foot under your knee, trying to feel casual. Not freaking out about him sitting right next to you. Weirdly enough… you don’t think you feel anything anxiety inducing.

Perhaps you’re just getting more reassured of yourself with age.

“So? How is Copenhagen, otherwise? I know Denmark is really interesting, but you’re probably busy with chef stuff, huh?” You prod just a little further. Just out of your own personal curiosity to see how far Carmy will go for you, and he nods. “Any friends?”

“Ah…” Carmy winces a little. “Can’t say if he’s a friend yet, but there is this guy that’s out of this world with pastries. I don’t know if I can meet his standard on that.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. “Bear, you make my dad cookies all the time. Or, well, you used to. You can’t be that bad at it, considering that he always eats all of them.”

“Oh, really? Fuck, man.” Carmy looks at you in disbelief, settling more into his corner of the couch, closer to the tree, but looking more openly at you. You feel yourself cower a little under his watchful gaze. “I didn’t know your dad enjoyed them that much… I would’ve made more. Did you ever try them?”

“Hm?” You were getting lost in the details around Carmy– the dark blue shirt, the little bits of stubble around his jaw, the tattoos peeping out from under his long sleeves– and you nod. “Ah, I tried a batch around the last time you gave him some. I think it was… macadamia, matcha, white chocolate? Really good.”

Carmy is unreadable, his eyes flickering from the ground to your eyes– you think maybe you’ve embarrassed him a little– but he thanks you. “Where is your dad, anyways?”

“Ah. He’s got the flu, and he was kind enough to not want to infect you guys.” You admit. “Even though he was trying his best to walk over here from our house.”

Carmy remembers that you live in the neighbourhood over. You two used to hang out a lot during elementary and high school. He kind of missed you– something he’d never say out loud, but Carmy knows friends are few with him, and you were always a good friend to him growing up. You were always a comforting presence for him– you never asked him for too much, and he could tell you were being careful to do so. No pressure.

You just became really busy with law school, and he became really busy with chef stuff, and now you’re both… you both just lost touch. He feels bad about it– bad like he always does, with former friends and acquaintances from high school that he’s accidentally ghosted and lost– but at least you don’t seem to be annoyed about it.

He thinks it’s probably because in this case, you pulled away just as much as he had to.

“How’s law school, anyways?” Carmy counts the years in his head. “You’ve either just finished or you’re in your final year?”

“I’m in my final year.” You stretch out your arms, looking eager. “It’s a lot of work– I’m only here because I’m lucky enough to have a bit of a break in the winter months, and I’m ahead on my courses. But, uh… I don’t know. It’s fun.”

“Fun? Wow.” Carmy grins a little.

“What?”

“I don’t know, Birdie. Fun is more… fucking, I don’t know, fireworks or something? Drugs, maybe, yeah.” Carmy watches as you laugh, and laugh, at what he’s said, and again he’s never really sure what’s so funny about what he’s said, but he likes to hear you laugh.

“Clearly you don’t know either.” You snort, and lightly punch his arm. “When did we become workaholics?”

“Probably when we became, uh, adults and entered the workforce.” Carmy states, and you wrinkle your brows.

“We’re not really in the workforce yet, but–”

“What, really? C’mon. You’re a fucking receptionist or some shit, right?”

“Business administration specialist.”

“Yeah, there you go. That’s work, especially with all the school you have to do.” Carmy shrugs. “But what do you really want to be, then?”

“Oh, we getting into dreams, then?” You cock an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think you cared that much, Bear.”

Carmy, for some reason he can’t detect, turns a little red. “No, of course I do. We’re still friends, right?”

“Acquaintances.”

“For real?” Carmy looks back at you, affronted, but you have a little smile and he knows you’re teasing. “Oh fuck you. Stop it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You shake your head, giggling a little, glad to have so easily fallen back into a comfortable, friendly banter. “Of course we’re friends, it’s just that… I always thought very highly of you, Carmen, and I can’t always be sure that feeling was returned. You know? I assumed that you’d be out doing sophisticated cooking in big, upscale restaurants, and the rest of us would just be reading about it. Forgive me for feeling a little behind it all.”

“No, no, no. You got it all wrong, Birdie.” Carmy half-laughs at how you put him on such a pedestal. “You were always the one doing real work, as Mom would call it. You’re the one who’s actually smart and good at arguing, debating– that’s a real skill coming from me, because I just yell fuck at everyone and hope it works. I always thought you were the impressive one out of all of us.”

You snicker, but you’re actually quite pleased with that, and you feel your heart warm at his praise. “Ah, that’s so sweet. Thank you. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been surviving off of ramen and convenience store food for the last month. I can hardly make the time to cook efficiently.”

“...” Carmy shakes his head. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You’re gonna eat good food today then, I hope.”

Almost as if on cue, Donna calls for Carmy to come help her with something– and you’re left sitting as he tells you that he’s going to hear about your dream job when he gets back.

Fifteen minutes later– Carmy is still MIA, and you’re starting to get a little hungry.

You know it’s rude, but luckily Michael comes by and asks if you want a snack.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” You ask, and Michael snickers.

“You’re the same girl that can eat a whole number four combo at the Beef. I’m pretty sure you were hungry before you got here.” Michael jokes, and you blush in embarrassment.

“Oh my god, stop it.” You shake your head. “Anyways, yeah. A snack would be nice.”

Michael gives you a wink that strangely has you a little twitterpated, before you shake that off. He comes back a few minutes later, chewing on something himself– and he hands you a bowl full of Italian sausage stirfry.

“Thanks, Michael.” You smile up at him, and he nods, trying not to smile too much back at your gratitude, but he likes how you take a bite and look super relieved, happy with the food. He’s always loved giving food to people– taking care of them. Especially you, for some reason.

Michael heads back to the kitchen, and Natalie comes by and takes his place.

“Birdie!” She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, equally happy. “Oh my gosh, if I knew you were down here I would’ve come by ages ago!”

“Aw.” You beam at her. “That’s okay, Nat. I’m happy to see you too.”

She’s off ranting about how Pete, her husband, is late, and how she can barely manage everything going on, and you’re sympathetic. You know Nat gets more of a harsh treatment from Donna, and you tell her that you’re there if she needs a person on her side.

“Oh, Birdie. I couldn’t do that to you. Even if you are amazing at talking, Miss Lawyer-to-be.” She lets you continue to sit down in your corner of the living room, as she heads off to check on her mom– maybe pour out some alcohol.

Carmy comes back in, slightly powdered with flour on his forehead– and he sits back down, sighing, as he drinks a glass of water.

There’s the slightest air of awkward tension still– even if you and Carmy have fallen back into your old ways, he still keeps a slight distance, one that he’s grown into, and you feel that you have to break the silence. You don’t know if he’s just tired or if there’s some level of irritation of having to deal with all the holiday bullshit, but you take a guess it has to do with Donna.

“That bad?” You grimace, and Carmy matches your expression.

“That bad.” He shakes his head. “She always gets a little woo-woo around these fucking events. Like, I never wanted her to do all of this– but she insists and insists and doesn’t know how to let go of the, uh…”

“Hubris.”

“Yes. Hubris.” Carmy sighs, glad you still have the perfect word for everything. “Whatever. Anyways, haven’t forgotten. Hit me with your dream.”

“Okay, it’s going to sound a little weird, but, um… I’m really interested in becoming a labour relations lawyer?” You feel almost too much glee at the fact that Carmy remembered, and you see Carmy bite his lip, a little confused, so you continue, hoping you don’t sound like too much of a fucking nerd. “Meaning to help employees get out of their shitty situations with wages, working hours, benefits and fight for their rights. Union stuff. I don’t know, just feels like everyone is struggling with this nowadays… might as well push forward and try to help them out.”

“Wow, now that you’ve said that, it makes a lot of sense.” Carmy blinks. “I mean, uh, it’s not just that you’re good at arguing– you always go for the justice part of things. Remember when Michael and Sugar were arguing about cleaning the basement?”

You do remember that. You suggested dividing up either equally or by who owned what, and they eventually came to an agreement based on that. Michael wanted to dip because he was older, and Sugar thought it was demeaning to ask a girl to clean.

“Or when Lee said that women can’t think analytically, or what was it… mathematically?” Carmy laughs as he watches your face turn angry again.

“Yeah. I especially remember that. I told him to think about Ada Lovelace and to shut up.” You wince. “Maybe not the most mature thing I’ve ever said. I don’t think that’s such a great thing… sometimes I don’t know when to let go of arguments.”

“It’s alright, it was funny.” Carmy plays with his fingers. “That being said, I think you’ll be good if you choose to be that. A labour relations lawyer. You’re smart, and god fucking knows we all need the help. You should check out how many chefs get fucked over because they work at places for the prestige of doing so.”

“Damn.” You make a mental note of that, feeling embarrassed over how much praise Carmy has freely given you. “Is that going to be you?”

“Doesn’t matter if it is. Sometimes you gotta do what you can.” Carmy doesn’t really give you a clear answer, and you feel bad for him. Bad that he’s still stuck in that mindset.

You can hear people hooting and jeering near the stairs, as you walk around the house, exploring a little. Tiff was grateful that you visited her for a brief moment– she told you being pregnant was not all it was cracked up to be– and now you’re just on the upper floor, near the stair railing, on your phone.

You’re not really one to eavesdrop, but you hear– you believe it’s Mikey and Richie– they’re chanting “Claire! Claire Bear!”

Your stomach drops, as you hear them hoot about how hot she is, whoever this Claire girl is– how stacked she is, apparently, the banging body she has, the glasses no longer ruining her appearance– and although you know it’s gross men talk, there’s a small, sad part of you that wants to be perceived as attractive, too.

Still, even as you find yourself frowning and turning away in disgust, you can’t stop yourself from listening.

You remember her. Claire, one of the neighbours down the street. Went to the same high school as you and Carmy. She was really something, someone of note if you remember the popular kid cliques correctly, but she had largely gone unnoticed by you, and it wasn’t for any reason in particular. You can’t be close with every person in high school.

But still– you feel jealous. Just a teeny bit. What was so different about her?

Sure, she was a nice girl. But weren’t you? You arguably had more history with the Berzattos, and yet… it’s as if you’ve simply blended into the wallpaper, their assortment of home decor and furniture. You’ve always been here, and so you don’t stand out.

You might never stand out.

You can hear Carmy trying his best to argue against them, asking them what they did, telling them to fuck off with their teasing– but he sounds sheepish, embarrassed, righteously mortified in the telltale way one would be when they have a crush, and you feel sick.

They’re heaping compliments on her. You know what they mean when they talk about her like this– she’s the clear, obvious choice, probably closer to the family, more interesting, more affectionate, a genius. You don’t really know Claire that well, but apparently, she’s perfect. And you know you, in your silly frumpy sweater, in your attempts to dress up– you are not. You feel humiliated that you even believed Mikey when he said you were pretty– he was clearly complimenting you just to be nice.

You weren’t even an idea in their minds, not for Carmy, anyways. You don’t even think Carmy is capable of seeing you like that now, and it’s with a crushing blow that you realize you were holding out hope. Mistaking familiarity for affection.

It’s a rookie mistake. One that you thought you were self aware enough not to make, because you’ve always known Carmen Berzatto was just out of reach for you.

You wait for them to leave, and come down the stairs, running into Carmy as he groans in annoyance.

Carmy says he needs to wipe some of the flour out of his hair, and you let him go upstairs, not really wanting to look at him, doing everything you can to make your way back to the living room unnoticed. In the meanwhile, Michael comes back and flops into Carmy’s seat on the sofa, next to where you sit, sullen.

“Hey, Birdie.” Michael starts, and you can’t read his tone, and you’re a little annoyed with his fake-nice attention. “Why not sit with me, the Faks, Michelle and Stevie? They’re really good people, I promise.”

“How do you know I’m avoiding people?” You snap back, maybe a little too aggrieved.

“It’s written all over your face, little Birdie.” He touches his knee to yours, and you bite your lip, swallowing your confusion, and Mikey enjoys the fact that you’ve chosen to wear a deep, brick-red Christmas lip colour. It’s hot– he doesn’t get how you don’t seem to be aware that you’re attractive.

He wants to kiss you. Maybe mess up that fancy lipstick and that sweet, annoyingly justice oriented, always-right character of yours. But he keeps it to himself.

“Don’t be antisocial. You of all people shouldn’t be alone during the holidays.”

“I’m not trying to be antisocial. I promise.” You shrug, trying to keep your emotions, that sinking feeling in your gut at bay– the last thing you want is for Michael to see you upset. “I was keeping Bear company, but I can come sit with you guys.”

“That’s my girl.” Michael pulls you up by the arm, and you can feel your face warming at his choice of words– you like being in Michael’s good graces, even if you feel less than great right now.

Michelle, cousin of the Berzattos, has always been sweet to you. She’s impressive in her own right, and as you sit down in front of her and Stevie– she gushes about New York.

“Ah, that’s not to say Chicago isn’t impressive. Right, Birdie?” She smiles at you, not unkindly, and you feel happy to be included.

“Right.” You shrug, knowing that the law firm you work at isn’t all that crazy. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re nothing special, not after what transpired just a few minutes ago, and you voice it. “It’s just okay.”

“No, c’mon. You work at one of the top fucking law firms in the city– you’re gonna make it.” Michael admonishes you. “Out of us Chicagoans, I mean, Michelle, before you take offense.”

“Yeah, Mish.” Richie echoes, popping up out of nowhere.

“None taken.” Michelle fixes her eyes between you and Michael– perhaps reading on something that you’re not even really sure how to understand, let alone explain– and she laughs. “Anyways, what was I saying? Right.”

She launches into a story about hating a woman who didn’t understand the Berzatto name. It’s quite funny– you find yourself laughing every now and then, the dull ache in your heart less noticeable, especially with how good Michelle is at telling stories, and somewhere along the story, Michael’s hand has stayed intertwined with yours, without you really noticing. You only notice when he lets go, and again– a pitfall in your stomach, wondering if Michael just feels familiar around you because there’s nothing to be attracted to and thus respectful of– and it’s such a stupid thought, but you still just know you want to feel wanted. You want to get a hold on yourself– remind yourself you’re not owed attraction and there’s nothing wrong with Mikey or Carmy seeing you as just a friend.

You realize with a start that you’re feeling confused about Michael, too. Was it just a weird quirk of his, calling every single girl pretty just for laughs? Could you even trust what he said? Why does Michael’s opinion of you feel way more pertinent and important than Carmy’s does?

You find yourself mulling over these thoughts, not sure of what’s going on around you, and you hear Michael tell the Fak bros, Ned and Ted, to shut up about California, which they do.

Donna starts screaming in the background, which causes you to turn abruptly. “Oh, fuck me!”

Michael turns and looks at you with some caution– he’s used to his mother’s outbursts, but he never ever wants you to face them. You don’t deserve that, you’ve probably never done anything to deserve it. Not like him.

Stevie gets up, much to the surprise of everyone around him. “Looks like Auntie D needs help, huh?”

“No, no, no.” Everyone tries to stop him, including you.

“What?”

Michelle pushes him back down, but he gets back up, resilient.

Lee decides to comment in. “Let him, why not?”

“I’m sure she could use a few extra hands. I’m going.” He goes, and you stand up to follow, not willing to let an innocent person get dragged into Donna’s insanity.

“Wait, Birdie. Where are you going?” Michael holds your hand again, and you turn red at his action– a little angry, a little glum that he seems to care for you, and you can’t even be grateful for it. “Don’t throw yourself to the wolves. It’s not fucking worth it.”

“Not throwing myself– just want to make sure Stevie is protected.” You move forward, your face stony, and Michael lets go of you, sighing as he wraps his blanket around himself, wondering when you got all pissed off, but glad that you’re not so upset that you wouldn’t act all lawyer-y for Stevie.

Lee is glancing at him, while Michelle looks pleased as punch.

“What? What the fuck are these expressions?” Michael looks around questioningly, and Richie gives him a side glance.

“When’d you get all sweet on her, bro?” Richie gags a little. “Not that she’s not your type, but, uh–”

“I’m just being friendly.” Michael dismisses him, leaning back in his seat. “It’s the holidays, she shouldn’t be lonely.”

“Bullshit you are.” Richie sniggers, and Michael lightly shoves him.

“Yeah, I call bullshit too.” Michelle grins. “I can see it– you’re blushing.”

Michael groans, hating to be so obviously vulnerable in front of everyone.

“Well I, for one, think it’s a huge, fucking catastrophic mistake.” Lee starts, and Michael feels himself blanch under the judgement of this guy. “You’re going to ruin that young woman’s potential if you go around messing with her.”

“Lee, she’s not that young–” Neil starts. “I think she can decide that herself?”

“Whatever. This one knows he isn’t right for her– always wants what he can’t have.” Lee mutters, and Michael feels that white-hot rage– the anger he feels bubbling inside of him as of late.

He does his best to swallow it down, but a part of him knows that it’s true. As much as Michael enjoys your random visits over the past two years, he knows– you’re too good for someone like him. Too young, too selfless, too honest and good and pretty, and he feels an overwhelming wave of shame that he came so close. It’s like he just… doesn’t know how to be a good, responsible person, and it kills him on the inside that he could be so shameful, be so abhorrent and take advantage of you like that, and even if there is a tiny part of him screaming that it’s not so black and white– that you could be just as interested, of your own volition, in him as he is in you– he feels guilt.

Michael is ashamed of who he is. Over, and over, there’s that feeling again– kill yourself– that he doesn’t know how to suppress, and he ignores it as he starts up a new story.

Natalie is tearing up as Stevie hugs her.

You came towards them in the midst of Donna yelling for Stevie to get the fuck out of the kitchen, and Sugar shushing him and shoving him away, and you now place a hand on her shoulder– clearly Stevie has it handled, somewhat.

When he lets go, she sniffles and you smile encouragingly, albeit a little sadly, and Natalie wipes away a tear.

“It’s okay. It’s fine, it’s nothing. You don’t need to talk to her.” She starts, and you shake your head.

“I’m not going to. I can see that would make things worse.” You squeeze her shoulders, and Stevie nods.

“Yeah, Natalie. But we’re here. We’ll always be here if you want to talk.” He tries, and you smile at her– but something about Nat’s slightly upset, off putting expression, and Donna’s grumbling in the background– you feel your heart seizing a little at the tense emotions, so similar to your own, and you excuse yourself.

You walk until you reach the pantry, hot tears already working their way down your face. Every single negative emotion have come to a head, and you’re in terrible danger of having to explain things if you don’t get it together in under ten minutes or so.

You sit on the high table in the pantry, trying not to cry anymore than you already have, your head between your knees– but something about today has all your nerves on edge, and you know it’s because you put in some effort to come here, to see your dear friends, to look appealing enough, to be someone worth talking to, and now you feel as if they never really cared about you at all.

You know these are lousy, immature feelings. You know you can be above them if you really, truly tried, but you let yourself sink into them further, because something about this environment is terrible and you just can’t let it go.

Even worse, no one has really done anything wrong. If this was a court case, you wouldn’t even have any evidence to make a claim. You’re simply confused, perhaps looking at things from the wrong angles– but the fact that you can’t look at this rationally makes you feel worse. As if you’re not as smart as you believed.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in here, when you hear someone shuffle into the pantry, next to you– it’s Michael.

He’s quick on his feet– you try to move away, let him grab whatever household ingredient he needed– but his full attention is on you as his eyes narrow, scanning your tear stained face and your hunched over body.

“Birdie?”

You can’t quite look at him, and you desperately try to wipe your tears, burying your face more between your knees.

“Hey, no. Birdie.” He shakes his head, grabs your arms. He thinks it’s a little strange he’s had to cheer up two different people in the pantry, but he chalks it up to how his house always is. “What happened? Was it Ma?”

“No.” You sight and swallow down the sobs in your throat.

“Then what was it?” Michael’s eyes turn steely. “Fucking ‘Uncle’ Lee? Asshole. Told me I can’t finish any fucking businesses.”

“But… you run the Beef, don’t you?” You say, amid sniffles, entirely honest about it, and Michael’s eyes soften. “That has to count for something.”

“Yeah, little Bird.” He’s glad to have you here– he doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, not when you’re the only person on his side at this moment. “But why don’t you tell me what’s up?”

“I–” You shake your head, and feel your head hang heavy as you slouch over the table, and Michael leans over you, pressing your head to his chest, and you feel yourself crying silently into his shirt, as he shushes you and combs back your hair, his other arm caressing your back.

Michael’s not the best person– not the most comforting to be around– but he knows, by being an older brother, by being someone people want to be around, he knows how to make it count when he does give in to comfort.

He just wishes he didn’t feel so goddamned depressed himself, so he would know the right things to say. He doesn’t want to be so useless all the time.

“Mikey?” You voice is timid. Small.

He feels both elated that you would trust him with this, and devastated that he’ll never be good enough to deserve your trust.

“Yeah, Birdie?”

“It’s so juvenile, but I…" You shake your head and decide to commit to it. "I wish I was pretty."

“Is that it?” Michael’s arm wraps around your shoulder as he squishes onto the seat of the table, next to you. “You think you’re ugly, huh?”

“I don’t think I’m–” You inhale deeply, and wipe away your tears again. “It’s not about being ugly. It’s more like an objective reality that I have to accept. I’m just not… I’m not anything special to look at.”

“Wow, kid.” Michael tuts and shakes his head. “Ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? That stupid fucking mantra, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s true.” Michael almost starts laughing, but you look so solemn and serious, he resists the urge. “You’re not ugly. You might not think you’re all that, but you don’t see what I see.”

Michael tenses, and you watch as he falters over how to explain.

Michael thinks you're so damn annoying with that ardent, sweet expression– even if your tears are staining your face, you still look so grateful to hear him say those words– and it just crushes him. It crushes him to know that you look for his approval so much, when he knows you're worth so much more than that.

He doesn't want to let you down. You and Carmen– he will never be enough for the two of you.

"I don't– I'm fucking stupid, Birdie, don't listen to me." He swallows, but you're hanging onto his words and your face falls again.

"But I can listen to you get all poetic about Claire, right?" You mutter, angry, and you get up to leave– but Michael grabs your forearm, and he's quite a bit stronger than you are.

“Hey. That’s different.” Michael tries, but you shake your head, and you’re left sitting on the table again. “I was only teasing Bear. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I know.” You turn even more glum, and Michael is left feeling terrible, wondering what was so wrong with what he said.

You’re silent for a moment– you know that you like Carmy, but something about telling Michael about it feels weird, like you’re pre-emptively rejecting him rather than Carmy by confessing feelings that are slowly disappearing– and you just don’t want to.

But you know you need to. You need to accept that Carmy would never see you that way.

“I just… for a really long time, I thought that I…” You fall to silence, again, and Michael is staring at you, hanging onto every word, watching your side profile shake as you try to gather your thoughts. “I really liked him, you know? I don’t even know why– maybe he was just the clearly available, safe option, and now that’s not even true and I feel like I’m mourning something that was never even real. How stupid and childish can I get?”

“Wait, Birdie–”

“And I just… I know I’m not like Claire. I don’t know what I got myself into. I don’t even really like him anymore– it’s just that the situation makes it so damn apparent that I am just average.” You huff out your words with an air of finality that even has Michael flinching a little, and he runs his hands through his hair, unbelieving of what you’ve said. “You can’t even say I’m not, Mikey, because I know how you talked about her and it was just so different to how anyone here has ever thought about me.”

“Birdie, shut the fuck up.” Michael breathes out really heavily, pinching his brows, thinking that he regrets everything he said and he wishes he could take it back. “I didn’t really– I was trying to tease Carmy, you know? It didn’t mean the shit you think it does. Hell, I would be way more serious if I was talking about you.”

He takes a beat of silence– should he read your reaction to that, or keep going? And he decides to keep going.

“You can’t just act like you can read everyone’s minds because you’re a lawyer, Birdie.” Michael says it with a slightly lighter tone, and his hand traces the small of your back as you lean against your knees, staring up at him. “Didn’t you learn about intent or whatever the fuck it was? In school?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You admit despite yourself, and Michael smiles but continues seriously.

“I don’t think that about Claire, okay? If anything, I’m fucking embarrassed you heard me talk all of that shit– that was just meant to be, uh, guy talk. I swear.” Michael swallows, feeling guilty that he still had to be so low about it. “I don’t– I care so much about him, I just went too far in working him up. I think it would be a good thing for him, right?”

Hurt flashes across your face– you still don’t think you like Carmy anymore, you just don’t know how to feel about someone else being portrayed as a “good thing.” But you inhale– you know part of getting over it is having to accept this, and you let yourself think and then nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I could see that.” You agree, and it doesn’t hurt as much since Michael is looking at you sympathetically. “I just… I want to be a good thing, too. Not for Carmy, just…”

“For someone?” Michael answers as you trail off.

“Yeah.”

“Listen, Birdie. I’m gonna tell you something you gotta hear.” Michael has that determined look where you know he’s going to say something smart– he has his fleeting moments of wisdom even if he doesn’t believe in himself– and he goes for it. “I can’t believe no one has ever told you just to, I don’t know, fucking love yourself a little? Like, c’mon, you should be able to like yourself! You’re an incredible person and you deserve– you have the right to be insanely fucking confident and it’s so fucking annoying that you don’t see it.”

In the heat of his argument, Michael’s come too close again, and he can feel your breath on somewhere near his jaw or neck, and he has to remind himself to pull away again.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Michael combs back a strand of your hair.

“Don’t be sorry. Just listen to what I’m saying.” Michael inhales, thinks over why he can’t do this himself– Tina always tells him to be a little easier on himself, but he just struggles– and he thinks that you look terribly cute so it’s just a lot easier to root for you. “Don’t do it for some idiot guy who will never really appreciate you, little Birdie.”

You can feel the conclusion of that sentence, even if Michael doesn’t quite say it: do it for yourself. Be there for yourself. Listen to the good part of yourself, rather than him.

“Oh. I guess that’s…” You swallow, taking it in, knowing the value of his words. “It’s true.”

