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twitchmattenthusiast · 3 months

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𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍, chris sturniolo !

summary: (fem oc!) avoids chris for a full week after having a sex dream about him. chris cant take it anymore and convinces matt and nick to help him get her alone at a party.

contains: soft / kinda rough dom!chris, slightt mommy & daddy kink if you squint, mentions of sex dream, riding & fingering.

requested: yes. irl bsf requested this one so this one’s for u bff 😘

"where the fuck are we going?"

"don’t you trust us, b?"

matt’s faux-exasperated tone had bianca throwing him a side-eye. nick, who stood to the left of bianca, chuckled, "i don't think she does matt."

it wasn't that bianca didn't trust them. she’s known the triplets literally her whole life, and matt and nick are like the older brothers she's never had. on a normal day, she would literally follow them blindly because that’s exactly what the trio were: the blind leading the blind. but with the current circumstances and the fact that she has been avoiding their brother like the literal plague, bianca can’t help but feel a little bit suspicious.

matt and nick had found bianca hiding—or at least trying to. it was always easy to find bianca at a party, considering after two drinks she was close to literally getting on top of a table and singing out of tune. anyway, she had been hiding with a group of her college friends that none of the triplets could even remember the names of, considering she didn’t hang out with them much. the fact that bianca was even at a party with them in the first place was weird; she always found it boring, but she needed an escape, and cheap beer with some questionable company had to do it.

bianca was sitting with one of her college friends, pouring another drink for herself, when matt and nick appeared out of literally nowhere, which confused bianca because why would matt and nick ever be at a party one of her college friends were throwing? grabbed her plastic cup from her hands, ignored her protests, and started dragging her out of the living room.

dragging bianca along, each one linked to her arms from both sides, passing in between the crowd of bodies gathered in the living room, occasionally having to push a drunk jock out of the way, and guiding her up the stairs into the upstairs hallway. they moved fast, and the people around her passed by like a sea of blurred faces.

bianca was suddenly thrusted forward when she reached one of the doors and were pushed inside by matt, who flashed her an apologetic smile, shrugging, "i’m sorry!" he said though he didn’t seem apologetic at all.

bianca glared at the door; she didn’t even need to turn around; she already knew who was sitting on the bed, as who else would convince their equally idiotic brothers to do this?

she sighed as she turned around, reasoning with herself that as much as she tried, she unfortunately couldn't avoid her best friend forever. sitting on the neatly made bed of some stranger's room was chris sturniolo, looking like a kicked puppy as he followed bianca’s eyes, watching as they averted around the room as she still stood at the door, unsure of what to do.

chris happily broke the silence, though. “so now i have to literally kidnap my best friend just to talk to her?”

leaning back into the cold wooden surface of the door, bianca tried to sound as unbothered as possible, knowing very well she was about to crack. "i wouldn't call that much of a kidnapping. matt and nick were giggling like literal idiots.”

when chris didn't answer, merely raising an eyebrow, unamused, she tried again. "so, uh... what is this, exactly? christopher. seven minutes in heaven? you know this isn't seventh grade anymore, right?"

“no, if it were seventh grade, you wouldn’t be ignoring me and acting weird.”

"i’m not acting weird.”

"then why can't you just look at me?" chris asked, frustration creeping into his voice.

"i-"

but as soon as chris opened his mouth, he couldn’t stop talking. “you’ve been avoiding me like the fucking plague all week, and i need to know why."

bianca wasn’t avoiding chris.

or at least that’s what bianca has been telling him ever since he first confronted her about it. he showed up at her house a week ago, climbing through her window as he refused to use the door like a normal person, planning to stay up all night with her because og fortnite had just dropped, though she made an excuse about being sick and ushered him out of her house, causing him to be very confused because she looked fine at school earlier.

he brushed it off and didn’t text her the next day. when bianca was sick, she liked to be left alone; she hated people being around her when she was sick. but when three days had passed and she still hadn’t contacted him once, he attempted to call her, asking her what was wrong and why she was avoiding him. she couldn’t bear to tell him the truth, so she said she was still sick, and then hastily hung up the phone, avoiding his texts afterwards.

in school, when he attempted to approach bianca at her locker in hopes of talking to his best friend, whom he hadn’t seen or spoken to in four days, she rushed towards her class, pretending she didn’t notice him; she was running out of excuses.

the truth was, bianca couldn’t look her best friend in the eye anymore, let alone be in his presence, after the dream she had of him.

she sighed and looked down at the floor. “it’s nothing, chris; i’m just confused, okay? you didn’t do anything wrong; i promise it’s just...” she trailed off awkwardly.

there was a shift in the air, and the tension dropped as chris’s face lightened. hearing that bianca wasn’t mad at him was a relief. he rose from his place on the bed and walked over to her, stopping right in front of her.

“hey b?” he gently lifted her chin up, looking deeply into her eyes. “i’m not mad at you, okay? i was just worried; we used to tell each other everything, and then you started acting like this, and it’s been driving me crazy because i didn’t know what to think," he admitted.

"i know; i’m sorry." bianca finally mustered up the courage to meet his gaze. her eyes softened slightly at his concern. "it’s just... well, you know how crazy dreams can be sometimes," she added sheepishly.

"bianca..." chris sighed softly before wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close against his chest. he rested his chin on top of her head, savouring the familiar scent of her hair. "i promise i won't judge you for whatever it was. just, please, talk to me about it." he pleaded softly, hoping she would finally break down and tell him what had been bothering her all week.

bianca sighed, her body leaning into his warmth. "okay, fine," she muttered reluctantly. taking a deep breath, she began to explain, "it’s just that... well, i had this weird dream about us... you know?" she stuttered, her cheeks turning crimson red.

chris raised an eyebrow. “oh yeah?” he asked. his sweet tone started to fade away as he smirked slightly.

bianca just nodded her head, missing the smirk in his tone as he asked, “what happened in the dream?" though he kind of had an idea already, and he’d be lying if he said the images weren’t going straight to his dick.

"in the dream, we were both, you know..." bianca managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper.

“oh, i think i know.” chris’s smirk grew wider at her discomfort, his eyes glittering with excitement. "and what happened next?" he prompted, eagerly waiting for her reaction.

bianca swallowed hard, her heart racing faster than normal. "uh, i was riding you.” she admitted weakly.

“that sounds hot."

bianca’s eyes widened as she pulled away from chris. “what?