“See? You know it.” Michael leans in a little too close again, his face a mere breadth away from your own.

“I think you’d actually make a fantastic lawyer.” You slyly comment amid wiping your face, and Michael blinks and then laughs.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you’d get to see me and hear my advice all the time.” Michael mumbles a little over his words but to his surprise, you nod.

“Yeah, then I’d get to see some idiot who really does appreciate me.” You murmur even more quietly, and Michael, feeling stupid, has a wistful smile on his face that he maybe has not felt in a decade. It’s so sweet– he thinks his heart is bursting with something.

Maybe love. Maybe that jovial, Christmas spirit that seems to emanate as the food smells closer to ready, maybe what Carmen gave him as a kind gift, most likely the closeness he feels with you– not just being close in familiarity, more like– he can make out the little spots and freckles adorning your face, every single eyelash your still watery eyes have, the faint lines in your still-red lips, and it occurs to him that he’s too close. Somewhere during this talk, his hand has stayed around your back, and you have been tentatively tracing his right hand’s knuckles with your own thumb.

Michael knows how it looks. If anyone was to walk in right now (and he’s sure Michelle or Richie have already put it together that the two of you have been gone for a while) they would assume you two are a couple.

He has a sudden air of regret– it’s not because he wants to reject you, he just… he struggles a lot with feeling wanted. He struggles with the standards that people seem to put on him. Michael has always known he’s not a good guy– he doesn’t know how to be the person that everyone seems to think he is. Carmen, Natalie, Richie, you– you all seem to think the best of him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He nearly had a breakdown watching Carmen look up to him so lovingly.

Before he can pull away– with another responsible refusal, telling you that he’s too old and washed up, and that you deserve the whole world and he is not enough to offer that to you– you gently but firmly grab his face, tracing his cheek, and he thinks it could be wrong– what if you’re just feeling all confused and willy-nilly about feelings because you’re displacing what you felt about Carmen, what if you don’t actually like him and you’re assuming that you do because of his clear attraction to you, what if you’re just feeling the moment and the sweet guidance he’s given you?

Tons of questions seem to flow from his mind, things that he wants to ask you, but Michael thinks fuck it, because you’re leaning in first and pulling him in and it’s something he would’ve never expected in a million years, that you could be just as attracted to him.

He kisses you maybe a little too hard– maybe it should’ve been softer, more gentle since you’ve opened up to him so much, but you kiss him just as eagerly back, and he doesn’t fucking care to be gentle anymore. He’s leaning over you and Michael knows he’s quite a bit taller, so he has to pull you upwards to really reach your lips, and the table the two of you are sitting on is quite small– it shakes a little and there’s not much room for Michael to really feel you.

Until you climb into his lap, because of course you do, and now you’re just tangling your fingers in his hair, and he thinks he can feel whatever migraine that the day’s events have spurred on him slipping away, and his hands wrap around the smallest part of your waist as he pulls you in, pressing his chest against yours.

You feel like Michael’s beard tickles a little– but you don’t mind that. You weren’t sure until you did it that you’ve wanted to kiss him for a while. You feel like maybe you’ve actually been more attracted to him than you ever were with Carmy, maybe even just going for Carmy due to his aforementioned security.

Michael groans, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you sharply inhale as his tongue roams around your own, and he knows he likes hearing you gasp when his hands come up under your sweater, just to feel your bare skin, and you pull away.

Michael comes in too close again, placing a soft yet firm kiss on the corner of your mouth, and you laugh at him, and it’s one of the best sounds he could hear. No longer are you all gloomy and sullen in the corner of the room– but there’s still an air of heat around you two, and he knows he should let you go before things go too far.

“Consider that a Christmas present.” You murmur softly, tapping his face, genuinely smiling despite the smeared lipstick, and you clamber off his lap, and peek out the pantry. “I think you’re good to go eat dinner– let me just…”

You wipe the red lipstick from his mouth using the corner of your sweater sleeve, so not to leave evidence, and it’s an intimate moment that has Michael staring at your hand, to your eyes, and there’s something in his eyes– maybe sorrow, maybe appreciation, but most of all, tenderness, and he takes a silly, soft moment to just kiss your hand. You beam at him.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” You tease him, because you know that Michael has always had that look, and he stiffens for a moment.

“Ah… maybe around when you came back from graduating college.” Michael admits, feeling weirdly high and low all at the same time, but he questions you too. “What about you? Don’t tell me you just decided to kiss me right now. That would fucking… that would be too much.”

His heart falls for a split second– thinking about how again you could’ve just been having a little fling– why would you ever like him? He struggles to think how you could, even after having kissed you.

“No, no. I swear it’s not like that.” You turn a little red and play with your hands. “Um. You’re not like a rebound, Mikey, I just… I think I liked you ever since I started coming around more, maybe around last year? I probably just didn’t notice because I thought I was into Carmy. You know? Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael tries not to let the relief show through his face too much. “I thought maybe I was… reading too much into it. Putting pressure on you.”

“No, you’re good.” You shake off his concerns. “I don’t think that at all. I really do like you… might’ve just been obsessed with the idea of a childhood friend turning into a lover.”

Michael grins. “Well, who’s to say that didn’t fucking happen, Birdie? Are we not childhood friends?”

“Eh… kind of. You’re a bit old.” You give him a so-so motion, and Michael jokingly pushes you a little. “I’m kidding! This is more like– your friend’s hot older brother gives you a chance and it’s crazy and exciting and you just want to know more.”

You were half kidding, but you’re so honest about it, and Michael loves it, but there’s still that undercurrent of agony– he wants to just openly like you, too, but he doesn’t want to be such a fucking failure about it.

“I’m gonna just head to the dining table, I think.” You check your watch. “Gotta go think about this a little more– is that okay? Not in a bad way, I’m just overwhelmed with everything that’s happened today…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s okay, Birdie.” Michael presses a kiss into your hairline. He knows it is a lot for anyone to handle– getting over a crush you thought you had, realizing that you like someone else– he gets it. “Take all the time you need.”

“Okay.” You smile eagerly at him and then walk outside through the hallway, wiping your mouth so it looks less kiss-stained, and peek around so no one is looking at you.

Michael feels a million emotions hit him at once, and he knows he has to cool himself down before explaining to everyone where you’ve gone, what’s happened– or he’s certain to implicate himself, and he can’t have that.

It all goes to shit not even twenty minutes later.

You’re sitting pretty between Richie and Tiff, who seem to be a little bit… awkward, maybe arguing mentally about something you don’t completely understand. No one has really commented on your disappearance, but you’re sure it’s obvious based on how Michelle and Stevie are whispering and smiling at you.

Michael gets a massive, depressive episode right after you’ve left him. He can’t exactly pinpoint why– he feels like a creep even if he isn’t one. Hell, he only actually met you when you were nineteen– he was in a different state when you started visiting the Berzattos. But even if Michael ignores his potential, old-man creepiness… he also feels like you’re headed for so much more than he ever was, and he knows he’s holding you back if he does this.

For once in his life, he just wanted to be happy. He just wanted to be wanted without the stigma of not being good enough.

You, Carmy, and Nat. He knows you guys are on your way. Michael feels a pit in his stomach as he imagines why you guys all have to look up to him so much– he just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

He can’t ignore the feeling that he is just a major fucking loser.

That’s why Michael goes and gets high. He knows he’s making a mistake, and he doesn’t want to do something so disappointing– but he figures he’s already a disappointment anyways. He’s grateful you’re not here outside to see how pathetic he really is– how much he craves a hit just to feel a little less shitty. And yes, it calms him down as he feels the high of the painkillers exacerbate positive memories, like with you, Carmy, Natalie– but it still makes his anger, his depressive tendencies strong, too.

When he sits down at the dining table– he’s not that intoxicated, but he knows it’s a little apparent on his face, based on the mild alarm on your own. You’re sitting just far enough from him for there to be plausible deniability, but still– you are worried about him.

“You good?” You mouth, and he waves away your question with an air of fake nonchalance.

You don’t look convinced. You can see the red in Michael’s eyes, the general tension in his shoulders, the unnerving sense of resentment in his expression. You wonder what could have happened in the last ten minutes that you’ve been sitting at the table, why Michael decided to go and get intoxicated just minutes after kissing you.

Were you too much for him? Maybe.

You know Michael gets high. In fact, last Easter, you’re pretty sure he spent the entire time high on something– but you only vaguely know about his anger flare ups. About his negative emotions, the supposed depressive periods he goes through. You’ve seen him argue a bit with Richie, you know he’s gotten a bit harsh with Carmy, but you know he’s a bit more troubled than that. The whole family seems a bit troubled. Natalie has told you that much, and you have your experience with that– your mother and father’s fights are ones that still make you quiver to think about. But with Michael?

You don’t know how much you believed it, until now, because Michael always seemed kind of… like he always had the right thing to say. You almost feel like he’s in the right to get upset, because he’s had a hard time, with his family, some of his luck surrounding his career– especially with how Lee continually riles him up.

The table is formal and nice for a bit. Michael and Tiff converse about something, Carmy asks if you’re okay and you mostly are. Michelle asks Mikey to say grace, and he sounds resentful, again, of Lee cutting him off so often.

Cicero, being the responsible uncle that he is, tries to push off grace to Stevie, who promptly rejects it, and Michelle decides to ease the tension by asking what the hell the seven fishes are all about. Lee, of course, gleefully answers, about the dutch potatoes and the bible.

Michael glares at him and throws a fork. A real, honest-to-god, heavy piece of silverware. It clatters on the carpeted floor– you feel yourself flinch, and you watch Natalie and Pete’s expressions crumble into the realization that Michael is not okay, and everyone seems to look towards him in fear.

“You see what you did, right? You already did that. You already bitched about the dutch oven.” Michael retorts at him, not completely coherent, and you can feel the lights glazing over– the Christmas tree, the wreaths and baubles, everything seems to lose focus in comparison to the red-hot anger that Michael is bubbling over with.

Cicero and Carmy try to call him off, but Michael isn’t listening, and you can tell– he’s in a place to be upset. It’s like a slowly proceeding car crash– as much as you don’t want him to do it, you understand why he’s going to. You feel like there is a bit of a double standard in place here– Cicero seems to want him to respect his elders, and Michael is being kind of childish, but you can’t say you don’t understand why.

Michael asks for Fak’s fork, in direct opposition to Lee’s attempts to play the father in this house. Despite Fak’s insistent refusals, Michael successfully takes it. Everyone speaks with the intent to stop him, and he’s too focused on Lee to stop.

You know you hate Lee too. But such a severe reaction, coming from Michael? It has you wincing a little. You want to pull him away– tell him to be the nice older brother you’ve always known him to be– but you know it takes time. You know it’s probably going to get worse. You try to catch his eye– and he can't quite look at you.

You have faith in him. You know Michael can do better than this– you just hope he can see it, too.

Michael throws the second fork, and you feel regret in trusting him, again, because he’s making things bad but it’s almost as if he can’t help it. You catch Natalie’s eyes– she’s clearly disappointed, too.

Michael feels a sick sense of pleasure, as he often does when it comes to acting out his worst desires. But he feels a flash of anger with himself– is that what he did with you? Is he really this guy? He thinks that he is, he is a bad dude and he can commit to that role if that’s what’s needed.

“Cousin, you’re scaring the normals.” Richie tries, looking at Tiff and you, but you’re still yearning to catch his glance– and Michael can only respond that it’s nothing, everything is fine, and you’re suddenly reminded of when your parents used to fight and how you used to have to be the middle man and convince them that things were alright.

Michael looks towards you this time– but you’re not looking at him. You have your hands neatly clasped in your lap, your eyes are focused on the set of candles in the middle of the table, and you look horribly upset, with your neck all tense as you wait for things to blow over, and he can tell– he’s fucking up big time. Stevie, Carmy, everyone is looking pained, and Michael can only think that he doesn’t give a shit. He wants to make Lee feel just as terrible as he does.

"You see– I can throw forks because this is our father’s house." Michael scoffs back, and there's real agony in his tone. “My father’s house.”

Michelle inhales. “We have lift-off.”

“Okay, you got everyone's attention, so go ahead, tell us a story we've all heard a million times already.” Lee spits out, barely holding back his own contempt for Michael, and Michael starts laughing as if everything’s alright. “Tell a story about how you're living with your mom and you're borrowing money off of her and any other sucker who'll listen to your bullshit.”

Everyone looks towards the table, feeling terribly awkward about Lee’s accusations– it’s not that it’s necessarily untrue, but there’s a hefty amount of his own assumptions, his own bias thrown in there, and you want to speak up.

“Lee, shut the fuck up.” Cicero looks absolutely pissed off at him, and you’re grateful someone has taken some of the heat off of Michael. It’s Lee’s fault, too.

“I’m sorry. I told you not to be a sucker, Jimmy.” Lee comments, and Cicero exhales, exasperated.

“Lee. That’s not really fair– you’re being too hard on him.” You utter through gritted teeth, and Lee’s eyes narrow on you. It's the first time you've spoken, and Michael glances at you– his eyes are bright and he genuinely looks sorry. Sorry he had to go this far.

“Oh, am I? Really, Birdie? I would suggest I’m not being hard enough.” Lee raises his hands, invites you to speak more, and you know that it’s not really your place to do so, especially because Lee and Michael seem to have a lot of history.

But you have your almost-lawyer tendencies, and of course you’re not exactly unbiased either, because you want to see the best in Michael– you want to like him.

"Please, Lee… Michael's working on himself. You don't need to lie to him." You stare at him, and Lee’s face seems to turn darker with that. “I’m sure we all have our issues… it feels like a lot.”

"Is that what he's told you, Birdie?" Lee sneers at you, and you suddenly feel small. "He's a sick, fucking twisted man, and you would trust him, wouldn't you?"

He doesn’t go further than that– but it’s enough that you feel humiliated for being read so thoroughly. It’s obvious what he’s implying– you’re a silly little girl who doesn’t know any better.

“It's fine. It's fine. Because this guy's nothing and he's nobody.” Lee points at Michael again, and his expression sours so much. You watch as Michael seems to zero in on what Lee’s rambling on about.

Natalie shakes her head in little no-no motions.

“Hey… Petey… I just need to, uh… I need to borrow this for one second.” Michael’s got that nonchalant expression again, but there’s pain in his eyes, and there’s a clamour of everyone again telling Michael to stop, calling his name, trying to distract him.

"Michael. Michael. Please don’t do this. Hey. Hey. Hey!" Natalie calls at him, and you know she's just begging for him to leave it alone. “I love you. Okay?”

You watch as Michael, holding the fork, just holding it, clear malicious intent in his eyes, tension building in the air and you feel a little sick, but his eyes are watering and he clearly doesn’t want to do what he thinks he has to.

“I love you too, Sug.” Michael says honestly.

Stevie giggles, Cicero de-escalates things further, and you think you see the light at the end of the tunnel, if not for the fact that Michael is still holding the fork. Still standing up, taunting him, acting like a big old child as Carmy rebukes him– and it’s really just two grown men beginning to get all macho and toxic about who’s tougher, who’s really the man of the house, and they start screeching at each other and you watch as Michael’s eyes glaze over with something, with Lee’s final insult that “he’s nothing.”

You watch as Michael takes his seat. He seems ambivalent, hard to read– he’s not meeting anyone’s eyes and you feel terrible about it.

Donna comes in and takes her seat– she seems rather drunk, too, and the last thing you need is more evidence that substance abuse is a bad thing– and Stevie starts the most wonderful prayer that still isn’t enough to dissuade Michael. You catch his gaze– he’s mulling over something, his eyes are watery, and you want to go over there and talk him down, even if that idea is unwise.

Donna cries over the prayer, and Natalie commits the most cardinal sin that she could at this moment: she asks if she’s okay.

You flinch with recognition as Donna starts screaming at her, about how she is okay and could a person who isn’t okay make such a gorgeous meal, and she exits the room in visible anger, and Natalie begins to hyperventilate, while Michelle tries to calm everyone down.

Donna throws a plate down on the floor, and exits the room continuing to scream– and there’s a beat of tense silence, full of angst and what-nows, and Lee decides to take initiative breaking that silence with a silly joke– almost in a paternal role, again, a hot topic between him and Mikey– and you watch Michael’s eyes start narrowing as he leans against his hand.

Michael throws the third fork.

It’s like every single nerve you felt, every bit of tension that was already in place, comes to a head as Michael starts going batshit, trying his best to attack Lee, while the Fak brothers and Richie are between them, and you can barely think straight as everyone starts screaming at each other.

Tiff almost gets dragged into the chaos, and you're left shielding and comforting her from the fight. Pete and Richie hold Michael off and you're thankful– the last thing you want is to go up in there and get caught in the crossfire yourself. It’s genuinely a blur– you have no idea how bad things are getting until Cicero starts telling them to get the fuck out.

Suddenly, the wall of the living room bursts inwards, the Christmas tree getting dragged in the crossfire, and you realize with shock that someone’s driven a car inside.

Not just any car– that’s Donna in there, driving, and you think for a moment she’s dead. You can’t believe what’s happening– you can feel your heart hammering through your chest.

Michael runs towards the car, tries to open the front door, yelling and asking her what she did, asking her to open the door. She stirs a little.

Everyone else is standing there, in shock, not focusing properly on what to do, and you pull yourself away from the crowd of people, as they stare on in horror. You don’t want to be a part of this, but you are, and you know what a responsible adult would do.

You go outside, into the December night’s cold air, and call 911. Specify for the firefighters and ambulances, because Cicero has a big thing against narcs and cops and you’re not getting into that right now.

Even though you’re freezing, and that’s what you should be focusing on? You’re in an incredible amount of despair because of what’s taken place. You hang up the call and feel exhausted by everything that’s happened, and you wonder if Michael really knows better. If he can be more than this. It’s not something you’re judging him for– but you feel terrible about his circumstances and you want him to get out of there.

Worse, you can’t help but feel a little upset with him. Because you know that Michael didn’t have to stoop that low– he chose to, and that’s what bothers you the most. He let his emotional responses dictate how he was going to act, and you know it’s hard to not be so provoked in this environment, but still: you are concerned and upset with him, and you know you need to take a step back. As much as it hurts you to stay away, you feel like it’s going to hurt even more if you intentionally stay around.

You wait for the ambulance and fire trucks to show up– you take a minute to direct them through the house, and then you trust that someone else has got it from there. Carmy, Natalie, Michelle, Stevie– they’ve got each other, they’re whispering about something, and you know where you’re not needed.

You grab your coat and leave, leave as silently as you can without interrupting everything that’s going on. It’s an strange walk home– ten minutes of you thinking about everything.

You hope next Christmas will be better.

Michael comes down from his high hard. Someone’s wrapped a blanket around him, and he’s sitting on the front porch’s staircase, wondering what the hell is going on. Donna’s apparently been taken to the hospital– and there’s a makeshift tarp where the wall has been crashed in. Everyone has gone home.

Where did you go? He has a moment of panic. Are you okay? Did he fuck it up that badly? That you would leave without saying goodbye? Michael can picture the disappointment on your face, and he wishes– he really wishes he was someone else.

He’s stressing really hard, his eyes are beginning to tear up. God, he knew he wasn’t really worthy of your attention– you’re young still, you have the whole world ahead of you– and he wonders if he can apologize. He wonders what he could possibly say to make it right. After such an insane situation, he can’t even blame you for taking off.

Natalie tells him, kind sister that she is, that you were the one to call emergency services. Of course you were– you have a strong head on your shoulders and Michael feels strongly that his family is in debt to you. And then you headed home, but Natalie doesn’t know why.

He does have your number. But he’s not going to call you, not right now– he’s not going to make a bigger mistake and fuck things up further.

Michael sighs, and leans back. He doesn’t deserve to be happy.

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birdiewriteslit · 3 months

Note

hiding a relationship and getting caught

trevor x hughes sister!!

the brothers finding out

“caught”

trevor zegras x f!hughes!reader

birdie’s 300 celly

You heard the front door open and a distant call of your name. Lifting your head off the bed, you listened intently and began to panic as you heard footsteps getting closer to your bedroom.

“Trev,” you whispered. “You gotta stop. Somebody’s here.”

Trevor continued kissing up your neck, no doubt carelessly leaving marks you would have to cover up later. “Nah, baby, it’s fine. They’ll go away.”

“Trevor, I’m serious. It could be one of my brothers.” You were desperately trying not to moan as he sucked on your sweet spot.

He placed a final kiss on your shoulder blade before pulling away and meeting your eyes. His lips were red and swollen, and while his pupils dilated when he looked at you, his narrowed eyes told you how he felt. “Do we always have to do this? Would it be so bad if they found out?”

After about six months of dating in secret, you often wondered the same thing. “Like this? Very bad.”

A knock sounded at the door of your bedroom. “Y/n? You in there?” Jack’s voice asked from the hall.

“Just a sec!” you called out, hurrying to push Trevor off of you and grab your discarded shirt from the floor. You motioned to the closet and he scrambled to hide himself in it.

You tried to push your hair down to make it look mostly normal before opening the door. Jack eyed you up and down. “Is Trevor here?”

You heard a yelp from the closet that you tried to cover up with a cough as you felt heat rise to your face. “No, why?”

“His car is in the driveway,” Jack stated obviously. Another sound from the closet.

“Is there something in there?” Jack asked, trying to peer around the door before you stopped him with a hand to his chest, pushing him back.

You chuckled nervously. “Of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

Jack sniffed the air and furrowed his eyebrows. “You smell like Axe. Why the fuck do you smell like that shit Trevor uses?”

“Better question. Why do you drop by my house unannounced?” you inquired, attempting to deflect the subject onto him.

“Because I can do whatever I want,” Jack dismissed quickly. “Is Trevor in the closet?”

“No,” Trevor said, obviously from the closet.

You dropped your head in defeat as Jack swiftly moved past you into the room. He opened the closet door to find a shirtless Trevor leaning against the dresser.

“Surprise,” he said, rather unhelpfully.

Jack was quiet for a moment, taking in the scene in front of him. Trevor’s eyes flickered nervously to you, but you put your hands up and gave him a look that said, ‘You did this to yourself.’

“You’re boning my sister and you didn’t even tell me?” Jack marveled, sounding rather hurt.

You cringed, wrinkling your nose. “Ew, Jack. Don’t say ‘boning.’ That’s disgusting.”

He whipped his head around, scowling at you. “Is that not what you’ve been doing?”

You shrugged. “There are nicer ways to describe it.”

“You’re really not helping,” Trevor complained.

“I feel like I’ve been cheated on,” Jack said sadly, pretending to wipe a fake tear from his eye.

“Bro, you’re still my second favorite Hughes,” Trevor reassured.

“Second favorite?” Jack reeled.

“I mean, Y/n’s always been my favorite.”

Jack scoffed. “She’s not even the prettiest.”

“Excuse me?” you said. “I’m much prettier than you. In case you didn’t hear, he likes me the most.”

“Ladies, don’t fight over little old me. There’s plenty of Trevor to go around.” Trevor held up his palms, smirking at you both.

Jack looked disgusted. “She can have you, dude. I’m not into Axe body spray anyways.”

“It doesn’t even smell half bad,” Trevor said, mildly offended.

“No offense, Trev, but it kind of does,” you admitted.

“Yeah, and go put some clothes on, why don’t you?” Jack suggested, exiting the room with you in tow.

You stopped him in the hall with a hand on his arm. “Are you really not mad about this?”

Jack shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “No, he obviously likes you, and besides, I’m not the brother he should be worried about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell him to watch out for big brother Quinn.” Jack winked. You shoved at his chest, rolling your eyes.

“Shut up, man.” You looked back into the bedroom to see Trevor fumbling around with the sheets, still looking for his shirt. You watched him with a fond smile, knowing Jack was doing the same to you.

Little did Trevor know, he still had two other brothers to break the news to, and they wouldn’t be as forgiving.

#birdiewriteslit #birdie’s 300 celly #birdiewritesfics #nhl blurb #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl #hockey imagine #hockey #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras blurb #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras oneshot #trevor zegras fic #tz11 #anaheim ducks

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enkas-illusion · 5 months

Text

The Worst Kept Secret

Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Rating: NSFW/Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Genre/Theme: Co-workers to lovers; non-sorcery au

Content warning: fluff but not too much, smut, oral (f & m receiving), piv sex, dom!Toji, sub!reader, overstimulation, unprotected sex, explicit sexual content, language, Toji has a filthy mouth.

Summary: Your colleague Toji only has eyes for you, despite having a reputation of sorts. Porn with a plot… or more like a build up.

Author's Note: Co-worker Toji is instantly attractive cause a) he’s not a bum and b) he’s Toji-fucking-Fushiguro – that’s all in my defence, your honour! This shit is nasty… no, I won’t explain myself (I'm pretty sure i was possessed while writing this).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one shot, please write to me and let me know your thoughts. I love reading whenever people have elaborate things to say T.T Thank you for reading!

-Eren’s Birdie

Song Dedication: Talk by Hozier

“Rat!” you exclaim as you hold your phone up to display the word written boldly on the screen.

“Ummm…. It’s not a rat, it's not a patootie, it’s a ratatouille!” your coworker, Lisa, blurts out excitedly.

You both look at each other, trying your best to control before you burst out laughing. This goes on for about a minute till your bellies hurt and you’re wheezing. You quiet down as you wipe the tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

“Why don’t I know that one?” your other coworker, Ema, mutters with furrowed eyebrows, confused at what could possibly be so funny about the sentence.

You’re too drunk to realise that sober you would not find it as funny as you do right now. But that’s what happens when you party a little too hard with your coworkers on a work trip and then hang around the hotel bar because nobody wants to go to bed even at 3am.

You look around at the handful of your coworkers, randomly occupying different spots at the bar, all too dazed and into their own conversations to pay attention to the stupid game that the three of you were currently playing – A word game your genius minds had developed, using a random word generator app and use it in a meme-able sentence.

“Oh god… next word. Feminism!” Lisa squeals, snatching your phone from you to generate the word for your turn.

“Fuck… I suddenly can’t think of anything,” you admit and giggle, trying hard to work your brain.

“Seriously…”

“Wait, Wait… I need a few seconds,” you laugh, trying to save yourself. You look around and your eyes land on your office crush, Toji Fushiguro, sitting at the bar with your boss, Kento Nanami.

You look back to your group with a determined look in your eyes, ready with your sentence. “I want him to do things to me that feminism wouldn’t agree with,” you giggle like a teenager, “hah! I’m a genius.”

However, your friends have fixated on something else entirely, ignoring your perfect answer, since their eyes follow your line of vision to the bar. “So, what’s the scene?” Ema looks back at you.

“It's your turn, next word–”

“Nah, we’re bored… this is far more interesting,” her eyebrows wiggle, as she scoots closer to you on the sofa. By the looks of it, Lisa has also forgotten about the game in a second. You realise you’ve dug this hole for yourself, yet you don’t mind sharing a drunk confession with your friends.

“Let’s head out for a smoke,” you get up from the sofa. Lisa is quick to grab her purse as both your friends spring up, hurrying to happily follow you out onto the secluded porch outside, ready for gossip.

As you light up your cigarette, Ema looks at you expectantly. Looking at her face makes you snort and you cough out the smoke before speaking, “Have some patience! Besides, there's nothing too juicy about this gossip.”

“Pleaseeee, literally everyone saw the way Toji was glaring at the man who asked you for a dance tonight… not gonna lie, he looked kinda hot when he got mad,” Lisa catches your lie as she fawns over Toji, something that has become a regular thing among the female coworkers at the company.

“I know right? And I said no to the guy! What was he so pissed about anyway?” you protest.

“It's all because you agreed when the dude was like ‘at least let me buy you a drink sweetie’!” Ema imitates the stranger from the bar from hours ago.

“Hey! Who says no to free drinks?” you defend yourself.

“Okay, fair,” Lisa nods her head before realising, “aye, focus on the matter at hand! Why did you say no to the guy? He was cute.”

“Was he really though?” you retort.

“Yeah, like you’d notice anyone else when Toji's around… Please fuck him, I need some office drama!” Lisa snaps back before taking a long drag from her cigarette.

“Yea right… I’m serious though,” you ponder between slow drags, “I doubt anything is going to happen between Toji and I.”

“Why not?!” Ema whines and you laugh at how it seems like they’re more desperate about this whole thing than you are.

“Need I remind you I literally just got out of a relationship? This is no time to be having stupid crushes. I need some alone time… besides you know how his reputation is. Sure, he flirts with me and I enjoy it a lot but I don't know,” you explain as if it’s an automated response stored in you.

“So what? Then just fuck him and get it over with. They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone!” Lisa giggles, “Besidesss, I've heard he’s really good in bed… heard it from a mutual– uhhh, I don't really remember her name.”

“Oh wait, shit I remember that!” Ema squeals, almost dropping the cigarette from her hand in excitement, “But didn’t she also say that he basically ghosted her after? He just fucks around, I guess.”

“Hence the reputation… Men like Toji are the most charming kind. They know exactly what to say to get you to sleep with them but disappear when it comes to commitment,” Lisa ponders, staring into the distance.

“Exactly, everyone says that Toji doesn’t do relationships. And as horny and curious as I might be, I don’t just want us to fuck and leave it at that. It’d be way too awkward to have such a dynamic at the workplace,” you reason and they simply nod. There’s a beat of silence as all three of you smoke quietly.

“Still though… would it be so bad to just give it a shot? Simply see it as a one night stand and get it over with? If he’s that indifferent about it, I doubt it’d be awkward at work,” Lisa presses.

“I know right! I dont get why you’re thinking so much about it. At least the sex would be killer even if nothing else is assured,” Ema advises.

You take another big drag before dropping the bud to the ground and crushing it with your heel, “Hmmm… that’s true, I’ll think about it.”

“Think soon and try to seduce him in the three days we have here!” Lisa squeezes your shoulder encouragingly.

“Yes! If you don’t want to, please allow me to! He looked so delicious yesterday,” Ema sighs and by the look on her face, you can tell she’s probably recalling memories of a shirtless Toji playing volleyball at the beach from yesterday.

“Be my guest… but do it tomorrow, you’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” you snort.

“Please, drunk or sober, if there is one hook up I wouldn’t regret, it’d be him… after our boss of course,” Ema confesses.

“Yeah right. Either of us could still have a shot with Kento. Toji only flirts back with you,” Lisa looks at you with narrowed eyes.

You laugh before a sudden chill runs down your spine, and you cuss at the feeling, “Motherfucker– Should’ve gotten a coat. It's getting cold.”

Your coworkers eye each other mischievously before Lisa snickers, “Why don’t you ask loverboy to help you with it instead? That way you’d be warm inside out.”

“Oh yeah, great idea! Let me go back inside to find him–” you cut off when you see a figure walking outside towards your group.

You signal Ema, who has her back turned to the encroaching new presence, to shut up but it's too late as she fake moans, “Exactly… I’m sure he’d love to indulge you, he’d basically been eye-banging you all night, harder Toji, fuck yea–”

“HEY TOJI! What’s up!” you’re basically shouting at the guy when he’s a few feet away, hoping to cover up and save yourself.

Maybe he senses your embarrassment, or maybe he didn’t hear her (hopefully) but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead he greets the group and there’s an awfully awkward feeling in the air.

“Ladies,” he speaks coolly as he stands next to you, “Glad I found you here since boss man was looking for you two.”

“Kento?!” Ema’s ears shoot up at his sentence as she exchanges a grin with Lisa. They rush ahead inside and as you are about to follow them, you feel a hand on your wrist holding you back. You turn to look at him with a confused frown.

“Where do you think you’re going? I was just getting rid of the two of them,” he smirks, making you look at his pillowy lips.

When he catches you staring, you look down quickly, tugging a strand of your hair behind your ear nervously, “Oh… So, Kento wasn’t really looking for them?”

“Nope.”

“Oh… that’s– they’re gonna be disappointed,” you chuckle lightly as you fidget with your phone’s cover.

“Well, sucks for them, I guess,” he holds two fingers under your chin to make you look up at him, “You look pretty… you usually do, but even more so in that tiny dress.”

Your eyes grow wide at his confession as you feel the heat rush to your cheeks and you mutter a quiet ‘thank you’. You move to the front of the porch as you stare out at the vast night sky, partly to avoid feeling so mushy and partly because you feel the alcohol toying with your nerves.

Another chill rushes down your spine and you’re pretty sure it makes you shiver visibly. As you mutter a quiet ‘fuck’, you feel him wrap his denim jacket around your shoulders. Your eyes widen at him in surprise.

“What? I’m a gentleman,” he teases, standing closer next to you. You laugh at this, turning to face him as you shake your head.

“Sure… a gentleman with a reputation,” you roll your eyes as you wrap your arms around your torso in an attempt to keep yourself warm. What you don’t realise is that this action further pushes your boobs together, causing Toji’s eyes to wander down briefly before he looks back into your eyes again.

“Aren’t you ever curious to know if I live up to that reputation?” he raises an eyebrow as he leans down closer to your face.

“Hmm, sure… if you were a stranger at a club and not someone who I had to see at work 9 hours a day, 5 days a week,” you roll your eyes at him as you bring up one hand to slowly run a finger down his shoulder to the outline of his bicep.

“Well, we see each other everyday anyway, so why not turn it into something we actively look forward to,” his fingers graze your jawline softly while his eyes shamelessly fixate on the dip of your cleavage, giving him a better view from the way he’s towering over you.

“As tempting as that is… I don’t do one night stands Toji–”

“Who said anything about just one night?” he interrupts and you tilt your head to the side in confusion, “I’m not stupid to approach someone I work with if I was simply looking for a quick fuck.”

“Oh… then please tell me what exactly you’re looking for?” you speak softly but it comes out more arrogantly than you’d like.

“You. I intend to fuck you more than once.” he’s direct yet his calm demeanour never wavers.

You let out a nervous chuckle, “Look Toji… you’re hot, charming and oddly easy to get along with but I just got out of a relationship, it’s barely been two months–”

“I know… his loss for letting such a sweet thing go. Didn’t he initiate the break up? What a loser,” Toji laughs as his hand cups your face.

You simply stare at him in bewilderment, you had no idea the news of your breakup had travelled even to the non-gossipers.

“Why me?” you ask, your curiosity getting the best of you.

“For starters, you’re hot. Two, I like it when we hang out outside of work, you put me at ease with your conversations. Three, I haven’t been able to hook up with anyone else for about a month since I found out about your ex… such a pretty girl should be cherished the way she deserves to be,” his fingers slide down to your collarbone, threatening to dip down even lower.

“Hmm… that’s a good enough pitch, so you want us to be fuck buddies? Exclusively?” you play with the collar of his shirt, entertaining the idea.

“Yeah, I’m not one to share,” his other hand comes up to brush his thumb against your bottom lip.

“Nothing serious?” you pout at him with fake disappointment.

“Not until the both of us feel like it,” he dips his thumb inside your mouth while his other hand snaked around your waist. You suck on his thumb as you stare into his eyes and he feels his blood rush straight to his cock.

“I can work with that,” you give him an innocent smile, “But let’s not be too obvious about it, I’d hate for our little arrangement to mess with our work life.”

“Perfect,” he smiles as he cups your jaw, staring at your lips while sliding his tongue over his lips to wet them instinctively.

Just as he’s about to lean down to kiss you, you pull back when you hear distant footsteps approaching. You see your two friends walking back towards you, talking among themselves.

“Hey, we couldn’t find Kento at the bar,” Ema mumbles.

“Really? He must’ve gone back to his room. Maybe ask him about it tomorrow,” Toji speaks innocently and you press your lips together to keep yourself from laughing.

You see Ema eyeing the jacket you’re wearing suspiciously and you suddenly take it off to hand it to Toji.

“Keep it. You’ll get cold again… return it tomorrow morning.” Toji speaks before you have a chance to give it back to him. You nod as you hold it closer to your chest.

“Alright then. Good night ladies,” he smiles politely before walking back inside. When your eyes shift from his diminishing silhouette to your two friends, they’re both staring at you with hopeful eyes.

“Nothing happened!” you exclaim and their faces drop.

“Fine, that’s it! I’m calling dibs, I’m gonna flirt with him,” Ema retorts. You simply chuckle and shrug, diverting your attention to your phone when it vibrates in your hand. You look at the notification and it’s a text from Toji.

Toji (Work):

Room no. 9010

Don’t leave me hanging, pretty

You lock your phone quickly as you look up again to force yourself to focus on the conversation.

“Could you not get the bottle from the cute bartender? We could’ve taken it to the room,” Ema sighs.

“No but I gave him my room number soooo…” Lisa giggles.

“Guys, I’m feeling a bit too drunk and tired to continue so I’m just gonna go to my room and sleep, okay?” you make up an excuse, hoping it seems believable. However, the girls are too drunk to analyse your lies and they simply pout and bid you ‘goodnight’ in a singsong voice, giving you a group hug.

You quickly make your way to the elevator and press the button to the ninth floor. And although you’re wearing his jacket again, you still feel your body shiver. You take a deep breath when you hear a ding, signalling your arrival. You walk out into the long passage quietly, skimming over the numbers till you spot his room, your heart feeling like it's about to fall out of your chest due to the thrill.

You knock on the door twice and fix your hair nervously. When no one answers, you unlock your phone to call him. You almost let out a scream when you hear the door unlock and he pulls you inside, catching you by surprise and making you stumble.

Before you have a chance to speak, Toji slams the door shut behind you, pushing your body against it before kissing you hungrily. You place your hands on his chest, creasing the fabric as you pull at it, humming into the kiss when his tongue shoves into your mouth. You close your eyes, the fluttering in your stomach making its way down to your core as his tongue plays with yours, making wet smooching sounds in the otherwise quiet room.

“I think you’ve misunderstood this. I’m simply here to return your jacket,” you tease, huffing as you catch your breath when your lips part. He smirks as he slides the jacket off your body till it pools near your feet before caging you against his body with his arms locking around your waist.

“Of course, this is me simply thanking you for returning it,” he moves one hand lower till it’s massaging the flesh of your thigh just below where the fabric of your dress ends.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” you give him another innocent smile as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull his head down for another kiss.

His hands lift up your dress to your stomach before going back down to squeeze your ass. He deepens the kiss as he towers over you, making you arch your back, causing you to hook your arms around him to keep your balance.

When you break the kiss for another shallow breath, he moves to your jaw, biting and pulling your skin with his teeth as he makes his way down to your neck. You tilt your head to give him more access, letting out soft sighs as he leaves sloppy kisses all over the expanse of your neck.

While his left hand hooks around your waist to keep you steady, he brings his right hand over to your mound, pressing the sticky lace of your thong into your folds. When he feels how wet you are, he groans against your skin, biting it again.

He rubs over the fabric again and you moan out of frustration, he's so close yet there's a tiny barrier between. You try to grind against his hand, whining when he pulls away.

He gets down on his knees before you can complain and lifts your right leg over his shoulder, securing it in place. You lean your whole weight against the door, feeling like you'd fall if you didn’t have something solid to hold onto, so your hands make their way down to tug at his hair.

Toji hooks two fingers into the lace, pulling the fabric to the side to expose your puffy folds to him. He slowly slides two fingers over to separate them, your wetness coating the tips of his fingers immediately.

“Knew you had a pretty cunt,” he murmurs as his eyes remain fixed on the way his fingers are working you. You let out a breathy moan, tightening your grip on his hair.

He brings his face closer to your core, peppering the entire area with soft kisses. You thrust forward into his face but it only makes him slap the inside of your right thigh harshly.

“Toji… please, stop teasin– ngh,” you plead but your words get caught in your throat when he licks a stripe up your cunt like it's a melting ice cream. He darts his tongue out to wiggle it over your clit and your legs feel as if they're about to snap and go limp.

“Toji– wait… I n-need to take off my heels,” you huff.

“No. They stay on,” is all he says before sliding two fingers into your hole with ease, and at the same time getting back to making out with your clit.

“Fuck– Toji please– ah,” your straight knee buckles forward as you yank at his hair some more to steady yourself. You let out an involuntary yelp when he lifts your other leg over his shoulder as well, burying his face into your pussy, hooking both his arms around your thighs. While this angle hits better, you feel a different kind of thrill about completely having given up control and trusting him not to drop you to the floor.

As you lean your head against the door, your hips rut further into his face and Toji doesn’t relent even for a second. As you hook your feet behind his neck, he brings his right hand down to your hole again, pushing three fingers in this time, meeting with a bit of resistance. The squelching sound of his fingers fucking your hole mixes with the sound of his lips sucking your clit.

“Feel s-so good,” you pant as your thighs twitch around his face. You shaky hands run through his hair weakly as you try to steady your ragged breathing. Each time Toji hits the right spot inside your walls, you moan out praises and encouragement for him to keep going.

He curls his fingers as he picks up the pace and it's brutal. You hold his hair so tight that you hear him hiss momentary before getting back to fucking you with his tongue.

You close your eyes shut as your hip involuntary thrusts forward, twitching uncontrollably as you come all over his fingers. You bite your tongue to control your moans, turning them into muffled whimpers instead. He pulls his hand out to hook it back around your thigh as his tongue starts lapping at your juices to lick you clean.

“Ngh– Toji, too much!” You squeal as you try to move your hips away from his touch but it causes him to poke his tongue out further over your sensitive skin.

“God– please, baby I can’t take it anymore,” you cry as your body jerks violently again. You hear him chuckle before kissing your clit one last time and pulling your legs off his shoulders and standing up again.

When you land on your feet, you're glad he’s holding your waist to keep you from crashing to the ground. He kisses you on your lips and you taste yourself on his tongue. It's enough to take your already intoxicated mind to a new level of high.

He slowly lets you go before stepping back to create distance as he hurriedly takes off his clothes and your eyes widen when you see the way his erect dick hangs low and heavy.

He grabs a condom from his wallet, tearing off the cover before sliding the rubber over his hung cock smoothly. The smug smile on his face grows wider when your eyes peel away from his dick to meet his gaze. You stare at him with a look of astonishment mixed with nervousness.

“Toji… you're–” you whisper silently. Toji is blessed to say the least.

“It's okay, don't be scared, pretty. I'll make it fit perfectly,” he cooes as he closes the distance between your bodies.

You gulp when he pressed his hands on either side of you, caging you against the door. As he's kissing your shoulder, his hands move to your back to undo your zip. He struggles a bit, fiddling with the zip of your dress and you’re pretty sure you hear a rip when he grows impatient, tugging at the fabric harshly.

“Did you jus–”

“Shh… later,” he blurts out, not giving you a chance to complain as he pulls the dress down your body, unhooking your bra to yank it down. He quickly takes off your thong as well, leaving you exposed as you stand in front of him in only your heels.

“So much better than what I had imagined,” he stares at your naked figure hungrily and you pull him closer to kiss him once again, already missing the way his lips feel.

You wrap your hands around his torso to feel his muscular back with your fingers, growing wetter at how huge his body feels compared to yours. He pulls away to lean down, latching his mouth onto one of your nipples.

You let out a satisfied hum and he repeats the action on your other nipple. Your eyebrows furrow as your back arches at the sensation and you weakly claw at his pecs.

“Fuck– I can't wait any longer… Just let me know if it hurts too much,” he groans as he scoots you up off the floor completely, hooking your knees over his elbows, opening you up wider as he readjusts his pelvis under you.

You bring a hand down to guide his tip to your entrance, sucking in a deep breath as you look down, anticipating his movement as he begins pushing his dick inside you.

With your legs spread apart firmly, he presses his hips up, almost losing his shit at how tight you feel. You bring both of your hands up to hug them around his neck. You steady yourself, resting your cheek onto his shoulder briefly when you feel his movement come to a halt. You feel so full, there's a delicious ache in your lower belly.

“Shit– I'm gonna move now, okay?” he grunts. You simply nod your head as he grabs you by your sides to push your lower body away till only his tip is inside before pulling you in closer to fill you up again.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head while your mouth hangs open when Toji begins to slam you onto his hard length, repeating the motion over and over again as you let out broken cries of his name. When he picks up speed, your pussy flutters at the abnormal feeling, causing him to pounce into you harder.

“Oh god– nghh– Toji!” You cry into the crook of his neck.

“Mmh– look at me, let me see that pretty face,” he orders breathily. You pull away from his neck reluctantly, eyebrows still knitted as your lips stay fixed in a silent O shape.

“Look at how well you take my cock… ‘ts a perfect fit,” he hisses when your pussy squeezes him again at his words. You'd always thought that Toji would be the silent type, just like he was at the office, but seeing him spew such vile praises just adds more to the intensity of it all.

“Fuck– Toj–” you whimper as you rest your forehead against his.

‘Hmm? Yes, pretty? Cock got your tongue?” He laughs but it's strained. You tilt your head to kiss him on the lips and he shoves his tongue into your mouth to kiss you back hungrily. You moan into the kiss when he thrusts harder. In a swift motion he pulls away from the kiss, dropping your legs to the ground as he pulls out of you to turn you around.

He pulls your hips back to meet his, while pushing your face flush against the door to arch your back for him. He slides back into your hole in an instant, rutting into you from behind. Your hands press against the surface of the door while he grips onto your hips tighter to keep them from jerking forward due to the force.

You bring your left hand down to rub your clit, the pressure building up further as you get closer to your release. Toji leans forward to press his chest against your back, hooking his hand down to swat yours away. Instead, he replaces it with his fingers to toy with your clit and it feels so much better than your own dainty ones.

When your legs start to shiver as the pressure in your stomach builds up, Toji brings his other hand to intertwine his fingers with yours, pushing your chest further into the door.

With the way you're screaming his name, you're pretty sure anyone passing by outside can hear you. You wonder if that's the reason he's doing it, to show people just how good he's fucking you.

“Toji fuck– I'm coming– fuck!” You cry as your legs shake as you cum hard, threatening to give out, not being able to hold your weight. Despite wanting to finish himself, obsessed over how your pussy is sucking him in, he knows it'll be a bit too much for you to handle at the moment. So, he slows down as he secures one hand around your waist before pulling out completely.

He turns you around till you're facing him, taking deep breaths to calm your breathing. He bends down to swing your body over his shoulder with ease as if you weigh nothing at all. He walks over to the bed before slamming you back down onto the soft mattress.

He gives you another cocky smile, proud of how deliciously fucked you look. You recognize this look and just as he's about to lean forward to make his way to you on the mattress, you place one foot onto his chest as the heel digs into his skin.

“Time out… you’re too much,” you sigh and he lets out a snort.

“Better get used to it,” he smiles as he brings his hands up to take off your stiletto, tossing it on the floor before bringing your other leg up to take off the other pair.

He holds both your feet firmly, pushing them into your torso till you're practically folded in half as he brings one hand down to rub your swollen clit.

“No,” you turn to the side to get out of the position before sitting up straight, looking at his still erect cock in front of you. You lean closer to him as your hand wraps around the length, “Let me make you feel good.”

You roll the condom down before discarding it to the side, leaning forward to kiss his tip, swirling your tongue around the angry swollen head before licking a strip up his shaft. When you open your mouth wide, he grabs his length to tap it on your tongue a few times before you wrap your lips around the thick head. You make eye contact with him as you take in more of him, letting your mouth adjust to his size slowly. He mutters a quiet ‘fuck’ while grabbing the back of your head to push it closer. You gag before you can even take his entire length in your mouth, tears slipping out the corners of your eyes.

“Yes, right there… such a pretty mouth. Come on, I know you can take some– ugh— more,” he grunts and you relax your mouth to deep-throat him.

As Toji lets out breathy cusses, you move a hand down to massage his balls. Your other hand moves between your legs to part your folds and rub soft circles. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the man and you see a mischievous smile creep up on his face.

“Let go, babe,” he smiles while firmly pulling at your hair. You move your head back and you can already feel your throat aching as it readjusts to the emptiness. You’re still stimulating his tip with kitten licks, lapping at the precum, all the while touching yourself desperately.

Toji grabs both of your wrists as he pushes you back up on the bed, climbing up before lying on his back. As you await his instructions, you’re confused when he signals you to sit on his face. You hesitantly straddle his chest but it all makes sense when he tells you to turn around. You giggle as the heat rushes to your cheeks as you lie face-down on top of him to sixty-nine him.

“Now, stop being so greedy and focus on sucking my dick,” he speaks as he pulls at your asscheeks to part them, parting your folds with his tongue. Your toes curl in as you lean down to take him in your mouth once again.

As you bob your head up and down, sucking his entire length, his groans vibrate against your pussy as he eats you out just as fervently.

You steady your hands on his thighs as the muscles flex and relax every time his tip kisses the back of your throat. You close your eyes to focus on your movement as it gets harder and harder with Toji slurping at your pussy ruthlessly.

When you bring your hands over to play with his balls, it has him unravelling quickly. After edging himself unintentionally the whole night, he can’t help but feel like this is the tipping point.

“Do you– mmh– mind swallowing?” His voice is strained. You shake your head no, not parting from his cock even for a second. His nails dig into the flesh of your ass as thoughts of you flood his mind.

He can’t help but feel his pride swell that he's the one who gets to ravage his seemingly innocent co-worker like this. As if it weren’t already hard enough, imagining the things he’d do to you when he saw you at the office – now he had actual memories in flesh to make it harder.

Two months ago, he wouldn’t have imagined you'd be going dumb over his dick this way. Your interactions had always been respectful, despite him flirting with you occasionally. It was only about a month ago that you took him by surprise when you give a witty reply, flirting back with him.

Toji knew a thing or two about breakups, so when he subtly inquired and eavesdropped in conversations around the office, he heard your loudmouth friend talk about how sad it was that your ex had the audacity to dump you when you clearly were out of his league.

Sad indeed, Toji thought, wanting nothing more than to finally get to fuck his pretty colleague. But when you both were assigned on a project together about three weeks ago, the flirting had gotten out of hand and your talks were no longer just a few words exchanged out of courtesy. Toji knew he wasn't made for relationships but a part of him wanted to make you his and greedily keep you to him.

As he enjoys the way you’re sucking his dick with your pretty pussy fluttering under his touch, his desire to have you has only grown stronger.

He leans his head back when he feels himself shoot his load into your mouth, his dick twitching as he feels you lick and struggle to swallow him.

“Fucking hell–” he sighs, kneading the flesh of your ass lazily. When he feels the weight of your body lift up, he grabs your waist to pull your ass back to hover it over his face.

“Where do you think you're going?” He huffs and before you can answer, he's eating you out at a faster pace than before. You already feel overstimulated as is but when Toji pushes two fingers inside, it turns you into a blabbering mess.

You arch your back as you lean forward with your fingers denting the skin over his abdomen. You grind your hips to feel his tongue on your cunt. Your head hangs limply when you cum once again on his tongue and Toji continues to slurp at your juices.

You body twitches violently and you beg him to slow down. He chuckles as he licks you clean before placing a quick kiss over your folds, relaxing his grip to let you get off.

You roll over to the side till you're lying on your back, your chest heaving as you take deep breaths. You look down when you feel a hand on your shin. He smiles lazily at you as he caresses your skin. You smile back before closing your eyes to relax, but open them back again when you feel the mattress dip as the figure beside you shifts.

You find Toji caging you with his arms on either side of your head as he leans down to kiss your lips. You close your eyes, humming into the kiss. He dips his head down to give you another mark on your neck, bringing one hand down to play with your nipples.

“Let me rest!” you push his chest but it doesn't faze him at all.

“Okay fine,” he laughs, “I'm only going easy on you cause it's our first time.”

“Easy? You really live up to your reputation,” you stare at him in disbelief. This makes him laugh and it’s the first time you hear his real laughter and not the smug, cocky chuckles of usual. You grin when you feel a warm fuzzy feeling in your heart, maybe Toji Fushiguro has more to him than he lets on.

He creates some space between you when he gets off and before you can ask him what he's doing, he lifts you up in his arms to carry you to the bathroom.

When he sits you down on the sink counter to run the hot water tap to fill up the tub, you giggle.

“What?” He walks back to you.

“Nothing… just… Now, I get why women apparently call you unforgettable,” you mumble, trying hard not to blush.

“I don't do this for them,” he shrugs. You roll your eyes at him, not believing his words.

He chuckles, “I'm serious! I don’t fuck around… much. It's not a communal dick.”

“Oh really? What have I done to deserve such special treatment?” You tease.

“If I want to keep seeing you, I have to make you want to see me again too,” he smiles, leaning closer till he’s standing between your parted legs, brushing a finger over your lips.

“I think you guaranteed that right after you made me come the first time,” you laugh.

“That easy? Why's that?”

You shake your head no and he raises an eyebrow, urging you to speak.

“Well… if you must know, I rarely came with my ex. He said he got tired quickly so often I'd finish myself off in the shower later,” you confess, feeling a bit embarrassed at admitting this to him.

“Damn. What a fucking loser,” Toji chuckles dryly as he lazily rubs soft circles on your inner thighs, “Well, I'm glad he sucked. It really was time for an upgrade.”

You laugh as you play with the hair on his nape. You wonder out loud, “Have you ever thought about anyone else from the office?”

“Like who? You’re the only one there who I’d get blue balls for,” he laughs.

“Seriously? Not even Ema or Lisa? They’re pretty hot,” you push.

“Not my type.”

“Hmm”

“Why do you ask?”

“Nothing… just…”

“They’re painfully obvious about their crush if that’s what you’re asking,” he lets out another dry chuckle as he brushes your loose strands to the side, “Well they won't bother from tomorrow.”

“Why's that?” your eyebrows furrow.

“Unless you have a top that covers your entire neck, they’re going to figure shit out instantly,” he smirks as he traces the light red/purple bruises on your neck. You twist to the side to look at your reflection in the mirror.

Your eyes widen as you gasp, “Toji! How am I going to cover these?”

“Maybe don't... it doesn’t matter if they find out– maybe that way the gossip will reach your loser ex and he’ll know just how well I take care of you,” he teases, nuzzling his nose into your neck.

“God, you’re obsessed,” you giggle as you slap his chest lightly.

“Hmm, maybe. Told you I'm not one to share… especially not when your pussy tastes so good,” he kisses down your body till his face is in front of your core again.

“I never said yes to our little arrangement… I can always back out,” you tease but your breath hitches when he presses his tongue to your core once again.

“Hmm, maybe I need to try my best to convince you then,” he nibbles and you instinctively tangle your fingers into his hair, closing your eyes as you enjoy the way Toji fucks you with his tongue once again.

“Toji… the bathtub,” you sigh when you hear the water overflow. Toji pulls away, holding his hand out and pulling you to the bathtub. Once in, he closes the tap and turns you around till your back is flush against his chest. He kisses your shoulder from behind when you're nestled against his broad torso.

As you straddle his lap, you feel his boner poke your skin.

“Leave some for tomorrow,” you let out an exhausted chuckle.

“Ignore it…,” he speaks softly and you lean back, dropping your weight onto his chest. You close your eyes as you feel him rub and massage your skin with a soothing pressure all over.

You don’t realise you begin drifting into light sleep but blink a few times when your head jerks up, feeling his body shift underneath you. You lean forward to allow him some space and he gets out of the tub. You eye the way the water drips down his body, trickling over his toned back muscles before he grabs the towel to pat himself dry. His damp hair falls over his temple and you smile to yourself – you could definitely get used to this.

He holds his hand out to you and you take it as you get out of the tub. You undo the towel around his waist to dry your own body, feeling your skin prick due to the cold air after having spent a good few minutes in the hot tub.

Just as you’re about to wrap the towel around your torso, Toji tugs it out of your hand to drop it to the floor and instead lifts you up again to carry you out into the bedroom.

“Toji, I’m cold,” you hug your arms around his neck.

“I know… don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm,” he says as he lays you down on the bed, readjusting his position till he’s on top.

“I really think we should get some sleep,” you giggle when he kisses you cheek.

“This is how we build up your endurance… with more practice,” he leaves open mouthed kisses down your throat.

You laugh as you yank his hair to pull his face away from your skin. “Let me sleep! Good night.”

“You can sleep… I don’t mind,” he mumbles as his tongue teases one of your nipples, biting the hardened bud lightly.

“Toji! Behave!” you scold him in a not-so-convincing tone.

“If I had behaved, we wouldn’t be here,” he rolls his eyes as he gets back up to give you a long, lazy smooch till you’re both out of breath. When your lips part, he rolls to the side, collapsing on the bed next to you.

He covers the thick blanket over your bodies before pulling you to his chest and kissing your shoulder with a soft ‘good night’. The act is surprising as you hadn’t really taken him for the cuddling type. You feel his boner stick out against your back once again and you laugh.

“Shh, this is all very new. Give me some time,” he teases, snaking his arm around your waist. You wrap your hand over his, letting yourself melt into his arms when he rubs soft circles over your belly. You involuntarily rub your ass against his hard on and he presses your stomach to still your movement.

“Don’t do that if you want to sleep,” he warns and you giggle as you close your eyes, the tiredness of the whole day taking over your senses as you fall asleep in his arms.

~~~

You wake up when you hear your phone ring from a distant corner. You try to move Toji’s heavy arm to free yourself but he pulls you in even closer.

“My phone’s ringing,” you whisper as you turn your head to look at him. His eyes are still closed as he grumbles in a low voice, “Let it.”

You still manage to wiggle yourself out of his grasp and quietly walk towards where your phone was lying on the floor near the door. Toji stirs and sits up, his eyes following your naked form as you pick up the call.

“Did you die in there or something?”, you wince when you hear Ema’s voice on the other end.

“Open the door, we’ve been out here for, like, 5 minutes now,” Lisa’s voice is more distant.

When your brain registers what they’re talking about, you slap a hand over your mouth as you stare at Toji.

“Give me 5 minutes,” you mutter before hanging up, not giving them a chance to protest. Toji gets off the bed and walks towards you.

“Ema and Lisa… they’re outside my room… and I'm here,” you sigh as you pick up your garments off the floor.

“Told you there’s no point in hiding,” he says, tucking a loose strand behind your ear, “I’ll walk you to your room.”

You simply narrow your eyes at him with a ‘yeah, right’. He takes the dress from your hand.

“I’m not joking…” he holds the dress up in front of you and shrugs, “Besides, you’re gonna have to wear my clothes anyway.”

You see that the zip is broken with the fabric looking frayed where the zip ends – you had heard it right, he did rip your dress last night.

“I really liked that dress,” you pout but it’s far from a complaint. You know you cannot complain after a night like that.

“I liked it too… it gave me a really hard time the entire night,” he gives you a quick peck, far from apologetic, “I’ll get you one just like it.”

You simply blush at his words before pressing your hands on his chest, “Fineee, get me something to wear.”

He squeezes your ass once before walking away to his suitcase. You put on your thong and bra back on just as he returns with a t-shirt and sweatpants. You snatch them out of his hands and put them on quickly.

He laughs at how baggy his sweats are, the compression t-shirt is still okay in comparison, “Guess it’s too big for you?”

You crinkle your nose, cringing at his joke as you secure the drawstring tightly to keep the pants from sliding down, “No, it’s not that big.”

“Is that so?”, he wraps his arms around your waist, caging you in, “Do I need to refresh your memory?”

“Toji! My friends are waiting!” you slap his chest and he laughs, leaning down to kiss you.

“Let them,” he moves his lips down to your jaw.

“No, let’s leave,” you wiggle your way out of his arms, shoving your phone in the pocket of his sweats before picking up your heels to carry them in one hand. He quickly puts on a different pair of sweatpants with an oversized t-shirt and sliders before grabbing his keycard.

“Oh wait… I think my keycard is in your jacket from yesterday,” you turn around when you’re at the door to find him already rummaging through the pockets to retrieve it. You grin at him and he simply shrugs, “Told you, I’m a gentleman.”

You roll your eyes again as he opens the door and you quickly make your way to the elevator. Toji’s hand is resting on your lower back when the elevator dings and the doors open.

You know there’s no point in hiding, yet you walk ahead of him as you notice your two friends standing outside your room. Before you have a chance to greet them, you hear Toji’s booming voice from behind, “Morning, ladies!”

You brace yourself for their reaction and it’s just as animated as you’d expected. They don't try to be subtle about it as they smirk at you while greeting the man in unison and you realise it's a lost cause trying to keep it a secret.

And it surely doesn’t help that Toji makes it a point to grab your jaw and kiss you goodbye in front of the two for no damn reason, as if it weren’t already obvious about what had transpired between you two.

As he leaves, you smile at him, watching him walk away. The heat rushes to your cheek when you hear Ema fake a cough and you turn around to look at your friends.

“Open the door ASAP! I wanna know everything,” Lisa squeals and you know your friends would not leave you alone until you went into heavy detail about the whole night.

~fin~

#erensbirdie #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsukaisen x reader #jjk #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji smut #jjk toji #toji x you #fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen

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cvpiddszn · 15 days

Text

𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐚'𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣.𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

a/n: honestly i have no excuses for the no content. just surprise!!

summary: amara hughes says her first word

warnings: children

word count: 0.9k

birdie & jack masterlist

"C'mon Ams! You can do it? Say da-da.” Jack slowed his words, opening his mouth wider to emphasize the word but I only grinned. I knew that it was close to her first word and seeing Jack so excited to witness it made my heart melt. He had just gotten back from another long roadie, finally getting a few days break and he was convinced that he was going to crack her.

There was a thought in the back of my mind that she would say it, but not when pressured to. She would say it at the most unexpected time. I sat beside them, an old rerun of Friends playing on the TV. Neither of us paid attention but rather to the girl who was eagerly trying to jump up and down on her father’s thighs as Jack’s hands rested under her arms holding her up.

“Jacky, sweetheart, you can’t force her first words out of her,” I mentioned, tapping his shoulder gently to get his attention. My husband only groaned in protest, setting her down on his lap. She stared up at him with stary eyes, blinking her blue eyes at him innocently. I small little blonde curl fell in front of her face as Jack brushed it aside.

Amara looked towards me like she was trying to give me a sign that said “Help me, Mom”. I nearly giggled at the sight, grabbing her from Jack and placing her on my hip, looking back to her father who pouted in protest. I poked her small nose, kissing it gently. “Is Daddy bothering you, sweet girl?” Her head went to a nod, my brows raising at the gesture. “Did you see that, Jacky? She just nodded!”

Jack didn’t find it as funny, crossing his arms across his chest in a pout while I just laughed. He huffed out in jealousy, “She nods to everything now. I’m starting to think that she gets that from you, little bird.” He leaned forward to poke at my thigh, while I just laughed.

“Nope, her little nods are something you would do. She picks up everything that you do, J. Meaning everything she does, she looks to you for. Just like how you just laugh at how she tosses her food on the floor? She thinks she’s funny. Don’t you, Mara?” I smiled at her gently and she nodded once again while I burst out laughing placing her on the ground near her toys and picking something up while she grabbed it and began to chew on it.

Lowen rushed into the room, pulling at his Dad’s sweatpants and begging him to play mini sticks with him. “Please, Dad. Lake won’t play with me, he says he’s tired of playing. He wants to play with Amara and I still want to play.” Jack only nodded his reply, taking his son’s hand and letting him pull him downstairs as Jack and Lake switched places. Lake replaced Jack’s spot on the couch.

There were often times that I saw many differences between the twins. Neither is much like their Dad or me but their Uncles. Lowen was much like his Uncle Quinn, competitive but quiet, and said very few things, he preferred to be out of the spotlight but bathed in compliments. Lake was more like Luke, quiet and less competitive, preferred to celebrate quietly, and didn’t know how to accept praise even though we as parents constantly gave it out. The one thing they both completely lit up about was their family, they loved talking about their little sister or their dad being in the NHL, along with their plenty of uncles playing as well.

“Jacky,” Amara’s little voice spoke up and it took me a moment before realizing that it was her. My eyes widened briefly, staring at her blankly as she blinked back at me.

I leaned down toward her, picking her up. “What was that, sweet girl?” I asked hoping that I didn’t completely make up that she said Jack’s name. I looked back at Lake who stood up at his little sister’s first word being spoken.

“Jacky!” She clapped her hands together with a smile and my jaw opened, I watched as Lake ran out of the room racing downstairs to tell Jack who would be ecstatic that she said his name.

“That’s right, sweet girl! Did you say Daddy’s name? I think you did! Jack!” My voice called out, and I swear that I could hear a crash from downstairs, the sound of someone running up the stairs in a hurry nearly stumbling in the process. Jack came bursting through the room. “She said your name J!”

“Did she really? Say it again, Ams!” Jack took her from my arms, smiling wide as he waited patiently (his version of patient) for his little girl to repeat the word.

She took a moment, opening her mouth before the word came out again. “Jacky.”

My husband paused watching her, eyes flickering between hers and mine. He took a moment, processing her words before turning his head towards me, a teasing glare on his face, “This is your fault. Maybe you should start calling me Daddy around the house.” He commented and when he listened to himself, he became confused. “It did not sound like that in my head.”

I patted his shoulder gently, “Remember when you tried to make me do that? Not happening again,” My nose scrunched up. “But hey, I think it’s better that she said your name instead of Dad, just means she can’t call anyone else Daddy.” I shrugged.

Little did we know that the little girl wouldn’t know any other word for the next three weeks, so she followed around Jack saying my nickname for him since we were younger. And never once did I think that I was going to be okay with sharing the nickname until the word came from her lips.

#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes blurb #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #cvpiddszn writes #nhl hockey

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save-the-villainous-cat · 13 days

Note

Broke college student hero and rich over the top villain. Hero is tired and done. That's it that's the request lmao

“…that has got to be the dumbest idea ever. That’s…I don’t even have any words left,” the hero said but they knew just as well as the villain how their ears had turned tomato red.

For the record, it was a stupid idea. And it was something the hero definitely had to stomach for a few days before deciding.

“I am not interested in twisting the knife but your apartment is pathetic,” the villain said. They picked up a dusty snow globe and observed it. A little figure with a lei stared back at them and the hero cringed internally when they realised it must’ve been over a decade old. As if they had the money to visit Hawai’i any time soon. “And I’m not one for adding salt to wounds but you are, undeniably, poor.”

“Wow, thank you. What are you gonna say next? That I have no prospects?”

“I don’t know, are you already a burden to your parents?” the villain asked, a sly smile stretching over their lips. They seemed quite amused at the hero’s current situation, despite offering their help. Eventually they sat down on the hero’s creaking bed which didn’t help the hero when they tried to tell them they were doing just fine.

“Not that I know of,” the hero said. They crossed their arms in front of their chest and tried to stare at the villain as intensely as they could. “I’m not this desperate, you know? I’m alright. I’m good. This is fine, my apartment is okay.”

The villain stared at the empty ramen packages on the hero’s stove.

“That stuff kills you, you know?” they said, their thumb pointing at the trash angrily.

“I’m doing fine. I’m great. Great physique. Amazing grades. Impeccable catching-criminals-rate.”

“Brilliant,” the villain said. They tilted their head. “Great physique?”

“Yup.”

“Hm.” They looked around the room slowly, observing every imperfection. The hero was ashamed. They weren’t the cleanest person. “A little birdie told me you’re failing most of your classes. Which isn’t all that surprising, given that you’re spending most nights on rooftops in that…interesting costume.”

The villain looked them up and down and the hero stared at them, eyes wide. They had mentioned before that the hero’s costume wasn’t hiding much. The hero had thought it to be a joke.

“I’m not a child, you know? I don’t need your help with ridiculous offers.”

“How old are you again?” the villain asked.

“I’m a year older than you,” the hero reminded them and the villain gave them a belittling look. Sometimes the hero forgot about that, too. The villain seemed like they’d everything figured out. Organised, rich, intelligent — the hero was falling behind and didn’t even know how to change that.

On top of all that, the villain was taller than them.

“I apologise for not respecting my elders then.”

“You—”

“Look, this is a shithole. If we get married you could have a good life. That’s all there is to it. It’s a signature on a paper and some financial decisions. Nothing else,” the villain said. They seemed to suggest this quite casually, as if the hero’s parents wouldn’t freak out on them for failing to introduce their spouse.

Their parents had been asking for grandchildren already. That alone seemed like a burden with the little sexual experience the hero had. It was exhausting and the hero was starting to feel the pressure of college and their nightly activities together. The villain was technically right.

If they lived with someone else, if they had money, they could at least get something real to eat for dinner.

“Well, aren’t you such a generous soul? Offering your money, your life to me like that…”

“We wouldn’t see each other much.”

The hero’s heart was doing something weird.

“Of course…” They stared at the floor. There was something the villain wanted. Some kind of information, some kind of contract. They weren’t doing this because they were a nice and sweet person. Behind every decision, there was a plan. There was calculation. The villain functioned that way.

“Obviously, you can screw whoever you want,” the villain clarified but the hero hadn’t even asked for it nor did they desire it. For a brief moment, they gazed at each other but it was more than that. It was more than a simple look. It was a question, it was an answer. And the hero felt trapped. They feared the villain had a wrong picture of them in their head.

“Why are you offering this?”

“Because it’s an agreement on paper, nothing more. I wouldn’t force you to sleep in the same bed. We don’t even have to live on the same floor,” the villain said but they hadn’t understood the hero.

“I meant the marriage specifically. Why are you doing this? What am I supposed to do in return?”

Now, the villain lowered their gaze. They scratched the back of their neck and the hero was more than curious. If the villain wanted information, the hero would have to decline. They rather lived in this horrible apartment and live from paycheck to paycheck instead of endangering anyone.

“I need protection,” they mumbled. “There’s a mole in my team. Someone tried to assassinate me two times last week. Normally I would…I would have my ways but I don’t want any of my employees to suffer.”

The hero was flabbergasted. They had expected anything but this.

“I’m supposed to be your bodyguard? Me protecting you?” The hero would’ve laughed but they were too surprised by the fact that the villain could’ve died last week.

The villain took a deep breath and leaned back, eyes half-lidded.

“It’s more like…detective work. The marriage is supposed to cover for the both of us. You living at my place out of a sudden would be less suspicious if people thought we were…you know. Plus, I could give you money that way. As payment.”

The hero stared at them. Admittedly, they felt as tired as the villain looked. Both had been through a few rough months. The hero wasn’t sure what to say.

“Think about it,” the villain said. They stood up and walked over to the door. But before they could even reach for the doorknob, the hero grabbed their arm.

“I swear, if you’re using me, if you use the…situation I’m in—”

“Believe me. I don’t enjoy seeing you live like this.” The hero pressed them against the door. They’d missed being close like this. “And I’m getting anxious.”

“You’ll have to meet my parents,” the hero said. They looked down at the villain’s expensive clothes. They couldn’t really concentrate.

But the villain only grinned. They pulled the hero closer, close enough to kiss them. “And they’ll love me.”

Two days later, the hero agreed.

A week later, they hooked up for the first time.

#pride and prejudice reference oh nooo #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request

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steddieas-shegoes · 18 days

Note

congrats on 3000 followers 💫 you deserve it honey!🧡 Also, Chappell Roan has been stuck in my head, so I’m suggesting a lyric of hers for a prompt:

“I could be the one, or your new addiction.”

(Or any lyric from HOT TO GO!)

Thank you! I’m right there with you, Chappell Roan the incredible bitch that you are 👏🏻

➿➿➿➿➿➿➿➿➿➿

“He’s had one drink and he’s acting like he had a bottle of vodka,” Robin shook her head while she watched Steve dancing with two guys in the middle of the club they’d only been at for an hour.

“He needed to let loose,” Eddie shrugged, looking down at the drink he’d barely taken a sip from.

Robin looked at him, frowned, then looked back to Steve. She desperately needed them to get their shit together, but Steve acting like this definitely wasn’t going to work. It didn’t help that Eddie had been acting moody all day, barely even wanted to come with them.

“And what about you?” She finally asked him. “Are you gonna let loose tonight or keep the stick up your ass until you go to bed?”

Eddie’s head shot up, ready to argue. He didn’t, though. He looked back down at his drink and sighed.

“Not really feeling like letting loose, birdie.”

“Why not?”

Eddie shrugged and stayed silent.

“Did something happen?” She pushed. Even on his moody days, he was still usually capable of putting on a smile for her or the kids.

“No, just me being dumb. Making assumptions,” Eddie snorted. “Should be used to it by now.”

“What assumptions?” The song changed to something even louder and she considered dragging Eddie to the outside seating so they could talk.

“Just thought I was making progress on something and I clearly wasn’t.”

Oh, so it’s about Steve.

Eddie hadn’t really talked to her about his feelings, but she caught on early. She watched the way Eddie prioritized Steve over everyone and everything else, how he smiled when Steve was happy, how his mood shifted when Steve was having a bad day. She’d be worried more about it if she didn’t know that Steve was the exact same way.

They were idiots, both of them.

“What makes you think that?” She took a sip of her drink to seem more casual, but Eddie wasn’t that much of an idiot.

“Pretty obvious where I stand when someone’s leaving his room early in the morning, Robin.”

So he did know Robin knew.

“Someone slept over last night?” Robin didn’t know that. Steve rarely brought people to his apartment he shared with Eddie, and he hadn’t in nearly a year. Robin didn’t even know the last time he showed interest in anyone beyond getting a free drink from them.

“Yeah. She seemed like his type. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it soon.”

Robin squinted back at Steve dancing.

He would have told her by now about bringing someone home. They’d been together all afternoon.

“I don’t think he slept with her,” she finally said.

“Yeah, okay. I’m sure they just cuddled all night.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “It’s not what you think, I’m telling you.”

“Sure.”

She couldn’t do or say anything else, just had to let Eddie brood about not being in Steve’s bed even though he could fix it if he just said something.

She finished her drink and excused herself to join Steve. Maybe he could tell her what was going on.

“Hey dingus,” she yelled as she got closer.

Steve turned and smiled at her, sweat dripping from his forehead. “Robs! Hi!”

“Hey, babe. Did you forget to eat today?”

Steve nodded.

“Thought so. Let’s go get you some water.”

She dragged him to the bar and managed to get the bartender to get him water before anyone else got more drinks. She forced him to drink half of it before they walked back towards the table in the corner Eddie hadn’t moved from.

“Eddie! You should dance with me,” Steve exclaimed as he sat next to Eddie and grabbed his arm.

“Maybe next time, Stevie,” Eddie smiled at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Steve was still a little too drunk to notice, but Robin saw it.

“Awww, you never dance with me anymore. I miss you.”

Robin could see how hard it was for Eddie to hold himself together. Every possible emotion was flickering behind his eyes.

“Maybe that girl you had over last night will dance with you,” he finally settled on, which Robin immediately wanted to shove back into his mouth.

Steve sat back and seemed to be trying to figure out what Eddie meant when the beat of his current favorite song came on.

“Oh my god! Eddie! Please dance with me!” Steve clapped his hands and stood from the stool he’d been sitting on.

Eddie looked sad, but also endlessly endeared by Steve’s excitement.

“I could be the one or your new addiction!”

Steve was yelling the lyrics right at Eddie, not realizing how much Eddie was hurting.

Robin was his platonic soulmate and Eddie was on of her best friends. She couldn’t keep watching this.

“Steve, maybe you should get some fresh air,” she grabbed his shoulder and tried to turn him away, but he looked mad.

“No, this is my favorite song.”

“Steve, c’mon. Just for a minute. We can listen to this when we get outside if you want.”

Eddie was looking back down at his drink, biting his lip so hard it looked like it might bleed.

“Only if Eddie goes with me,” Steve folded his arms across his chest and pouted.

“Eddie’s gonna save our table in here,” Robin said.

But surprisingly, Eddie interrupted her by standing up and throwing back the rest of his drink.

“I’ll take him.”

Steve cheered and started singing along again as Eddie and Robin shared a look.

Eddie wrapped an arm around Steve’s waist and guided him towards the back door that led to a small seating area outside. Steve was singing the whole way, but he rested his head against Eddie’s shoulder while they walked.

“Why are you sad tonight?” Steve asked as they made their way to the only available table outside.

“I’m not.”

“Friends don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying,” Eddie lied.

“Then dance with me. I love dancing with you,” Steve didn’t move his head from Eddie’s shoulder even when they sat down.

“I love dancing with you too,” Eddie managed to say before he felt a lump in his throat.

He loved doing everything with Steve, even dancing to pop songs at a club, and it was only hurting him more to keep pretending it was enough.

“I even taught you the dance to that song,” Steve said quieter. “Remember?”

“Yeah,” Eddie smiled to himself, tightening his grip around Steve’s shoulders. “Made me put my hips into it.”

“Because you have nice hips,” Steve sighed.

Eddie could feel his face heating up. Steve wasn’t sober enough, he didn’t know what the hell he was saying.

“I barely have hips at all,” Eddie managed to choke out.

“Not true. I like holding them. They’re perfect.”

Okay, Eddie couldn’t do this. Robin needed to read his mind and come outside and-

“Wanna hold them now.”

“Steve, you’re drunk. You-“

“Can we dance?” Steve interrupted.

“The music isn’t loud out here.”

“I can sing it.”

“We’ll be the only ones dancing.”

Steve tilted his head back and looked at Eddie. “When has that stopped you before?”

“Fine.”

Eddie stood and let Steve hold his hips, almost a slow dance, while Steve started singing the song.

“Baby, do you like this beat, I made it so you’d dance with me.”

Eddie loved when Steve sang. He wasn’t the best, but he had a smooth voice that made Eddie smile, regardless of the song he was singing.

They were swaying like it was a slow song, but the vibrations of the bass line coming through the walls of the club made it obvious it wasn’t meant to be.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Steve said after he went through the chorus once.

“Okay.”

Steve looked frustrated. “Some guy was trying to take her back to his place and he wouldn’t take no for an answer so I let her Uber back with me and she ended up just spending the night. Nothing happened.”

“That’s…fine. I don’t need to hear about it,” Eddie knew he sounded rude, but he truly couldn’t make it through the night if Steve gave a play by play of getting cozy with someone else.

“I don’t ever want anything to happen with anyone but you.”

Eddie stopped swaying. He was pretty sure the music stopped inside. No one else existed except for them.

“What?” He finally squeaked out.

Steve was looking at him like he was the sun.

“No matter who I dance with or flirt with or hang out with, you’re the only one who matters. It’s just you, Eds.”

He was drunk, but drunk Steve never lied. Eddie knew that for a fact. He’d said some harsh truths before when he had more whiskey than he should’ve.

“I don’t understand.”

Steve searched his eyes and bit his lip, like he was considering what to say.

But then his lips were on Eddie’s, soft, cautious.

He was holding back.

Eddie didn’t want him to.

Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and pulled him forward so their chests were flush against each other, tongue licking along Steve’s bottom lip to deepen the kiss.

Steve allowed it, moaning as he let Eddie hold most of his weight.

Before they could get too carried away in public, Eddie pulled away to catch his breath and try to get his heart to slow before he passed out.

“Steve, this can’t just be a fun thing. This is…this is everything to me. You’re everything to me.”

Steve nodded, eyes never leaving Eddie’s. “I know. You’re maybe the love of my life. I’m drunk but I know how I feel. Felt that way for years.”

Years?

“Years? And you just now decided to say something?” Eddie wasn’t looking forward to Robin’s ‘I told you so.’

“Couldn’t. Didn’t wanna scare you away.”

“There’s no fucking way you’d ever do that. I’ve been yours for three years whether you knew it or not,” Eddie laughed in disbelief.

“We should go home,” Steve said quickly.

“You tryin’ to take me hot to go?” Eddie teased.

“If you’ll let me,” Steve nodded, tugging on Eddie’s hand to get him to move faster.

“I’ll let you do anything you want, Stevie.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #asks #follower celebration #drabble #getting together #this is becoming a theme #what does it mean #modern au

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eddiesghxst · 9 months

Text

PRICE OF FAME (PART 3/12)

ALRIGHTY HERE WE GO !!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie and gareth don't get along and eddie thinks you look cute when you're sleeping

contains: enemies to lovers trope, smoking, alcohol use, maybe gareth's a bitch lol, scary feelings, a sprinkle of fluff, and eddie being down bad in every way, shape, and form <3

word count: 5.3k

| previous part | next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

Breakfast has been your favorite part of joining Corroded Coffin on tour. Aside from the fluffy, soft, sweet pancakes, grease-dripping bacon, and toe-curling orgasmic coffee, breakfast has always been lighthearted and fun. Richie makes everybody sit at the table together like a family so there can be some sense of normalcy throughout the busy days; it’s nice.

You alternate with your seating, wanting to get to know all of the crew members as best as you can while you have the time, and you’ve had decent conversations amongst some awkward ones. On the first day, you sat next to Mitch, the light coordinator, and listened to his story about how he met his husband. They’re expecting a baby this fall, and you two bounced a few names off each other for him to consider. On the second day, you sat beside Kaylee, the tour stylist, and talked about your college horror stories. On the third day, you sat next to Brandon, a stage manager, and spoke about… well, you don’t really remember because he talked the entire time, and you kind of blanked out. Slowly, you’ve made your way around the table each day, learning little things about the group.

Today, however, there is not the usual lighthearted and familial atmosphere at the table.

You came down to the breakfast hall a bit late from your shower, and the second you stepped into the room, you could sense the tension still hanging from yesterday. You haven’t spoken to or seen Eddie since he confronted Gareth at the studio, and you’re not sure if he’d even want to see you, but you have no choice but to take the only open seat next to him.

You quietly say good morning to everyone, and Richie is the only one who gives you a warm response. “How’d you sleep, birdie?” He questions around a mouthful of eggs. You nod and settle in, “Good, I almost slept through my alarm.” You jokingly admit. Richie chuckles, “1500 thread count sheets will do that to you.” He says, causing the table to erupt in a soft symphony of laughter.

It falls awkwardly silent, and you try your best to avoid glancing at Gareth, but there’s no doubt everybody notices the shiner he’s sporting on his eye. The room is filled with sounds of forks clanking against plates and the quiet mumble of short, faint snippets of conversation until Richie clears his throat, “We’ve got an interview with the press at twelve and rehearsals at three, like always, so do what you need to do before then. We can’t be late for this interview, got it?” He reminds the crew, and everybody’s head nods in understanding, all but one.

“I’m not going.”

All eyes turn to Gareth, a full plate sitting untouched before him as he slumps back in his seat. Beside you, Eddie lights a cigarette, and you opt to busy yourself with taking a bite of your French toast, practically feeling the anger radiating from Eddie as he takes a drag. Richie clears his throat once again, scooting closer to the table and tilting his head with a look of confusion, “Um… why not?” He questions.

Gareth glances at him as best as he can with his black eye, “Because I’ve got an eye the size of a tennis ball on my face, Richie.” Everyone at the table seems to uncomfortably shift now that the elephant in the room has been addressed. Eddie doesn’t waste a second to speak up from beside you, “Nothing you didn’t deserve.” For the first time since yesterday, Eddie looks at Gareth and sees the swollen eye he left from yesterday. Eddie doesn’t show a single hint of regret.

The table returns to quietly eating as Gareth ignores Eddie’s comment, “I’m not going.” He reiterates. Richie sighs and rubs the coarse mustache on his face, “You have to go, Gareth. Just put some shades on.” He suggests, returning to his food as if the conversation finished, but Gareth holds up. “I’m not gonna sit there in shades like a fucking idiot, man.”

“Well, you don’t have a choice, son,” Richie snaps, dropping the fork in his plate to look at Gareth. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole, and you’re sure you’re not the only person with that wish when you look at the other crew members at the table. “This band has an album coming soon,” he reminds the group, “We don’t have time for rumors and gossip to start circulating; you need to show up as a unit. This isn’t up for debate.”

The conversation could’ve ended there because, quite frankly, it seemed like Gareth was willing to go with it, but Eddie couldn’t let the moment to say something slip, “Just let him go, Rich.” He shrugs. You glance at Eddie, watching as he taps his cigarette ash into his plate, “It’s not like he brings much to the table anyway.”

Across the table, from the corner of your eye, you see Gareth lean forward to glare at Eddie, “The fuck does that mean?” He snaps.

Eddie looks at Gareth for the second time and shrugs, “Means you’re a shit band member, man. Fuckin’ Mitch has done more for this band than you ever have or could’ve done.” He gestures towards Mitch, ignoring when the man slightly cowers in his seat. Gareth looks at Eddie with a stone-cold glare, saying nothing momentarily and letting the thick blanket of silence curl around everyone's neck. He leans forward and points a finger at Eddie, who’s not even looking at him anymore, “Fuck you. You wonder why Chrissy left you for Jason Carver, it’s because you’re a fucking asshole.”

“Jesus Christ, guys–” Jeff tries to interject, but Gareth continues speaking, “At least Jason acknowledges her. That’s more than you ever did.” He jabs. Eddie chuckles, shaking his head before speaking around a cloud of smoke, “You don’t know shit about me and Chrissy.”

Gareth tauntingly laughs, “Nah, she filled me in quite a fuckin’ bit.”

The invisible ticking time bomb seems to have gone off in Eddie’s mind. He stands up from his chair, a loud screeching noise grating everyone's ears as he flicks his cigarette into his plate, “The fuck did you just say?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Richie interjects, standing up and raising his hands as a gesture to stop. “Enough. Fucking enough,” he glances between the two heated men in annoyance, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you boys, but you need to figure your shit out on your own time.” He snaps. Your hands rest in your lap, anxiously picking at the seam of your jeans, wanting to shrink into your seat because you can’t help but feel as if this is your fault. It was your journal he read anyway; you play some part in the issue, right?

Richie sits back down with an exhaustive huff, picking up his fork to resume eating, but before he picks up a piece of his food, he gestures at the table, “Either sit down and finish your goddamn meal, or fuck off somewhere. Both of you.”

Eddie stands for a moment before deciding to leave without another word.

By the time the press interview rolls around, you’re more anxious than you thought you’d be. Between the time frame of breakfast and now, you had more than enough time to ponder over the messy situation you’ve accidentally created between Gareth and Eddie.

Truthfully, you had no idea that the Chrissy Gareth had mentioned during your conversation was Eddie’s ex-girlfriend Chrissy; hell, you didn’t even know Eddie had an ex-girlfriend named Chrissy until yesterday!

On one of your few sit-downs with Gareth, you ended up discussing his love life, and you took the leap of faith to ask him if he’d ever been in love.

“…There was one girl. Her name was Chrissy; we went to high school together.”

“You dated?” “No,” Gareth shakes his head, “No, we never dated. But I always had this weird connection with her… like we understood each other in a deeper way.”

You smile in awe of the sweetness behind his words, jotting down little notes in your journal as he speaks. “I always admired her to an extent, but she, uh,” he clears his throat and scratches at his jaw, “she was in another relationship for most of the time I knew her.”

Gareth silently watches as you continue to write. You look up at him when you realize he’s been silent for a while, and you open your mouth to ask what is wrong, but he speaks before you, “Is this um,” he gestures towards your journal, “this bit isn’t going in the final publish, right?” He asks. You tilt your head, a few questions running through your mind, but you brush them off, “Um… well, I suppose I can leave some of it out, yes.”

Gareth nods, shifting in his chair and clearing his throat. “Okay, good. Um… well, anyways,” he begins, “Me and Chrissy didn’t hook up until I went back to Hawkins during our break off from last year's tour.”

Ultimately, Gareth had explained that Chrissy had recently left a three-year relationship when they’d hooked up. He explained that they crossed paths at a bar, and things took off from there, but he cut it off with her the following morning. He never told you why he cut it off, but you now understand the guilt of betraying his best friend had forced him to do so.

You had no idea that the entire conversation was pertaining to Eddie’s ex; if you had known, you would’ve never written it down. You wouldn’t have even finished the conversation if Gareth had told the whole truth because, quite honestly, you would rather not be in the mix of this disaster.

You’re disappointed. Upset that Gareth practically used you to get the guilt off his chest. And the truth is, that conversation did little to nothing for Gareth in the long run; he still felt guilty for never telling Eddie, and it’s only gotten worse with the added tension between them now that the secret is out.

Eddie was cold toward you before, but now he’s thicker than the ice in Antarctica. He’s avoiding you at all costs— and maybe he’s just avoiding everybody. Still, you can’t help but take his avoidance personally, especially when you’d thought you were finally reaching some sort of middle ground with him.

You sit off to the side of the stage with the rest of the band’s crew as you watch them take their seats for the press interview. Eddie sits on one end of the table while Gareth sits at the other end, the other two members filling the two seats in between. Gareth had no choice but to cover his black eye with a dark shade of glasses, and it seemed like nobody paid mind to it— typical rockstar wardrobe and all.

The interview was off to a good start, with reporters asking questions about the upcoming album, life on the road, and relatively anything about the music. Near the end, however, is when things seemed to get rocky. The questions became more of a filler than anything important, and boys were evidently tired of answering. It wasn’t until a journalist asked a specific question that things seemed to reach a tipping point.

“There’s been rumors that this album has more love songs than usual. Could you confirm or deny that?”

The boys look at each other, and Gareth leans forward to respond, but Eddie beats him to it. “There were a few, yeah, but um… They didn’t make the final cut, so maybe next time.”

The energy vividly shifts amongst the boys; Gareth looks at Eddie and scoffs before leaning back into his chair, clearly throwing in the towel for the rest of the interview. You don’t understand the apparent dispute just now, but you find out when the boys finish the interview and walk into the green room.

“What the fuck, man?” Gareth spits, walking a few paces behind Eddie. “We’re not cutting the song.” His loud voice booms through the room, not caring if anybody will overhear their dispute.

“I’m not putting a song out that you wrote about my fucking ex-girlfriend, Gareth. Are you out of your fucking mind?” Eddie snaps.

Richie turns to the band and crew members and motions for them to leave the room, which nobody even bothers to protest, eager to escape any more awkward conversations for the day. Everybody else makes a beeline for the tour bus, planning to fill in the few hours before rehearsal.

You glance back at the room where Eddie and Gareth are bickering, and you bravely choose to sit in the chair outside the doorway. You try not to stick your nose in their business, but they’re arguing loud enough for you to hear snippets either way. The conversation doesn’t last long before Gareth storms out of the room and down the hall, bursting through the doors and out of sight.

You glance back into the room where Eddie stands, fishing out his pack of cigarettes and sparking up. You figure now is better than ever, so you clench your bag strap and stand up, hesitantly stepping into the room. Clearing your throat once you’re a few steps away from Eddie, you watch as he exhales a cloud of smoke. He glances at you and turns away, “What do you want?”

You take one step closer, “I um… I wanted to apologize.” You begin. He looks at you again, brown eyes tired and riddled with pain— and you can’t imagine how much of a whirlwind the past twenty-four hours have been for him. “For what?” He asks, confusion and annoyance laced within his tone.

He’s turned to face you, shiny chains glistening on his hips beneath the building lights. You shake your head, struggling to find the words, because, was this really even your fault?

You obviously can’t apologize for Gareth fucking his ex-girlfriend— you had no part in that— and it’d seem silly to apologize for accidentally dropping your journal. So, what exactly do you apologize for? How do you let him know that you’re sorry this was how he found out, even if it isn’t entirely your fault?

You decide to try and redirect your wording, “I want you to know that I was never going to put that in the final article.” You say.

Eddie scoffs, taking a drag of his cigarette before responding, “And why would I believe that?” He questions.

He’s gazing at you like the first night you’d met when he was watching you from across the green room and commanding you to leave. You think he has the same intentions now, but Eddie has yet to learn that you’re stubborn.

“Well, for starters, Gareth asked me not to put it in,” you admit. Eddie’s jaw tenses and part of you feels as if you’ve tossed Gareth under the bus, but you had no choice. This was Gareth’s doing, and if you have to tell the ugly truth to save your image, then so be it. “He didn’t tell me why, but I know now. And now that I know the full truth behind that story, I definitely won’t write it in.”

Eddie watches you momentarily, intense eyes burning holes through you before he turns away. He scratches his jaw for a moment, taking a breath before returning to you. Eddie points to you, the burning cigarette hanging between his fingers as he speaks, “You know,” he begins, “somehow, you’ve managed to persuade everyone that you’re some sweet, innocent small-town journalist that just wants to ‘appreciate the artists,’ but that,” he gestures to your bag where he knows your journal is resting, ashes fluttering to the ground with each wave of his hand.

“That proved everything I believed about you.” He says. “People like you are fucking vampires. You suck the life out of people to keep you alive, and it’s fucked up.” He snaps.

Your face twists in anger, subtly shaking your head as you subconsciously step closer, “Eddie, I didn’t… I didn’t even know she was your ex, and if I did, I would’ve never written about it.” You exclaim, tossing your hands in exasperation. “And I’m sorry you found out the way you did, but you can’t hate me for something someone else did!”

Eddie frustratedly rubs his face, “That’s not the point!” He exclaims. “I read your journal. I saw everything I needed to see to confirm that I was right about everything with you and this fucking article.” He stresses, his loud voice echoing throughout the empty room.

“I'm not here to destroy your life, Eddie!” You snap, voice raising to match the level of his own. Eddie steps closer, towering over you and glaring so intensely into your eyes that you almost cower, “I don’t fucking believe that for a second.” He snaps back.

His chest rises and sinks like a rocky boat beneath his angry breaths, and he’s so close you can smell the cigarettes and mint on his breath. The scent of his cologne wrapping around you and choking you like a snake.

You don’t know how much more patient you can be with Eddie. You don’t know how much more of this back-and-forth you can take before it drives you insane. You want it to end. You want him to understand that you’re not his enemy; you never were.

You can only think of doing one thing: unzipping your bag and reaching in to grab your journal. Eddie watches with a hint of confusion in his eyes as you crack open the journal and start flipping through the pages. “What are you doing?” He asks in annoyance, patience running thin at your silence.

You flip through nearly half of the book before finding the pages you sought. You don’t think twice before ripping them out, not even caring if it destroys the binds of your precious journal. “The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks again.

You tear each page out and drop the book to the floor, ignoring Eddie’s questions as you shred each torn-out page to pieces. Eddie watches in silent and hidden shock as each pen-soaked strip flutters to the ground, creating a heap of trash between where you both stand.

You tear the last piece and let it fall before looking at Eddie, watching as he gazes at the torn pages. Nearly five pages worth of writing, gone.

“There. It’s gone. Do you believe me now?”

Eddie says nothing when he drags his gaze up to look at you, shock-ridden across his face. “I’m not who you say I am, Eddie. I’m not here to ruin your life; that was never my intention.”

Eddie stays silent, seemingly lost for words, and even if you want him to say something, your braveness has begun to falter, and you itch to leave the room. You’re strong-willed, but you’re no fucking superwoman, and Eddie has pulled every exhausting breath out of you, and you can’t seem to get a grip because every time you breathe in, all you smell and feel is Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

You grab your destroyed journal from the floor, not bothering to try and fix the binding before you shove it back into your bag, and you don’t say another word as you leave the room.

You’ve been writing for hours when you check the clock— twelve thirty-two. The band played a show tonight, but you decided to stay in your hotel to let your ankle rest— you haven’t been taking all the precautions the medic advised you to, so by the time lunch rolled around, you were in an uncomfortable fit of pain. You used your free time by tweaking the draft of your article— adding in new pieces of information and taking out unnecessary notes. You’re about twenty pages in, but by the end of the month, you’ll have compiled it all into ten; but for now, it seems your brain has become a muddled mess of words and ideas.

You suppose drinking three glasses of wine didn’t help fix that, either. You’re tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunk, and that’s a dangerous place to be when you’re practically working. You don’t even want to think of the past drunken works you’ve made; they’re worse than you’d like to admit.

You sigh, dropping your pen onto the hotel desk, leaning back in your chair, and rubbing your hand down your face in exhaustion. You glance over to the chair you’ve propped up to rest your injured leg, deciding that you should probably ice it since you’ve neglected to do so all day.

You figure you’re done writing for the day anyway, so you put your things in order before grabbing the ice bucket and making your way out of the room to find the ice machine.

What you don’t expect to find on your journey is a sleepy Eddie sitting in the hallway just a few doors down from yours. Maybe you drank four glasses of wine.

Out of common, drunk courtesy, you redirect your path and limp over to where he sits, arms folded across his chest and head leaned back against the wall with shut eyes.

You gently say his name to grab his attention, but he doesn’t budge. You shuffle closer, calling his name out again, and when that doesn’t work, you gently nudge him with your non-injured foot. His eyes flutter open, blinking away the light sleep from his eyes as he looks at you.

You tilt your head in question and ask, “What are you doing sleeping in the hallway?”

Eddie shifts in his spot, grunting and glancing at the bucket in your hands. From the looks of it, Eddie is as sober as can be, so you guess he decided to skip out on the after-show festivities they usually partake in. “I um… I lost the key card to my room.” He explains, gesturing to the door across from where he’s seated.

“The band is out for the night, and the lobby’s closed, so…”

You nod in understanding, glancing around the empty hallway, catching sight of a cleaning lady entering a room down the corridor. And technically, you don’t owe Eddie anything.

You could leave him here in the hallway to spend the night sleeping on the hard ground, and it probably wouldn’t bother him either way because Eddie clearly doesn’t like you, but fuck you feel bad.

You’re not a terrible person. You wouldn’t kick somebody when they’re already down, and Eddie… Eddie is clearly down.

Before you can thoroughly think it over, your liquor-weighted mouth speaks before you can stop yourself, “You could crash in my room for the night.”

Eddie looks at you with the blankest expression he could ever muster and blinks, “Why would I do that?”

God, he’s such a fucking asshole.

You shrug, gently swinging the bucket in your hand and glancing around again, “I don’t know, unless you'd like to sit here all night like a moron, then be my guest.”

Your ankle hurts as you stand and wait for Eddie to make up his mind, and just when you almost decide to throw in the towel and let him fend for himself, Eddie grumbles a short “Fine,” and gets up.

You watch as he reaches down to grab his leather jacket and turns to you, “You can go ahead; I have to get ice for my foot.” You tell him, pointing to your door so he knows where to go.

Eddie glances down at your injured leg and says nothing before he reaches forward and gently takes the bucket from your hands— cold, jewelry-covered fingers brushing up against your warm knuckles and sending shivers up your spine.

He hands you his jacket, and you stand silently, confused by the exchange. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he answers your question, “I’ll get the ice.” And he doesn’t even bother looking at you before turning around and leaving to find the ice machine.

You’re too drunk to figure out what that was about, and your ankle is starting to throb under the pressure of standing, so you walk back to your room clutching his jacket and trying your hardest not to let the familiar scent of Eddie knock you dead.

You leave the door slightly propped open for Eddie and place his jacket on the chair near the desk. In the meantime, you busy yourself with removing your suitcase and clothes you’d haphazardly tossed around from the extra bed where Eddie will be sleeping. You figure you’ll just head to bed once Eddie gets here, so you exchange your jeans and fitted top for shorts and a ratty old He-Man shirt from high school.

You’re setting your previous clothes aside when Eddie steps into the room, a bucket full of ice in one hand with a Coke and chips in the other. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the extra items, and he shrugs as he shuts the door with his foot, “What? The vending machine was right next to the ice, and I was hungry.” He explains as he places the bucket on the desk, making sure to avoid placing it on your work pages. He tries his best not to look at what you’ve written, and you don’t point it out when he clears his throat and diverts his attention to something else. He grabs the wine bottle and shakes it, raising an eyebrow when he realizes it’s less than halfway full, “I take it someone had a good time?”

You roll your eyes, walking over to take the bottle and put it back on the desk. “Not that it’s any of your business.” You respond, turning to grab a ziplock to fill with ice. Eddie takes the bag from you and shoos you away, “Go sit down, I’ll do it.”

Your face twists in confusion, “You’re starting to scare me. Are you gonna kill me?”

Eddie laughs and busies himself with scooping large chunks of ice and dropping them into the open ziplock. “I will if you don’t sit down.” He responds.

You relent and walk over to your bed, sitting at the head of the mattress to lean against the pillows near the headboard, doing your best to shove a pillow beneath your foot lazily. You sit silently, hands folded against your stomach, watching Eddie work.

He’s wearing his usual black jeans, decorated with hanging chains from his waist, and a plain white shirt, hidden muscles flexing beneath the soft cotton. His shoulders are broad yet hidden beneath the thick, curly mane of hair he has. Tattoos litter his arms, a few trickling down to his fingers, and you catch glimpses of his knuckles dripping with drops of water from the ice and— fuck.

There’s no way you’re checking out Eddie Munson, the asshole who’s made your life a living hell these past few weeks. You really can’t handle your liquor.

You panic and grab the TV remote, quickly turning it on to fill the silence. You distract yourself by watching the random sitcom playing until Eddie steps into your view. You must’ve been focused on the show because Eddie seems to have traveled to the restroom to get a towel to wrap around your makeshift ice pack. Your sheets are pulled back, leaving your bare legs on display, and you can’t help but squirm when Eddie stands at the foot of the bed and takes in the sight of you.

He says nothing as he gently lowers the ice onto your ankle. His inked fingers sink into the plush cotton of the towel, and if Eddie weren’t an artist, you bet he could land a job as a hand model. Or maybe you’ve really lost it.

His gaze flickers to catch your wide eyes, and you hold your breath when he speaks, “Is it too cold? Do you need another towel?” He asks. You stutter to answer him, so you shake your head no, eventually sputtering out a response of, “N-no, it’s fine. Thank you.”

Eddie turns to grab his snacks and falls into the other bed with a sigh, cracking open the bag of chips and popping a few into his mouth. You grimace and pull the sheets over your body as you comment, “If you bring ants to my room, I swear to god, Munson, I’ll hunt you down.”

Eddie chuckles, glancing at you as you shift around and get comfortable in bed, “Not with that broken foot, you won’t.”

You glare at him over the heap of expensive duvets and pillows, “I wonder whose fault that is?” You respond, falling back into bed when you see him roll his eyes.

Eddie clears his throat after a moment, “Speaking of that,” he begins; you peek over at him once again to watch as he puts the chips aside and grabs the remote to start flicking through channels. “Since we’re off these next four days, you should keep it light on your feet.”

You sarcastically laugh, “Don’t tell me you’re actually concerned for my well-being. This night keeps getting weirder and weirder.” You joke. Eddie pauses his task to glance at you, “No, I just…” You raise an eyebrow, urging him to continue. He rolls his eyes, “I’m not a complete asshole, you know?” He grumbles, turning back to the TV.

You’re snuggled into your sheets now as you watch Eddie flip through the channels, admiring how different features of his face light up under the different colors from the screen. He’s… pretty.

“What do you have planned for your days off?” You question behind a drawn-out yawn. You think you catch a glimpse of a smile on Eddie’s lips, but you can’t see very well in the dim lighting. “My Uncle Wayne is flying in, so… I’m spending time with him,” Eddie explains. You smile, “Your uncle?”

Eddie nods, and you hum, “That’s nice… Can I meet him?”

You’re never drinking wine again.

Eddie looks at you as if you’ve asked him the dumbest question on earth, “Why would… why?”

You shrug, “Maybe he’ll help me figure out why you’re such a grump.” You half-heartedly tease. Eddie scoffs, returning to watch the movie he’s landed on, “If you think I’m grumpy, you’re not equipped to meet Wayne.” He comments. And then something remarkable happens.

Eddie smiles to himself.

It’s small and obviously not meant for your eyes, but you see it either way, and it… fuck, it makes you feel things you would’ve never imagined you could for such an asshole of a man. What is going on?

“He can’t be any worse than you.” You joke. Eddie scoffs, “Nah, Wayne takes the cake for grumpiest man alive,” he bids.

Eddie tells you about Wayne, little memories he remembers that bleed into more memories until, eventually, he’s practically taking a walk down memory road. You go back and forth with him, commenting when you had a similar situation or when Eddie mentioned the same show you loved in high school.

At some point, Eddie’s stories and the low hum of the TV lull you to sleep, and you find yourself lying in cotton candy clouds, sinking into the softness and letting it surround you.

Eddie’s not sure when you checked out on him, but he figures he’d been talking to himself for a while because you're fast asleep when he looks over at you.

He watches you for a moment and appreciates the way the blue and white hues of the TV dance across your face. Your skin looks soft under the fluorescent lights, and he thinks the steady rise and fall of your breaths is more entertaining than any movie he could’ve landed on. And you’re so pretty— soft and molded to perfection, and Eddie thinks he might like you more like this; when you’re not talking and being the most obnoxious person he’s ever met. Eddie hates the feeling he gets in his chest from just looking at you.

You’re cute, he thinks.

He shakes his head to free himself from whatever weird feelings are spiraling through his mind, and he turns off the TV, letting the darkness swallow the room.

He’ll just have to worry about his feelings another time, he thinks.

————

part four

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a/n: HII U MADE IT TO THE END, U CAN ALL THANK MY STINK @mmunson86 FOR THE TINY PIECE OF FLUFF, THIS WAS FOR U BAE <3 ANYWAYS, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE

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cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2 @mvnsonslvt @s-u-t

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gremlingottoosilly · 8 months

Text

Cabin in the woods (yan!slasher!Konig x fem!Reader x yan!slasher!Horangi) part 3

Little birdie got caught. Konig is simply too excited to let you go. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 AO3

TW for the chapter: Light blood and gore, dead bodies, mentions of drugs, spanking, kidnapping

— Those fucking bastards killed Karen! Don’t you care?!

Shouting at your friends was never your forte, but you expected that it would come out at some point in your unwilling journey, You never knew it would because of the psycho killers on the loose, wanting nothing more but to make a nice set of decorations from your bones and eat your liver.

You try to scream some senses into Chad’s tough skull but, just like his name suggests, this is a useless endeavor and you would be far better off running for your life, abandoning your friends, and hoping that killers would be satisfied without your sacrifice. But, you’re too nice. But, you have a bleeding heart and a death wish – and you feel guilty over not feeling guilty that Karen is dead. This is a new, overwhelming feeling for you, the one that almost revamps your whole essence. There are changes occurring, and you would rather die than acknowledge those changes.

— Listen to me, goddamnit! We’re all going to die!

You must be looking horrible – mouth covered in blood like you just ate a bunch of raw meat, smelling of dirt and fresh guts, hands shaking and your face resembling the horror mixed with anger – even Marty is surprised to see the resident mouse behave like this. God, even you are surprised to see just how horrified you look, screaming at them in the hope of saving at least someone.

Marty drops a hand over your shoulders, pulling you to the side. You try to resist, but his clanky figure is surprisingly grippy and strong – you are being pulled to the nearest tree branches, just out of the range of the group. You spend the previous few hours trying to find them and yell some senses into their heads – and the only thing that they advised is that you should stop drinking for today and that stealing pills from Marty’s stash isn’t very nice even if he kinda doesn’t care where his junk goes. Still, you are fucking trembling.

Marty pushes you to the tree, whispering in your ear – you feel his hot, deranged breath on the side of your face, making you wince. Even compared to the killer’s smell of sweat and blood, they still were nicer to be around than Stale-Beer-And-Cheap-Weed-Breath Marty.

— Hey. Heeeeey, doll, what was happening back there?

— Karen is…

— Nah-nah-nah, this is where you should shut up, yeah? Karen isn’t dead. I mean, I’m glad you think she is, it means my prank is fucking awesome.

Prank? Her fucking head was chopped off and then tossed over to the nearest creek when the shorter killer decided that he wants you to perform a blowjob on his knife, making sure that you are licking all the blood away. You don’t think that there are ways to fake this – and if there are, then your friends and their hired goons are no better than actual killer psychos anyway and you’d still want out.

— I saw her!

— Sure you did, hon. Listen, I’m really glad you were the first to notice and everything, but keep it down for now, yeah? I have this sick mask and I was actually planning to prank the group later at night, but if you found it first…

— Prank?! There are two actual killers on the loose, this is the worst time to do pranks! — God, you’re annoying. This is why I fucking asked Jenny not to invite you. There are no killers, alright? Karen agreed to partake in the prank, so she is hiding somewhere in the forest until I’d pull out that sick knife and fucking scare everyone shitless. You were probably hallucinating from booze.

— I saw her severed head!

— Sure you did. Listen – you can help me, yeah? Just rile everyone up a little, then you will come back and say that…hmmmm…that Marty was taken! Everyone panicking, screaming, crying, and then I show up with this big-ass knife and…

You never heard the last of his amazing, perfect, simply brilliant idea – because before he could finish it, his head was impaled with…oh, no. No-no-no, you can’t do this anymore, not so soon after Karen is dead, not when you are still shaking and can barely think straight not when you are far away from others because Marty fucking led you to another secured place just to get his stupid head impaled with a fucking crossbow bolt – something that you only saw in video games or historical dramas.

This was completely silent – the quiet music of the bolt flying through the air, a small grunt that escaped Marty’s lips before he fell to the ground beneath your feet. You didn’t even manage to see from what direction this thing came from, too disoriented to observe the world around you properly. You feel the adrenaline running up again, probably breaking the record for you in the whole year – you jump from the body on the ground, tears dwelling in your eyes. You can’t do it, you can’t do it, you won’t do it, you were never a fighter, the freeze-fight-flight instinct always coming up to curling down in a small ball and sucking on your thumb.

Some people are simply not built for survival – this is a natural order, something that Darwin was talking about. Soft, weak humans are meant to die, meant to be the food for stronger predators, for monsters dwelling in the shadows. Some creatures are never meant to exist – fleshy cute creatures, the ones that melt at the slightest touch, someone like you – when your first answer to a threat is to roll on your back and show your belly to a mountain lion, you just knew that evolution never meant for you to live past the crib. And yet, civilisation allowed you to survive. To thrive even, before you were put in this fucking forest.

You run before everything else can kick in – at least some of your instincts are working properly, adrenaline running through your veins as you are leaving Marty behind, not even bothering to check if he is still breathing or not. The man was never thinking with his head – not the upper one anyway – but you doubt that he would survive a bolt shot perfectly between his eyes, separating his brain in two perfect halves. Like a fucking apple.

You ran

‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ and you ran ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ and you ran some more

And you ran right into his chest.

Wall of muscles, no less – you aren’t even sure if this is a human’s body, too sturdy and hard and perfect to belong to something less of a Roman statue. You feel tears running down your face, panic not even bothering to settle in – you know you would be dead in the next few moments, brain tragically easy saying goodbye to being intact. A pathetic sob escapes your throat as you are caught for the second time in this night – lady luck might be smiling upon you the first time, but you doubt you can be her favorite for long.

— I thought the rule of escaping was to run away from danger.

This is the tall killer – low voice, secured by the mask, making it almost unrecognizable. You shake as a big, glowed hand goes on your back, laying there heavily. Even more pathetic sounds are produced from your lips, and you are almost ready to beg him for a quick, painless death – his hand is big enough to cover your head and you don’t want to think of the implications that he might crush your skull with just his fingers.

König listens to your sobs, doing nothing but keeping a firm hand on your back, securing you in place. You sob and whine and tremble in his hold – and he was never more hard in his life. What an adorable, pathetic little creature you are. Helpless in his hold – even squirrels can fight, scratching and biting. You were sobbing in his hold like the perfect kleine prey you are, and he could almost pretend this was a hug.

— Tshhh, Hase, don’t cry. I won’t be able to let you go if you’d proceed with those sweet noises, ja?

His revelation only makes you squirm more. You finally try to get out of his bear-like hug – only to realize that all of your little movements and struggles fit perfectly with the enormous, pulsating bulge in his pants that can probably be considered a murder weapon on its own and shouldn’t be concealed since this is an obvious threat to…ah, on second thought, running around from a serial killer who has his monstrous dick hanging out would be worse. Much, much worse.

— Let me go!

You squirm one of your hands, punching his chest. Feels like punching a marble statue – the only thing you are hurting is your own hands. You try to resolve to a different form, jerking up your knee to land a blow on his crotch.

He fucking moans.

— Never knew you were such a fighter, Schatz. But I warned you, aren’t I?

You don’t understand what he is talking about before he suddenly lifts you in his hands, dropping you on his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. You are crying, trying to get away, [unching him with your legs and your hands, all the adrenaline in your veins working solely for the purpose of inflicting as much pain on this enormous figure as possible.

You tug on this weird hood he is wearing – if you are going to die, at least you would die exhausting all possible options, not feeling like you gave up without a fight. This is still a journey of self-respect and deep insight searches for the mysteriously hidden backbone of your body – maybe, yoga classes would be more effective and less dangerous but, unfortunately, you’re not a rich white housewife in her thirties, so not like you have money for a guru who would spend hours trying to convince your ovaries to stop dying on the inside.

— Let!

You punch him on the back, a multitude of well-served punches right into his back. He laughs, spreading his shoulders, cocking his chest forward like you were giving him a massage. With a groan, you made a very deliberate punch right in the middle of his back – and he moans from satisfaction, probably releasing some pent-up tension that he got from killing grandmas and destroying hotels.

— Me!

You tried to kick him in the chest, your legs working overtime as you cosplayed a rabid rabbit – only for him to laugh even more, his arm securing you holstered across his shoulder like your punches meant nothing. They probably didn’t – he is literally still holding a fucking crossbow in his other hand, managing to secure it on his side while moving towards…you only assume it to be a murder cabin because of course those freaks would have a murder cabin, why the hell not – probably with some cool classy furniture made out of bones.

— Go! You finally manage to secure hold on the edge of his hood, yanking it upwards in hopes of actually revealing who the fuck is he – a dirty businessman who doesn’t like those damn kids and their dog to ruin his plans for burning down the forest to create a shopping mall? A nice old man who showed you the road when you were lost, but he is actually on a spree to get revenge on all young people for killing his pet chicken in 1997? One of those creepy guys at the corner store who was weirdly obsessive over you, talked like a serial killer, and was constantly and also came in pair with the guy whose height and manner perfectly resembled a pair of killers that are after you now?

Probably the grandpa.

You yank the mask up and…

Ah.

Of course, he is wearing a freaking balaclava. The only thing that you managed to see were his eyes – blue, icy, pretty, filled with anger as he pulled the hood down, concealing his features again, without you even managing to take a closer look. You gulp loudly, preparing to die.

He smacks your ass with a power that would be enough to break a bone – your only saving grace is that the flesh of your butt provided some cushion, instead leaving a nasty bruise and inability to sit for at least a few days. That is if you would even survive long enough to have problems sitting on your backside. You won’t have such problems if you’re dead, right?

— Quiet, Schatz. I already breaking the rule for taking you too early.

— Br…breaking a rule? Do you have a freaking hunting pact?

— I promised Tiger that we’d let you roam around a little. Make things interesting.

Ah, yes, because letting you go the first time was such a brilliant idea on their behalf. The only reasons you didn’t go straight to the police is because A) You don’t speak rural Austrian German, B) Your phone can’t connect to anything, and C) You don’t even know in what part of the forest you are. Also because you’re scared that the police are going to turn out treacherous people, just like in horror movies, and that it would fucking destroy your trust.

— I can roam around. I can roam around just fucking perfect, ass…

Another loud smack on your ass makes you feel like a misbehaving kitten. He grips your ass through your jeans and you whimper a little bit, starting to cry again as his hand goes straight for the bottom, gripping your cunt through the tough layer of denim. You thank every god you know for making you wear ugly, but protective and thick jeans. Every time his hand goes to cup your most intimate parts, the fabric of your jeans protects it – you don’t even feel too violated when he pushes his fingers even more, desperately trying to get a reaction out of you.

— Language, Hase. Don’t make me discipline you, ja? — Fuck you! — Very gut then. That’s what you will do very soon.

Oh, but the rough material grinding over your delicate, thin panties and the sensitivity of your cunt really makes you feel…something. You won’t want to admit it, he smells like blood and sweat(still better than Marty, but you shut down that thought before it was born because fuck the new abortion laws), and he spanks your ass only to grope your pussy right after – and he also has masterful fingers that are working at the hem of your jeans, making the fabric press even more against the sensitive skin and…

You try to think of something – anything.

Dead bodies, dead bodies, a lot of dead bodies, and there are some dead puppies too and everything is gross and smelly and…ah, it’s not working.

König touches your lower parts with a wide grin under his hood – you’re fucking perfect, a nice addition to their house. You bite when he needs a little fight and you shut up when he touches you – perfect birdie, adorable birdie, Horangi will probably be bitching about spoiling the fun since you’d be stuck with them without a proper chase like he wanted, but the tiger would come around once he’d emptied himself on your warm body just once.

You squirm under his touch, moan and cry and tremble and he can’t stop imagining you in millions of different positions. Stuck in the basement of their house, on your knees like a good girl you are, maybe with some branding or a collar – it’s more of a Horangi’s thing, even though König hopes he won’t have to break you too much until you’d call him daddy – pushing you to their shared bed, making sure that you’re nice and stuck in some open positions, allowing them to take you without much repercussions.

— Let me go.

— Nein.

— Please?

— I like your begging, Spatz.

— It means you’d let me go?

— Nein. You will tell your little friends, and then you will run to the police, ruining our fun. You are not going anywhere.

— But, um…your culprit will be mad, no?

As cunning as you can, you’re trying to seal the seeds of destruction among them. You’re trying your damn best not to act too charming or too fake, just so he won’t fall in love with you for real and would try murder-suicide you, but also with enough charisma checks so you’d actually convince him.

But, it’s not really working – maybe, you aren’t as good at spreading havoc as you thought you were.

— He’d live. We would get to hold you in your house, little one. It’s enough to make him understand my reasons.

It’s definitely enough to make you want to puke. He is fast, not even bothering to check on the body of your friend as he goes past it – he just marks it with something that resembles a piece of torn fabric and pushes some leaves and sticks on the body, probably signalling to his friend to come and get rid of the body – and then he changed your position a little bit, securing a hand on your ass he goes deeper into the forest.

You’re trying to remember the location, maybe counting the trees and every bush that seems like a good mark – but you, a city girl raised on a cocktail of Google Maps and a constant internet connection, have already grown tired of trying to remember everything. Every tree is the fucking same, every turn feels like the one before and, at some point, you were sure that he is actually going in circles to make you understand the location even less. Your blurry vision obstructs the goal even more – you cried so much, it feels like your very eyes gave out. With a sigh of defeat, you metaphorically roll over to your back and present your belly to the predators.

After a hike that felt like hours, but was probably like 10 minutes long – this guy has long legs and the determination of a dog dragging a really cool stick home and, before you know it, you’re standing in front of a…house. Nice house. Expensive house, a big house, something less of a mansion, but more of a shed that you thought he was going to live in because he is literally a serial killer.

Even serial killers made good property investments in the respective years – and you were too busy with useless stuff, like learning how to walk or trying not to choke yourself on a piece of carrot.

— Welcome home, Schatz.

He gently lets you down from his shoulder, allowing you to take a closer look at your surroundings. Normal living room – literally nothing weird. Maybe a bit too much hunting trophies, maybe a lot of guns lying around, some overly manly decorations, and very questionable art pieces but if you’d see that house advertised on the property website, you wouldn’t even consider it too weird. You were expecting…something. Blood on the walls, furniture made out of human flesh and skin, a devilish feast for imps and every like them…

You saw nothing as König punched the back of your head, putting you to sleep.

You fucking hate forest trips.

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jointherebellion215 · 2 months

Text

Worth

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: You're swept off your feet by one Major John C. Egan, and you love every second of it. Sequel to Birdie.

Word Count: 3.0k

Tags: female!reader, mechanic!reader, women™, period typical sexism & misogyny, fun date night, dude w/ a small dick gets rightfully called out, mostly just fun date stuff, tons of fluff

A/N: Hello all! Thank you so much for the kind words on Birdie. I really appreciate everyone's comments, they warm my heart right up. I almost didn't write this, but the thought of having these two smooch it up was too good to pass up. I also completely headcanon that Bucky has the biggest sweet tooth, oops. As always, I'd be most gracious if you were to leave a like, comment, and/or reblog :)

Read the OC Version of this story on AO3!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, please don't copy, repost, or translate my writing without explicit prior permission. Don't even think about it, AI!

A knock at the door brings butterflies to your stomach.

“Oh, he’s here!” Irene shouts, which is immediately met with your shushing, as well as Teresa’s.

You nervously pat your hair and check over your outfit for the evening. You’re spending your second day’s leave on a date with Bucky Egan. He had approached you last night at the pub, asking if you wanted to grab dinner. Alone.

You, of course, said yes.

Teresa and Irene go to answer the door while you gather your purse, stuffing it with your essentials. Your friends greet him at the same time, sounding like twins.

“Good evening, Major!”

You hear his deep voice reply, only a small bit of surprise leaking into his voice.

“Good evening, ladies. Is Birdie around? We have dinner plans.”

“I’m here! Hi.” You step around the wall that hides you from the front door, taking a look at the man you’d been crushing on for months. He stands tall and confident in his neatly pressed uniform, hat covering most of his dark curls. His mouth gapes, giving you a once over and attempting to speak up.

“I- You-…Uh, wow. Y-you look…” But any sweet words he attempts to say are interrupted by Irene, who comes in hot with a manic smile.

“Did you know that my daddy taught me how to shoot when I was just a little girl? I’m real good at it. They call me Oakley, back home, cause of how great a marksman I am. Y’know, like Annie Oakley?” She stepped forward, puffing up her chest and giving a frightening grin to Major Egan. You and Teresa exchanged confused looks, not knowing quite where she was going with this.

“I’m not allowed a sidearm or a rifle over here, but I’m sure I could easily borrow one from any of the fellas on base should you break my best friend’s hea—”

“OKAY! We don’t wanna be late, all the tables might be taken soon. Gotta go. Love you. Bye!” You quickly shove past the blonde, stepping over the threshold. You take Bucky’s hand and practically drag his tall form down the hallway, away from your best friend’s attempt at a shovel talk.

You faintly hear Teresa’s well wishes to you amid the aggressively whispered conversation she has with Irene. The last words you hear before the elevator door closes in front of you are a heavily accented protest from Irene.

“What? I was just trying to..!”

The pair of you stand in the elevator in silence. A slight rocking indicates the starting motion of it, which snaps you back to reality. Looking down, you realize that you’re still holding hands with Bucky. You quickly separate your hand from his, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Your friends seem nice.”

Your head snaps to glance at Bucky, who is already looking at you. A sincere smile graces his face, not a hint of mocking in his eyes.

“I’m glad you have them looking out for you.”

You feel your face start to cool down, making you comfortable enough to respond.

“They drive me nuts sometimes. But they’re the best friends I could ever ask for.” You mean every word.

You see John nod, so you turn back to look to the elevator doors in front of you. An awkward pause.

“You look beautiful.”

Another pause. “What?”

“It’s what I meant to say earlier. That you look beautiful. Because you do.”

Heat quickly returns to your cheeks, spreading throughout your whole upper body. You give a bashful smile, peeking up at him through your lashes. You gaze into his eyes for a moment.

“Thank you, Johnny. You look quite handsome yourself.” The Major adjusts his hat, covering just the tips of his ears. He returns your gaze with an uncharacteristically nervous grin. The floor gives a slight rattle, elevator door and gate opening to reveal the lobby.

John straightens up, holding out his arm for you to take. You tentatively weave your hand within the crook of his elbow. He gently presses his arm in, bringing your body closer to his.

You meet your other hand in its position and let Bucky lead you out of the hotel and into the evening air.

✨

“That was so delicious! I never knew that a roast could be so tender…”

The pair of you were walking arm-in-arm down a cobblestone street, just having finished dinner. It was a wonderful time. Bucky had been the perfect gentleman, but made his interest in you clear without being sleezy.

He was entirely focused on you the whole time. He asked questions and was genuinely invested in your answers. Conversation came to the two of you like a duck to water. After a shared glass of wine, his hand had slowly inched towards yours. Soon he had cradled it in his, like you were a precious commodity, until your meals arrived. You could hardly keep your eyes off of each other long enough to even promptly acknowledge the wait staff, which you were sure annoyed some and amused others.

Safe to say, John Egan was doing his best to sweep you off your feet.

You hadn’t discussed any other plans for after dinner, but the walk you’re on now is nice enough to give you reason to stick close together.

Bucky nods along, “And that fruit tart? Incredible.”

You laugh, leaning into your date, “I knew that would be your favorite part. You’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, don’t you?”

Bucky holds his hands up with a mischievous smirk on his face, “Hey, I plead the fifth.”

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone so adamant on having some coffee with his sugar.” You continue to tease him. He nudges you playfully, giving a smooth grin in return.

“Hey, we’re in a war! If you see something sweet,” Bucky surprises you by picking you up and twirling you around, getting a full belly laugh from you as he sets you back on the ground.

“You gotta snatch it up and enjoy it while you can.”

You have a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about food.

By that point, you’re leaning against his front, hands on both of his shoulders. The moment has shifted into something else. Something different. His eyes roam your face, eventually stopping on your lips. Just as he starts to lean in, the moment is shattered by the sound of instruments starting up nearby. Bucky flinches, cursing the ill-timed disruption.

Oblivious to his turmoil, you gasp in delight and look around for the source of the music.

“Do you hear that? I think there’s a band playing!”

You spot a few people walk into what looks like a club. It barely a stone’s throw from where you’re both currently standing.

Bucky quickly recovers, “Should we grab a drink? Have a dance or two?”

You beam at him, and his heart stutters in his chest once more. After you give a nod, you place your hand in his arm and let him lead you into the club.

The two of you step into the establishment, and the energy is almost electric. There are mills of people walking about, drinking, talking, laughing. There’s a great score more on the dance floor, hopping and jiving along to the band you now knew you’d heard earlier. There weren’t a lot of uniforms present, but the ones that were were RAF.

Bucky guides you to the bar, hand on your back until you're both sat on a pair of stools. Your drinks are quickly ordered and served, so your night continues. You both allow yourselves to talk shop for a moment, so your conversation turns towards what you were working on before your leave. As you get to discussing the more intricate parts of your project, you hear a scoff from behind you.

John quickly looks over your shoulder, spotting the culprit.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?”

You turn around to find a uniformed man taking a sip of his whiskey, RAF logo plastered on the lapel. He mockingly shakes his head, placing the glass down on the bar.

“No, no problem at all.”

Bucky, ever the confrontationist, persists. “It seems like there’s a problem here.”

You gesture towards the man, silently indicating that he was welcome to speak his mind.

“It’s not enough that you Yanks come over to our country, destroy our pubs and disrespect our women with your recklessness. But you can’t even keep your own women in check! She should be at home, away from the war, for God’s sake. Taking care of the house and the children. You know, doing feminine duties.”

You had heard all of this before, so it was no skin off your back to hear it again. You roll your eyes and decided to just ignore him. Then the man started to laugh, as if he was in on a private joke.

“I mean, a female mechanic? Between that and your daytime missions, it’s no wonder you’re all dropping like flies.”

You let out an exhale, letting the air stream out through your nose. In your periphery, you see Bucky start to stand— to, no doubt, escalate the situation. You stop him with a hand on his chest. He sits back down, looking between you and the man who had just insulted you. You set your glass down, hopping off the stool and giving a slow clap.

“I’m so glad to know that some people still live in the Stone Age, where apparently all a woman is good for is cooking and giving birth! Thank you so much for showing us exactly what a lack of education and individual thought looks like! See where we are—over in modern times— women can do whatever the hell they want. That includes fixing your planes and jeeps, operating your radios, driving your trucks, and even training your allies to use machine artillery!”

The RAF soldier realizes what he’s gotten himself into but is backed into a corner of the bar as you pace forward with each scathing word that leaves your mouth.

“Never mind all the bullshit you just spouted about what a woman is fit to do. I think that women can decide for ourselves exactly what we can and cannot do. As for my countrymen, I’m proud to serve alongside them. They go up every day willing to sacrifice themselves so that the rest of us don’t have to. They’re gonna be remembered for their bravery and grit. They’re not cowardly enough to hem and haw and stick up their noses at the thought of a woman doing something other than popping out a kid and ironing their pleats.”

The music has dulled down, but you don’t have the complete attention of the club. That gives you the courage to say your final piece.

“Never you mind. I'm confident that the men I serve with, including the man I have with me tonight, aren’t anything like you. Thank God for that! They're not so…” You take an exaggerated glance towards the man’s crotch, scrunching up your nose. “…small-minded.”

Leaving the gaping man behind, you turn to Bucky and ask if he wants to go get some air. He picks his jaw up off the floor quick enough to nod and lead you back outside into the street.

Hey, hanging around Irene pays off sometimes.

As you step out into the night air, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel John step up behind you, voice carefully asking,

“Hey, are you okay? Birdie?”

You continue to stand with your eyes closed. You just needed a moment.

“I’ve come too far to let anyone’s opinion of me, or my career choices, effect me.”

You open your eyes and look over your shoulder at your date. He gives an understanding nod, stepping closer to you. He places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. You lean back into him, closing your eyes once more, letting him comfort you for the time being.

“Sorry if I ruined the night.”

You can feel a rumble from Bucky’s chest as he chuckles. “Oh, this night’s far from ruined. In fact, that was probably the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

One of your eyes pops open. You crane your neck to peek at him, “Even better than the time you told me about Curt knocking out an RAF officer in one punch?”

“Yep.”

“Winning that bet to get your bicycle?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Better than your fruit tart from dinner?”

His smile widens, “Okay, let’s not get crazy here. Maybe it was top ten.”

“Top ten?!” You playfully gasp, turning around to face him again. You rest your hands on your hips, “What’s a girl gotta do to rank above a fruit tart around here?”

“Well…” You scoff and shove Bucky at the cheeky smirk he gives you. You’re quickly distracted by the sound of the band inside starting up again. This time with a familiar tune.

“Oh, your song’s on, Johnny!”

Bucky tosses his hat to the side, steps back and gives a very unserious bow. He then sneers with a hyper-nasal impression of the RAF officer you’d just affronted.

“My lady.”

You roll your eyes and give a joking curtsy in return, taking his offered hand. He pulls you into a proper stance for a waltz, which is a complete offset to the jive song that reaches your ears. You both jokingly hop along in the awkward squared formation for a moment, giggling to yourselves.

He gently pushes on your hip while outstretching his hand, so you take the cue and twirl until you’re both standing at each other’s fingertips. A quick grasp of your hand and a pull twirls you right back into his arms, bumping into his chest. The moment made you burst into laughter, leaning into your dance partner until the song ends.

The next song is a much slower tune, giving Bucky the chance to pull you in close. You hum along to the band playing, sidling up to the Major’s chest. He places a hand in yours and loops the other around your waist. Your free arm gently drapes under his and over his shoulder, encouraging a lean into his firm body. You both give a slow sway, leading each other back and forth in the quiet echoes of the street. Closer than before.

“You know, I’ve been plucking up the courage to ask you to dinner for a while now.”

You lay your head on the knuckles of your hand that rest on his shoulder, responding lowly.

“Really?”

You continue to sway.

“Yeah.”

You’re curious, so you ask, “What made you finally do it?”

He thinks on the answer for a moment, almost chewing on his thoughts. John is not the kind of person to typically contemplate over an answer, so you gift him all the time in the world to respond. You recognize how important that is to him.

“I… I think that it was a lot of little things.” He pulls you in closer. “Your smile, your eyes, the way you talk about the things you love. Birdie, you are so personable with everyone you come into contact with and it’s so magnetic.”

The flow of compliments shocks you, not expecting this barrage of details to come from the man in front of you. But you dance on anyways.

“But I really think what did me in was yesterday, at the pub. When you looked at me during your song.”

You remember. You know exactly what he was talking about. Whatever he must have felt, you know that you felt it too.

He continues to speak in an intimate tone as you sway along in the street.

“I felt my entire life click into place. It was like everything suddenly made sense. I didn’t have to wonder about what my life was going to be like in five, ten, fifteen years. Because I knew.”

He pulls back to look you in the eye, and the amount of vulnerability in his eyes floors you.

“I’ll be honest, it scared the shit outta me. It terrified me.”

You understand what he meant. This is all new to him, as it is to you. You pull his forehead to touch yours, noses gently brushing one another, as you offer your best words of comfort in that moment.

“Sometimes, you have to do what scares you the most to find out what’s worth doing.”

He cups your face, letting his lips ghost against yours. He made his intentions clear, but it was up to you to decide how you move forward.

So, you close your eyes and take the leap.

Your lips press into his, hands stroking the arms that were framing your face. He immediately responds in kind, lips moving in tandem with yours. You melt into him at the reciprocated motion. His arms soon move to your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms reach around his neck, hands resting at the nape of his neck. As he deepens the kiss, you run your hands up, down, and through the dark curls on the back of his head, earning a groan from your partner.

A burst of warmth sparks from within your very being, traveling further and further through your body until you’re consumed by flames. Half of your mind is scrambling to make sense of reality, and the other half is completely consumed by passion.

After a moment, you reluctantly separate from one another, panting to catch your breath. It’s as if the world stopped spinning when you connected, and then started up again when you parted.

Giving a nervous look to the man you just kissed, you’re elated when he gives you an ear-to-ear grin. He grasps one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. His other hand comes up to cup your face again, thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.

You stay silent for the time being, letting the moment marinate. He brings up your joined hands to kiss the back of your palm. Your heart jumps with joy at the sight.

Bucky gives an exhale before breaking the silence.

“You are most definitely worth it.”

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lani-heart · 3 months

Text

|| series masterlist || next // previously

parings -> ( eventually ) enhypen x reader genre -> soulmate au, fantasy au, angst warnings -> angst word count -> 2.2k

abstract -> reader having to help home-ec was not something you expected to connect with jay... nor even befriend him.

y/n's perspective

“Can you please come through the home-ec club today? I wanted to ask you about my plan for the club fair we’ll have soon!” Haechan asked me and I nodded. “Sure, did you ask Sangyeon, Heeseung, and EJ yet?” I asked as he shook his head.

“My vice-president is gonna handle Heeseung and Sangyeon… also the Decelis and Riverfield council are very intimidating” he confessed and I chuckled.

Haechan was a witch who had started his home-ec class… a lot of the witches found the different councils intimidating.

“I’ll pass down the message to EJ, they’re nice so don’t worry too much,” I said and he smiled and left. “y/n can you handle that?” Wonyoung asked and I nodded.

“I’ll go see them in a minute,” I said, getting ready for my classes. Wonyoung is currently very stressed… She was planning a lot and I took most of the paperwork as president. However, she did most of the communication work, and working with the other councils was stressful, especially with Decelis recently…

I walked to the home-ec room where I entered and saw Haechan being the busy senior he was… “You’re here for the plans aren’t you?” I heard as I saw Jay…

I felt my eyes widen and I hated how badly I still reacted to vampires… he must’ve noticed since I saw his face soften.

“Yeah… Haechan asked me to come by” I said, not knowing how to act around Jay. “He’s a little busy but he should be done soon… I'll have him handle it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable” he said and I felt a bit guilty…

He seemed to stop as he turned around though almost contemplating something. “Uhm… is it bad if I ask you for a favor?” he asked and I felt dread.

It also must’ve been obvious… “It's nothing related to magic! It's just… I'm worried about everyone. Usually, we all eat together in our dorm but Jungwon, Sunoo, and Niki have been avoiding us. I know that they often skip lunch–” “What?” I didn’t mean to interrupt him but I didn’t notice what he explained… they were skipping meals?

“Yeah… you didn’t notice?” he asked and I shook my head. “Jungwon always told me they ate lunch before coming to the council room… or when they’d come to my dorm he said they’d eat with you,” I said and he shook his head.

“I’m the cook in the dorms… so they’ve been avoiding me too,” he said and I sighed. “I’ll talk to them– Wait, has Sunghoon been skipping meals?! It’s bad for his health, especially being…” I trailed off not wanting to say anything out loud and exposing my soulmate.

“He’s eating a lot better since you’ve accepted him so thank you for that… I wanted to ask if it was too much trouble that you’d give the boys a packed lunch? They don’t eat with us anymore so if you could?” he asked and I noticed how caring he was.

I smiled softly and nodded.

“Would it be fine if you came after the fourth period? I’ll have lunch for them… I think you’re the only one who can knock some sense into them” he said and I chuckled.

“I will… if I knew this before I would’ve made sure they weren’t skipping meals”

After my classes, I made sure to tell Sunoo that I'd be in the cafeteria even though I had to go work on council assignments.

“Thank you again,” he said as he handed me the packed bento boxes and I was gonna grab them when… “Are you okay?”

“Uhm… I just don’t want to accidentally touch you” I said and he seemed to understand what I was saying…. He looked shocked but put the wrapped boxes down on a counter and moved away so I could pick them up.

“I didn’t think of it…” he muttered softly.

“It’s okay… enjoy your lunch,” I said and he nodded as I left. I went to the cafeteria where I saw Sunoo, Jungwon, Niki, and Sunghoon already waiting.

“A little birdie told me you were skipping meals,” I said and they turned around to see me carrying a rather heavy delivery. Sunghoon took it and put it down for me.

“What are you–” “I’m mad at you” I interrupted Jungwon who’s eyes widened.

“You guys make sure I'm not skipping meals but you guys lied about eating. It’ll weaken you and you’ll need to consume more blood than the school will offer you "I said and they sighed.

“This is Jay’s doing,” Niki said and they all looked at me for an explanation. “He cares about you guys… he’s worried that you guys aren’t eating so he asked me for delivery service,” I said and they sighed.

“At least Sunghoon isn’t skipping meals' ' I said and he smiled proudly while the others glared at the hybrid. “Come eat with me and my roommates' ' I said and their eyes widened.

“I know you avoid your dorm like the plague so join me and my roommates for dinner… but eat Jay's lunches please?” I asked and they complied.

“I gotta go then,” I said and they complained. “Have you ever eaten lunch?” Sunoo said, trying to put the blame on me now. “Wonyoung has lunch in the council room–” “Why couldn't we eat that–'' Jungwon interrupted the boy by smacking him with chopsticks.

“Don’t argue with her,” he said and I smiled. “Make sure to eat too,” Sunoo said and I nodded.

“No more skipping meals!”

I ended up not eating lunch…

I was so hungry by the time it was dinner but I didn’t want to make it obvious in front of the boys so I didn't eat as much.

Now I was starving this early in the morning. I couldn’t concentrate in my classes and it wasn’t until my fourth period when I had my free period that I almost bumped into Jay.

“Sorry!” we both said and we laughed it off. “Are you okay? You look a little tired?” he said and I whined. “It's just council work catching up to me,” I said and he nodded.

“Heeseung has been the same way…” he said and I felt guilty that they no longer had an event planner or a president because of me.

“It isn’t your fault though… the whole soulmate situation has been messy,” he said and I agreed. “Have you eaten?” he asked and I shook my head.

“You’re the same as them” he muttered and he offered me a smile. “Do you have a free period right now?” he asked and I nodded as he told me to follow him.

The minute I walked into the home-ec room I was weak to the smell of food…

“y/n!” I heard it when I saw Haechan. “Haechan, how’s it going?” I asked and he smiled. “Good but training newcomers and my replacement for next year is a mess," he said and I nodded. “You’re welcome anytime– Hey!! I TOLD YOU A HUNDRED TIMES ALREADY–” I laughed off the sudden rage the senior showed at the mistakes of the younger students.

“He always has so much energy,” Jay said and I agreed.

“Here,” he said as he showed me a croissant and poured me out some coffee. “Thank you!! I need this” I said and he chuckled. He placed everything in front of me making sure not to touch me.

“You’re welcome to do work here,” he said and I was confused. “Well… I always see you at the library setting up before coming here so I assumed this was when you were the most productive” he said and I was shocked… he noticed that?

“I need to help Haechan with a recipe but you can stay. I’ll make the boys their lunches– by the way, thank you for actually making them eat it” he said and I smiled.

“It’s no problem”

By the time it was lunch period, I was able to finish my notes and start on some homework I needed to complete. “Here you go,” he said as he placed the boxes of food.

“Actually make time for yourself… I’m trying to make Heeseung do the same. We can’t have two council presidents sick” he said and I nodded as I packed up.

“I will… thank you for the snack and for letting me stay here,” I said and he nodded.

I was now at the cafeteria where I placed down the food. “So is this gonna be an everyday occurrence?” Jungwon asked and I shrugged.

“I liked being in the council room during lunch” Sunoo pouted and I chuckled. “Well you did quit,” I said and he rolled his eyes.

“There’s an extra portion?” Jungwon said and I was confused. “Hmm? Maybe it was Sunghoon’s?” Niki said as he started eating. “He said he was gonna be in the council room today though?” Sunoo said and I realized it was for me.

“You wanna eat with us, Miss President? Or are you too busy for even your soulmates?” Jungwon teased me and I smiled.

“Maybe just for today”

Jay’s cooking was amazing. I ate it all and even craved more.

I even found it to be a routine to study in the home-ec room with Jay around… I know I shouldn’t have but I felt comfort in it.

“Isn't that stuco president work?” I asked, seeing Jay rushing to finish the piece of paper he had in front of him while looking at what he had in the oven.

“Huh? Oh yeah… I wanted to help Heeseung out a bit so I volunteered to do all this” he said clearly stressed and I was already finished with my work.

“I’ll do it,” I said and he looked shocked. “Will you?” he said, confused and I nodded. “You shouldn’t be scattered everywhere besides that gives me one less paper to revise later on,” I said and he nodded while rushing to his food.

I finished all the work and fixed his jumbled writing.

“Jay! Where… Oh! y/n!” I heard it when I saw Sooha. I hate to admit it but I avoided her in hopes K would deal with his own issues.

“Hello,” I said as I got back to Heeseung’s paperwork. “I’ve been needing to talk to you,” she said and I guess she took her chance.

“K likes–” “No he doesn't, he just doesn't want to compete with Heeseung, Jake, and Jay,” I said and he scoffed. “That's stupid… it can’t be that he literally rejected me for you y/n. That's not fair” she said and I laughed at the irony.

“Sooha he’s known you were his soulmate before me. If he liked me he would constantly be around me like how they are with you. Heeseung and Jake rejected me for being a bitch. I said I did not want to be around her and took my leave or tried…

I was gonna open the door to leave when Jake beat me to it… I must've frozen since I couldn’t move. I was still a little scared of him. “What are you doing here?” he asked disgustedly.

“I… uhm” WHY COULDN’T I SAY ANYTHING?!

“Sooha? Where did– Jake!” I heard from behind me. “Well… are you just gonna stupidly stand there?” he asked and I hated how I was calling for Wonyoung in my head to just yell and save me.

“She was picking up Heeseung’s paperwork,” he said, wanting to keep our friendship? a secret… “y/n can you try talking to K for me at least. I guess I am being a hypocrite towards this but I still have a chance with K–” I stopped listening… Why did this feel offensive?

She still had a chance… was she implying that I never had a chance?

“Hey–” Jake suddenly grabbed my shoulders causing me to flinch and crouch down.

“y/n!” I suddenly felt the soft tingles and I hated how weak they made me. Jay now had to officially reject me.

“What’s going on?” I heard and I felt gentle arms lift me up. “This is not a good look for our stuco president,” Haechan said as he led me away.

“I thought it was rumored that Jake attacked you but the way you shrunk up I’m guessing they’re true,” he said as he led me into a room and handed me tea.

“Wipe the tears,” he said, handing me a tissue box. I laughed softly. “Do you always keep a tissue box in here?” I asked and he laughed.

“The freshmen need it after I scold them sometimes,” he said, making me laugh.

“In Bright Sun you’re the best academically and magically. It doesn't help that you're a blood witch. Vampires are really your kryptonite” he said and I sighed.

“I doubt after this year i’ll be on the top anymore” I confessed and he smiled. “I doubt it… it's just an obstacle but I doubt that’s what made you cry” he said and I sighed.

“I have seven soulmates… it's been a long ride. I feel so drained. '' I confessed and he sighed. “Jake attacked you and rejected you didn’t he?” he said putting the pieces of the puzzle together. I nodded.

“He’ll regret it. He’ll realize what he could have had”

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shadowsndaisies · 8 months

Text

codename: nightingale - usual suspects

Reference: Young Justice Season 1 Episode 25

WC: 7.4k

synopsis: fuck cadmus tbh, robin needs to work on his timing, kaldur’s got birdy’s back, and roy finally gets what he wanted

main masterlist

codename: nightingale series masterlist

a/n: guys, there's only one more in the season after this. i cannot belive my little hyperfixation fic of pure self-indulgence has come this far. i love you all so much and your support means so much, especially when i know that i go months without posting but you all come back so excited with each update! xoxo

WASHINTON, D.C.December 30th, 09:16 EST

You were all in the Hall. The mega screen before you shows the official Justice League Induction and announcement playing on every news channel. Wally and Dick were standing on either side of you, and all of you had your eyes glued to the screen.

“The Justice League was formed for two reasons: first, as an acknowledgment that no single individual, no matter how powerful, can solve all the world's problems alone. And second, to uphold the values of truth, liberty, and justice,” Superman was making the announcement this year. Usually, it was him or Wonder Woman, seeing as the Bat didn’t exactly exude charming. “That, uh, last one's even in the name,” Superman muses, gaining a few laughs from the crowd before him. “These five heroes have sworn to uphold those values,” he continues, and the camera pans over Doctor Fate, Plastic Man, the Atom, Icon, and finally, Red Arrow.

Your lip quirks a bit as you stare at Roy. he had sent you a message this morning, reminding you that you could be standing with him today, but you had just laughed and mused that with how badly he’d wanted this, it’s surprising anyone else can stand up there with him, never mind you, who would undoubtedly steal the spotlight. You were happy for him, you were, but you were also bummed. You all had just gotten into a groove with Roy on the Team, even if it was only for a few missions, and once again, he was gone.

“You are watching live coverage of the Justice League's induction of its five newest members,” Cat Grant’s voice pulls your focus back to the News. “Looks like the entire League has shown up to welcome the new blood. Everyone from Batman to Captain Marvel!” she exclaims.

“I’m glad they didn't kick Billy out,” Wally decides, and you can’t help but nod. Dinah had mentioned briefly that there had been a chance he wouldn’t be. “And I love the fact there's a ten-year-old on the League,” he says, taking a bite of his apple.

Dick hangs his head, and you see Kaldur turn toward your redheaded best friend while the new girl, Raquel, turns to you all, “There is?” she asks.

You elbow Wally squarely between his ribs, and he hunches over, “Ow, Birdy!” he groans.

“Way to keep a secret, genius,” you scoff, glaring at him through your blacked-out lenses.

“Hey, she's on the Team now, right?” Wally defends, one arm rubbing at his side while he eats his apple.

“Is this going to be a regular thing, you just blurt out secrets whenever we get new people?” you ask.

Wally has the audacity to look affronted, “I don’t-“

“You told me about the Watchtower,” Zatanna cuts in before he can say anything else, and you snort.

Wally retorts by taking another bite of his apple and glaring at you.

Everyone’s attention shifts back to the screen, “Superman is now handing out official League membership cards starting with Doctor Fate…” You and Dick both step forward briefly to squeeze Zatanna’s shoulder in solidarity, something she smiles gently in response to, and you can feel the comfort she takes from the action in the seconds you’re touching. “…The Atom, Plastic Man, and Icon.”

“You know, I was the one who convinced Icon to become a hero in the first place. I should be celebrating with him, not hidden away in here!” Raquel complains, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“Welcome to our world,” Kaldur laments.

“Well, I suppose there's an upside, too,” Raquel flirts as she eyes Kaldur. Quietly to Rob, you roll your eyes and fake a gag, which gets a silent chuckle out of him.

“Finally, Green Arrow welcomes his former protege, Speedy, now known as Red Arrow, to this roster of heroes,” Cat’s voice continues, but it’s quickly drowned out by your cheers.

“Way to go, Roy!” Wally shouts, pumping a fist in the air.

“At last, he has his wish,” Kaldur nods.

“Woohoo!” you exclaim, smiling at the screen. “The first of us to make it,” you breathe.

“No one'll call him a sidekick anymore,” Dick nods.

“Wait- Since when is being a sidekick a bad thing?” Raquel demands, and you can feel the twinge in the air. “You sidekicks were my inspiration.”

“Well, see, six months ago-“ Robin explains, but he’s quickly cut off when his communicator starts to beep.

You hover over his shoulder to look at what he’s looking at and can’t help but frown. In the background, however, you can hear as Cat Grant finishes her report, “So there you have it. The world's officially a safer place!”

There are tons of questions being shot out to Superman, who was still running the press conference.

“Looks like we can’t stay,” you announce, and everyone turns to you.

“We have a mission,” Robin tacks on, and the shift is evident as we all turn to the Zeta.

SMOKEY MOUNTAINS December 30, 10:48 EST

“Are you sure it's her? I mean, are you absolutely positive?” Artemis asks, and it’s easy to pick up on her anxiety in the enclosed space of the bioship.

After the alert, you quickly got to the cave and changed before loading onto the bioship. The alert in question had been about a Cheshire spotting. After everything that’s happened in the last few months, especially in Taipei and then again in Louisiana, catching her was a top priority for the team.

“See for yourself,” Robin says, displaying the details on the screens in the bioship.

“This is the security footage from the Asheville Regional Airport. Facial recognition confirms that's Jade Nguyen,” you explain, having witnessed the details when they first came through Robin’s wrist computer. “But you've seen her without her mask. What do you think?”

Artemis stares at the screen for a second before her lips tug down, “It's Jade. Cheshire,” she confirms.

“Agreed, but focus on what she carries,” Aqualad hints. “Is that the case you saw in New Orleans? The one that got away?” He asks.

Artemis’ eyes harden, and her jaw sets, “Yes.”

“Okay, I'm guessing from the mug shot that this Cheshire's the bad guy. But what's so important about that case?” Rocket asks.

You have to bite back the urge to say you mean other than the fact that we fumbled the ball and lost it? Luckily, Robin speaks up first.

“Remember the Injustice League?” he asks, pulling up a photo of your friends from the bayou.

“And their giant evil plants? Uh, yeah,” Rocket confirms.

“Evil and Nasty plants,” you mutter lowly, glaring at the photo.

“The Team and the League put them in prison, but their allies still scheme, and whatever is in that containment case seems important to their plans,” Aqualad explains.

“We had a chance to grab it in New Orleans, but someone-“ Wally tacks on, but you interrupt him with a glare that he seems to miss as he focuses on Artemis.

“But we screwed up,” you correct. It was a team mission and the team’s attitudes and environment that culminated in what had happened. You weren’t going to place the blame squarely on Artemis.

Wally’s eyes dart to you, and you quirk a brow challengingly. He, in turn, scoffs and turns back to face the front instead.

“Approaching Cheshire's jet,” M’gann announces.

Everyone’s focus turns to the front, but when you get close enough, you let out a low gasp, and a wave of shock rolls over everyone at the scene of the downed plane. The crash had evidently been rough, but it’s a sharp note of grief that hits you that has you turning to Artemis, who is resolutely not staring at the crash anymore.

“Looks like there were no survivors,” M’gann notes, and your lips tug down as you try to assess the scene from the air.

“We need to go down,” you decide.

“NG-“ Wally’s scoff has everyone turning to you for an explanation.

“We need to check the wreckage,” you state.

“Are you serious?” Rocket asks, eyebrows raised.

“Cheshire and the case are our responsibilities, we check the wreckage,” you affirm.

It’s quiet for a moment before Kaldur speaks up, “open the hatches,” he agrees, and Wally lets out a puff of air, shaking his head, but stands up regardless.

M’gann opens a few drop hatches for those who can’t fly while the rest go ahead.

Soon enough, you’re spread out through the crash, analyzing anything you could find and looking for any indication that Cheshire was still in the plane when it went down or the case itself.

“How come Homeland Security and the N.T.S.B. Aren't all over this?” KF shouts, asking anyone.

“Cheshire's ID was a League alert,” you answer from where you’re crouched near the front of the plane, grabbing the black box and tossing it to Rob.

“Authorities didn't pick it up, and her jet didn't follow its flight plan,” Robin supplied.

“Flew under the radar, literally,” you note, standing back up.

“The Watchtower auto-tracked the jet and recorded the crash,” Robin continued.

“Then why isn't the League here?” Rocket pressed.

“Because our Boy Wonder has hacking skills and arranged to get the alert first,” Zatanna smirked. “Well that, and because Nightingale said to make it so,” she teases, gaining an eye roll from you.

“And because Cheshire and that case represent our unfinished business,” Aqualad corrects.

Superboy moves another part of the plane before asking the question that everyone had been wondering, “Where are the bodies?”

“Here's one. And it is stunning….” a voice all but purrs, grabbing everyone’s attention.

You can’t tell if you’re relieved or annoyed that Cheshire is standing tall, all in one piece, but you’re positive that this was the best outcome you could’ve hoped for, at least you were until the next voice pipped up.

“I am flora, not fauna,” the voice begins, and your gaze shifts as you spot the camouflaged ninjas along the mountainside. “I am foliage, not trees,” it continues, and your gaze keeps moving up, counting the adversaries before stopping on the man in green. “What am I?” The Riddler possesses his question, and you spot Shimmer and Mammoth behind him, too. He snaps his fingers, and suddenly, pylons are popping up from under the snow, and you groan at the realization.

Within seconds everyone is trapped underneath a green dome, “Seriously? A trap? We’re idiots,” you huff, soft enough for only Dick to hear, and he just shakes his head.

“Come on, you can get this. I am shrubbery, not grass. What am I?” The Riddler urges. “I…

“Am bush,” Robin grits, and you don’t hold back the groan that escapes this time.

“Didn't you think we'd be tipped you were on Cheshire's trail?” Riddler asked. “We're tired of your interference, kiddies. This is the end game. Ordered from above and executed by their master strategist, moi.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. There was something about Riddler that screamed Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but that could be something you picked up from Dinah’s files.

“Miss Martian, is everyone linked?” Aqualad asks, and the second you hear him, your hands reach back to your back holster, fingers wrapping around your escrima sticks. “Yes,” she confirms, and you make brief eye contact with Dick, tilting your head slightly to indicate a direction. He responds with the same small action in confirmation. “Go!” Aqualad orders, and everyone splits up.

Zatanna makes her move first while you and Dick rush up behind and around her, “Ekahs siht ebolgwons!” (shake this snowglobe) she chants. Within your pylon-ed dome, snow flurries, creating an excellent interference from any direct attack.

The rest of the team jumps into action, using the moment of surprise and confusion to take on the ninjas.

You’ve just knocked one down when Aqualad speaks up again, “Superboy, the pylons,” he orders, and you risk a glance toward your friend with the S.

“Working on it,” he announces out loud, and you focus back on the enemies before you.

“KF-- cradle?” you inquire as you run up, behind Wally. “Ready,” he confirms, turning and dropping down, proffering his hands.

You run up and, with no hesitation, step into Wally’s grip. He’s pushing your body up a second later, giving you enough air to wail your escrima sticks down on the underprepared shadow. It’s reassuring that Wally will always have your back, even in disagreements. As he falls, knocked out, you quickly scan the rest of the battle and manage to spot as Rocket gets hit.

“Rocket’s down, she needs an assist K, and we’ve got a Shadow two tiers up, with some sort of electric disk device, looks like fatherbox tech to me,” you inform the team.

Robin quickly gets up, knocks out the Shadow, and Kaldur moves for the disk. You almost move to help him when you spot a Shadow coming up behind him, but you see M’gann moving in. You turn back to take on another Shadow, this time with Dick at your back fighting his own, but you see it when Conner launches into the air. You’re waiting for gravity to start pulling him back, but it doesn’t.

“That’s impossible,” you note as you use the electricity feature on a Shadow, who then crumples at your feet.

Robin turns his head, and his eyes widen as he stares at what you are.

“SB, you're flying!” he gasps, and your eyes widen too when you catch him using heat vision a moment later.

In his rage, he seems to miss the results of his attack. Your gaze drops, and you can see the top of Artemis’ head.

“Avalanche!” you shout into the link, hoping she’d cleared out of the way in time. You really weren’t trying to relive the Arctic in the real world. It’s silent for a moment, and then your anxiety takes over, “ARTEMIS!” you’re screaming into the link. “I’m alright!” she confirms, and you let out a breath.

Rob taps your shoulder and gestures up to where Riddler’s still standing, and you nod. The two of you make your way up, targeting Shimmer and effectively knocking her out cold with a mix of a smoke grenade, Robin’s bola, and your well-aimed punch.

With Riddler’s focus on you and Rob, Zatanna floats behind him as the smoke clears, “Tekcajtiarts!” (straightjacket!) she announces, and Riddler’s suddenly restrained, unable to get free.

“No!” he shouts. “I am not the straightjacket type! I am strictly Belle Reve not Arkham!” Riddler argues.

Zatanna huffs out a, “Gag mih!” (gag him!) effectively silencing the Riddler's little tirade.

“Hey Rob, what is broken when you name it?” you ask, a shit-eating grin on your face as you crouch down beside Riddler, who only glares at you in return.

“Silence,” Robin smirks, earning Edward Nigma’s ire.

“Hguone htiw eht ebolgwons,” (enough with the snowglobe) Zatanna’s shout echos’s across the mountain, and suddenly the snow stops.

You all quickly work on the remaining pylons before loading the bioship with Nigma and the captured Shadows.

“Cheshire?” you ask out loud.

“Gone,” Artemis confirms.

“From you? Again?” Wally challenges. “That’s like the third-“

“Enough,” Kaldur cuts in quick. “We need to drop these prisoners off at Belle Reve and return to the Cave, I imagine, the League will want a debrief and an explanation.”

“I guess it’s a good thing, I got the case, though,” Artemis adds, and you can’t help but smile at her.

MOUNT JUSTICEDecember 30, 15:45 EST

You felt like he was staring right at you. Given the whiteouts of his mask, Batman could be glaring at any of you, “Tell me if this sounds familiar. You hacked League systems, disobeyed protocol, and endangered your lives,” he pauses.

You have to fight the wince when you catch Dinah’s eye. She’s standing behind Batman with Red Tornado and Martian Man-Hunter, and she’s got an eyebrow quirked as she stares straight at you.

“And your initiative resulted in the capture of three escaped felons proving Warden Strange runs Belle Reve as a cover for criminal activity…. Well done,” he affirms, and you let out a small breath, gaze darting over to Robin, who quirks his lips in a small smile, one you match.

“And then there's this,” he adds, forcing your attention back as he and Icon approach the case that Artemis had recovered, “Bio-technology integrated with some form of nano-circuitry.”

“Though I am unfamiliar with the species, the bio-component is clearly not of Earth,” Icon confirms.

“We'll take it to the Watchtower for further study,” Batman decides, and the Leaguers head back toward the Zeta.

Canary lingers before walking over to you, mostly everyone else disperses, but you can feel Wally and Kaldur behind you, and Dick’s still at your side.

“I get the feeling that this decision was not made on your own?” she inquires, staring at you.

“I have a team,” you reply loftily. “I don’t have to make these decisions on my own.”

“No, you don’t,” she smiles gently at you, running a hand across your cheek, and then turns to the boys, “and I’m glad to know you see it too.” She says nothing but offers you a pat on the shoulder and turns to the Zeta.

As soon as Canary and Icon zeta out, you turn to the team, shoulders set, “You realize we were set up,” your tone is even, despite the worrisome nature.

“Yes,” Aqualad confirms. “Cheshire and Riddler were tipped and ready for us.”

“They knew we were looking for her, specifically,” you point out, and you can’t help the way your gut swoops.

“Not the mole thing again,” Artemis groans, and your lips turn down. How was it that Roy got to move on, but you were still battling the same demon.

“Mole thing?” Rocket asks, concerned. “Again?”

“We had intel that there was a traitor on the Team,” Wally explains, tone resigned.

“Namely, Artemis, M'gann, or me,” Conner huffs, his bravado cutting through as he steps forward with clenched fists and levels a glare at you specifically.

“It is more complicated than that,” Kaldur argues, placing a hand on Conner’s shoulder.

“And we-“ you gesture between you and Kaldur “-never said that, we only tried to look into the claim to see if it were true,” you argue.

Conner scoffs and shoves Kaldur’s hand away, turning to leave, “But your recent behavior does concern me,” Kaldur adds, following after him. “Your attack on Mammoth nearly got Artemis killed.”

Conner doesn’t respond, though he does stop for a moment. When he winces, your brow furrows, “Conner?” you call cautiously.

“There’s something I need to do,” Conner says, turning back to face you, but his tone is wholly different. “Something I need to tell you,” he admits, and you shift as you pick up the unease of everyone in the room. “Last month, on Thanksgiving, I went back to CADMUS and found a few things out.” Your eye twitches slightly at the mention of CADMUS, but you fight to keep your expression neutral. “When I was cloned, only half the DNA was Superman’s. The other half was human,” he admits, and there’s a shift from everyone else. “That's why I don't have, will never have, full Kryptonian powers.”

Your brow furrows, thinking about what you’d seen today, “You sure? Because you sure seemed to have them today,” Robin teases, voicing your thoughts.

“I've been using these,” Conner says, pulling up his sleeve and showing a patch, “Shields. They suppress my human DNA. I get the flight, the heat-vision, but I think I also get angry. Well, angrier… I’m… sorry,” he explains and only one question comes to mind.

“Conner, where did you get those?” you ask, voice lethal.

Conner winces at the question and your tone but meets your gaze. There’s an honesty there that hasn’t existed in a while, a calmness that stems from finally unloading the truth, “From my human father… Lex Luthor.”

There’s an audible intake of breath from someone behind you, and everyone’s eyes are blowing wide, but you? You’re fuming because if Lex Luthor had that much reach, it meant he must have been the silent bankroller for CADMUS, which in turn means Lex Luthor was responsible for the death of your parents, and that? That was not something you’d be letting go of, not now, not ever.

“Lex Luthor, is your dad?” Dick asks. The surprise is evident, and if not for the topic, it would’ve been a moment to commemorate, catching the Boy Wonder off guard.

“He's summoned me to Santa Prisca,” Conner continues.

The silence is deafening. Your shoulders tense as you try to gather your thoughts, and as you open your mouth to say something about Conner’s decision to keep these things secret, Artemis speaks up.

“Ahhh, listen,” she sighs. “Superboy’s not the only one suffering from bad DNA,” she admits, and you tense further, turning to look at the blond. She pulls up three IDs on the holo-computer before beginning. “My mother is Huntress, an ex-con. The rest of my family aren't even ex. My dad's Sportsmaster, and he's sending my sister, Cheshire, to fly me to Santa Prisca, too.”

You gape at the screen, but it all makes sense: her need to prove something, her secrets, her mother’s desperation, even the reason why Cheshire always seemed to escape when up against Artemis.

“That's why-“ Wally’s voice cracks, and you’re hit with a wave of understanding and regret from the speedster as he stares at the archer.

“Yeah,” she mutters. “I was so desperate to make sure none of you found out. “

“I knew you weren’t GAs niece, but-“ you mumble but stop as eyes shift to you.

“I knew,” Dick negates, and Artemis’ eyes blow wide, and you can’t help but gape at him. “Hey, I'm a detective!” he defends but quirks a smile, “But it never mattered. You aren't your family. You're one of us,” he reminds her.

“You always have been,” you manage to choke out, “nothing to prove,” you remind her, and you can see how the tension melts away from her.

Wally pushes forward and stops beside her. He hesitates on what to say but eventually settles for a small smile, propping an arm on her shoulder and jokingly asking, “So who's next?”

“I am,” comes the somber response from M’gann, and for the first time since the start of these revelations, you watch as she seems to curl up into herself.

“I swear I was kidding,” Wally says desperately, hands up in surrender.

“Queen Bee's been blackmailing me. She wants me in Santa Prisca too,” she admits.

“Blackmailing?” Kaldur repeats as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“How?” you press. Your voice is rough, and you notice how M’gann’s not the only one to flinch at it.

“She knows my… true… Martian form,” M’gann admits, but the way she says it makes it seem heavier than your first instinct.

“Bald M'gann? Who cares if-“ Robin wants to make a joke, to lighten the mood, but M’gann cuts him off, and before she shifts, you know why: Bald M’gann had been another cover for a secret she hadn’t been ready to share.

“No,” she interrupts, taking a deep breath before shifting.

If you thought the reactions to Luthor being Conner’s human dad were extreme, it was nothing to how almost everyone reacted to M’gann’s true form. She stood before you, a towering creature, a White Martian. While your information was limited, you had enough to assemble a theory.

You fought not to react, to stand firm and impassive beside Kaldur, just as he did. The only other person not to react was Conner.

There’s a whispered “woah” from Rocket as everyone else releases startled gasps.

“I realized you would never accept me if you saw what I really am,” M’gann tells us, and you ache for her. You struggled sometimes balancing Nightingale and (y/n) Roxo. You couldn’t imagine having kept your true self a secret from everyone, having no one to turn to. It had to have been incredibly draining and lonely… so lonely. Your anger was fading with each revelation, but there was one point where you were still stuck.

“M’gann, did we truly seem so shallow?” Kaldur inquires, and though he sounds the same, you can hear the hurt in his words, the edge you recognize as him questioning his abilities in setting the tone of his leadership.

M’gann crosses her arms, her gaze cast down. Dinah called that stance protecting by avoidance, “I couldn't take a chance,” M’gann admits. “Being a white Martian among the green on Mars, I endured constant rejection….I couldn't face that from-“

“From me?” Conner asks, carefully stepping forward and taking her hand.

The way they stare at each other is enough to tell that they are now having a more private conversation. Dick takes the opportunity to grab your shoulder, forcing you to turn to him, Kaldur doing the same.

“Now might be a good time for anyone else to share secrets regarding CADMUS,” he hints, and your lips part- he hadn’t even bothered to whisper.

“What are you talking about?” Zatanna’s question echoes from behind him, but you standing stock still, staring at him.

“You must be joking,” you hiss as you shrug out of Dick’s grip.

“C’mon, Birdy,” he urges, and you feel Kaldur’s hand on your shoulder.

You shrug off Kaldur, too, before spinning on your heel, pushing past Artemis and Wally and to the computer. Your hands shake a bit while you type, but you pull up everything you have; the news article about your parent’s death, the report on your blood from Dinah and Bruce, and the readings on the genomorphs at CADMUS. You take a deep breath before turning back to everyone now looking at you and at everything you’ve pulled up, eyes jumping between each article and report.

You sniff before reaching into a compartment of your belt and pulling out a mask adhesive dissolution wipe. When you start pulling at your mask, there are a few wide eyes, and when your glare lands on Robin, all he does is smile in return.

“My name is (y/n) Roxo, and when I was six years old, I witnessed the murder of my parents,” you begin. Everyone but Kaldur and Robin focus on you with lips parted and wide eyes. “They were Wayne Enterprises scientists, brilliant actually. They noticed some discrepancies with a project in the labs, cover-ups, and false reports. One had to do with an instance when I was in their lab and was accidentally exposed to whatever the project had been focused on,” You begin. “When we went to CADMUS on the Fourth of July, something about the genomorphs seemed familiar. I later discovered that’s because when I was young, I was exposed to a replication of their abilities, the beginnings of the research that led to the cloning capabilities. It’s what gave me the empath abilities and why J’onn thinks I could manifest further powers, just like the genomorphs have,” you explain.

“Which is why you looked like you were about to whip out some kryptonite when SB here said Luthor was his dad,” Artemis pieced, gaze jumping toward you and Conner. “Because CADMUS-“

“Because CADMUS is his project, and he funded, orchestrated- he was responsible for my parents murder,” you affirm, eyes meeting Conner’s.

“Holy shit,” Wally mumbled, and you couldn’t help but agree.

Conner was staring straight at you despite how focused he had been on M’gann only moments before. His blue eyes were wide as he stared straight at you, his lips parted but closed, and then his expression shifted as he took in the rage in your eyes and again when he saw the hurt. His shoulders sag slightly, and he slowly takes steps forward until he is right in front of you.

“I- I’m so sorry, Bir- (y/n),” he stutters over your name for a second, and you want to hold onto the anger. You want to be mad at him, but his eyes are so open and honest with you right now, and you’re reminded of the Conner who saved you from Cadmus back in July, the one who wanted to do good, to be good.

“It’s not okay, but I don’t… I don’t blame you,” the fact that your blame fell squarely on Lex Luthor went without saying.

He offers a curt nod, “a problem for later?” he adds quietly, and you give a silent nod in affirmation.

“So uh.. I know I’m new, but what now?” Rocket asked, and everyone’s eyes jumped from person to person, waiting for someone to speak up.

“We know that CADMUS has played a much larger role than any of us anticipated when we began this team six months ago, and we know that Superboy, Artemis, and Miss Martian are all expected at Santa Prisca,” Kaldur begins, and everyone’s attention shifts to him. “So we go as a team. Prepared for whatever they may throw at us. The backroom deals and secret alliances end today.”

SANTA PRISCADecember 30, 17:57 ECT

“Superboy’s about to make contact,” M’gann’s voice echoes as everyone focuses on the exchange.

You and Robin were in the bioship with M’gann. At the same time, Kaldur, Wally, Rocket, and Zatanna had taken discreet positions on the island, each of you waiting for the call.

You could feel Robin staring at the back of your head, but you ignored him instead of focusing on what was happening on the ground below you.

“Welcome, Superboy,” Lex Luthor’s voice sets you on edge the second you hear it. Still, you force yourself to watch as Suberboy dismounts the Supercycle. “I'd like to introduce you to my associate, Queen Bee.”

Even though it was expected, your heart begins to speed up a bit in reaction to the developments, “My pleasure,” she greets.

“I believe you know everyone else. Sportsmaster, Mercy, Blockbuster. And our new friend Bane, who's allowed us use of his island in exchange for certain considerations,” Luthor introduces as everyone around him steps forward.

“No one wanted to listen when I said following Bane was a bad idea, and here we are,” you huff into the link, but the rest are silent.

“So the Injustice League was just a distraction. You two have been behind everything from the start,” Conner surmises, painting his expression with shock.

“Heh, a flattering notion, son, but we have many friends,” Luthor sidesteps, and your skin crawls at the way he calls SB son.

“This one of your friends now?” Conner asks as a helicopter begins to approach and then as it lands.

“No, my boy,” Luthor smirks. “One of yours.”

Conner glares at the copter until the door slides open, “Artemis?” the name rings out with a tone of shock, and you roll your shoulders, trying to force yourself to relax.

To her credit, she plays her role well, “The hero thing wasn't working out. You get how it is. No trust,” she scoffs, seemingly indifferent to the developments around her. “This is where I belong,” she adds, and you flinch.

“You’re up, Miss M,” you announce, and she backs the bioship up a bit, making a circle around the island and de-camouflaging the bioship before parking it in the air above the group.

“It's a fast-growing club,” Queen B announces as M’gann descends to the ground.

You reach for the rope, securing yourself to the repeller in preparation for when you’ll all be making your move.

“So… you’re just going to ignore me?” he asks cautiously.

Your glare sharpens in his direction, but it’s difficult to make out with your mask back.

“I know you’re upset that I-“

“Upset? Dick, I’m furious, you pushed me into revealing things they didn’t need to know! Things I trusted you enough to share about, privately!”

“They needed to know!” he argues. “(y/n) you consistently come to the rescue, you throw your life on the line for us, you did it in the Bayou, you did it for Wally in Seattle, you did it last week for me in the Circus. You do it all the time, because you know these things about everyone, you know when they need the support, but no one- outside of Kaldur and I, even had the slightest inclination. They needed to know, because today is more than the conspiracy of the last six months. Today could be the end, of it all, for you. Today could be the answers you’ve been looking for since Dinah took you in.”

“It wasn’t your call to make,” you hiss.

“No, it wasn’t. But this team fights better, fights stronger, when it’s united, and you’ve always been able to make us get our shit together better than anyone else can,” he sighs.

You glare at him but refuse to respond, and his shoulders drop.

“Why are they here?” M’gann’s startled gasp forces you both to look back to the ground from your spots within the ship. “You promised!” she cries.

“I’ve kept your secret and my promise,” Queen B argues, tone deadly. “Now, you keep yours,” when M’gann ducks her head, the monarch smirks, “Good girl.”

“Give me more shields, and I'm in, too,” Conner decides, and your lips twitch down. Espionage was not his forte.

Luthor walks closer and stares at Conner briefly before smirking, “My boy, you're a terrible liar.”

Conner’s eyes blow wide before winding back for an attack. However, before he can, Luthor plays his card, “Red Sun.”

Conner does well with his role. His entire body relaxes, face falling flat, arms hanging limply at his side as he stands straight with a muted expression, staring at Luthor.

“What do you want us to do?” Artemis asks, stepping forward, prodding the meeting along.

Luthor nods his head once, and Sportsmaster gestures to Artemis and M’gann. “You two, follow me.”

“What about Superboy?” M’gann asks, eyes sliding to Queen B.

“He'll be fine. He simply requires a few adjustments…” she trails off.

Everyone but Superboy begins to follow after Sportsmaster, “Bring him along,” Luthor orders, and Blockbuster moves toward Conner.

Your breath catches as you wait to see what happens. You’d all agreed that it’d be Artemis, M’gann, or Conner’s call on when to move, given they were the three in the thick of it. So when Artemis starts running forward, bow in hand before shooting at Blockbuster, trapping him for the moment, before turning around and aiming at her father.

“Sorry, Dad. Wanted to play you like you tried to play me but I can't let them mess with Superboy's head!” she shouted.

“M'gann, be a dear and take Artemis down,” Queen B orders.

You look at Rob as you both step up to the drop-hole.

You let out an audible groan as you stare at the boy across from you, “After,” is all you say.

He nods in affirmation, “milkshakes?” and you nod in agreement.

M’gann lifts Artemis in the air but then uses the distraction to fling Queen B backward and into a tree. She falls to the ground unconscious, and you wait for the verbal confirmation. Artemis shoots a shot at her dad, and then M’gann lets her down.

“Queen Bee is down,” M’gann confirms. “Superboy, you're safe from her control.”

"I may not be much of a liar, but I fooled you,” Conner announced as he approached Luthor.

“And I'm so proud,” Lex states sarcastically. “I take it Miss Martian cleaned Red Sun from your mind?”

“And confirmed Nightingale, Aqualad, Robin and Kid Flash rescued me from Cadmus before you had time to install any other programming,” Conner shoots back.

Luthor sighs, “All true. Personally, I blame Dr. Desmond.”

As if verbally queued, Blockbuster frees himself from Artemis’ trap, charging at Superboy.

You observe as Bane’s goons start engaging, and the supercycle quickly lays down cover fire while SB gets busy with Blockbuster.

Artemis and M’gann alternate between defense and offense until, “Guys, reinforcement time,” the blonde calls.

Rocket and Wally are the first two to make it to everyone, and you glance at Rob, “Ready?”

“Go,” he confirms, and you both drop-down, trusting the rope and the bioship as you go. You yank the stop when you’re only a few feet off the ground, and both you and Robin stop abruptly before releasing yourselves, dropping to the ground and landing agilely on your feet.

You take a second to scan your surroundings. You spot Kaldur facing off with Luthor and his assistant, an unconscious Queen B in his arms. You turn instead to take on some of the goons. You and Rob were methodical in knocking down person after person, you hear the cocking of a gun behind you, and you turn with wide eyes,

“Ekoms dna srorrim!” (smoke and mirrors!) Zatanna chants and the gun turns to smoke, which then turns into a giant serpent, winding its way around the goon’s body. “Egnahc ekans otni sgnidnib!” (change snake into bindings); she continues, and the snake becomes a rope.

You’re frozen in surprise for a second, but that’s knocked away when Bane appears and charges at Robin, Zatanna, and you simultaneously.

“Shit!” you manage to grit out in surprise.

Your hands start moving blindly, a hand going to your hip where your grapple is. You quickly twist the cord out of the gun before whipping it and your arm out to the side in an arc. The tensile strength of the cable is enough to stop Bane as he falls forward with the three of you.

You and Rob push him off and to the side. Robin covers you while you quickly peek at Zatanna, who seems knocked out. You look up in time to see Bane get back up and start fighting with Robin. You're on your feet when he gets pushed back, facing off against Bane.

“Hola Chicita, it’s been some time,” he teases, head tilting down at you.

“Not nearly long enough, Bane,” you huff.

“Etaerc Elagnithgin Snoisulli!” (create nightingale illusions) Zatanna’s rushed chant whips through you, and you can feel the prickle of her magic as it washes over you, and suddenly, there are dozens of you all facing Bane.

Bane’s surprise is visible as he scans each and every duplicate of you. "Gotta love an army of NG,” Rob smirks as he pushes himself up.

You smirk in return and pull out your ring daggers, several duplicates doing the same or arming themselves with escrima sticks and marble bombs before you’re all running at Bane. He gets distracted by the ones jumping up at him directly and misses when the true you slip around him with one of your blades out. You cut through his tubes of Venom, weakening him. Then you turn with an escrima stick crackling with electricity and plant it firmly at the base of his neck, watching with satisfaction as it brings him to his knees and then as he collapses.

You pull back, and with the moment you have, you take in a deep lungful of air, finally able to breathe. As you look around, you realize the fighting has stopped. Artemis and KF are standing by an unconscious and tar-trapped Sportsmaster. Superboy, Miss M, and Rocket are posted up by Blockbuster. You stare down at Bane as you realize who isn’t still here, and Robin joins you a second later.

“NG?” his voice is hesitant, as he notices how you’re gripping your escrima stick and dagger, your body tense, as you stare at Bane.

“He got away,” your voice cracks as you say it, and your fists clench tighter. "Luthor-"

When Robin touches your shoulder, you both recoil quickly; his lips part as he stares at you and his hand.

“I.. I felt-“

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tugging on all the strings threatening to burst free, trying to cram your emotions back in their place to keep them from leaking out and affecting everyone around you. You drop your weaponry, hugging yourself as you try to compact your feelings.

A different hand lands on your shoulder. When you turn your head, you see Kaldur beside you. You can feel yourself unraveling just as fast as you attempt to stuff it all down.

“Stop,” you say as you attempt to shrug him off.

“It is okay to feel angry, my friend,” he reminds you, eyes burning with the same rage you feel, and you know in that second that it is the same rage, it is your rage, that he’s taking it on, for you.

“Kaldur, stop, that’s not- you shouldn’t-“ you huff, but with each move back, he follows, until suddenly he’s holding you in a tight hug, and you can’t move anymore. “Stop,” you beg, gripping on to his arms.

“Allow us to help, epitrépste mou na sikóso aftó to város. stiríxou páno mou, chrisimopoíise ti dýnamí mou, méchri na anaktíseis ti dikí sou. Eímai statherós, paliós fílos. (let me carry this burden. lean on me, use my strength, until you regain your own. I am steady, old friend).”

His words wash over you, and you finally do that. You stop pushing against the bits that are bleeding. You can feel Kaldur stiffen when he finally feels the whole barrage of your emotions, but quickly, he tightens his hold on you. When tears start to fall from both of you, all you can do is sag into him in relief.

“Den eínai díkaio. Xéfyge. Tha éprepe na eínai edó. Tha éprepe na logodotísei gia ta enklímatá tou, ton rólo tou. Échoun fýgei kai eínai exaitías tou. Eímai tóso kourasménos kai tóso thymoménos, to niótho óli tin óra kai prospathó tóso sklirá na min to afíso éxo. Allá giatí eínai eléftheros?” (It's not fair. He got away. He should be here. He should have to answer for his crimes, his role. They're gone and it’s because of him. I am so tired and so angry, I feel it all the time, and I try so hard not to let it out. But why does he get to be free?) the words tumble from your lips in sobs of atlantean.

Part of the truth you’re admitting was too raw to admit to everyone else, none of the sidekicks had ever seen your anger, your rage— Kaldur had. Kaldur was the one who he lped you learn how to manage it. He was the one who taught you, the one who showed you how to channel it into something better.

“Thýmose, Poulí, tha diatiríso tin isorropía kai gia tous dýo,” (Be angry, Bird, I will maintain the balance for us both) he answers, his voice as calm as ever, and you can’t help but marvel at him, how he can hold your anger, your hurt, your rage, but present as calm, and keep it from seeping out when you can’t do anything but make a mess.

You know the team’s watching. You know they’re concerned and want to tell them it’s okay, that you’re okay, but you’re not. You know that. Dinah would know what to say and how to tell the team that they did a good job and that they should enjoy the win, but you can’t. You can’t tell them that you can’t enjoy it, not when the mastermind of it all managed to escape.

Quietly, Kaldur helps you back onto the Bioship. Vaguely, you hear the conversations happening around you.

“It is always like this,” Rocket scoffs, dropping into her seat.

“Told you,” Wally chimes, but you can feel his gaze on you.

“Hey, disaster averted. Feeling the aster,” Robin muses as he settles next to you but keeps a distance.

“Agreed, this has been a good day,” Kaldur nods, fists clenched as he turns to you, “but it is not the end.”

“No,” you ground out in confirmation, and you can feel the promise in his words, “it’s not.”

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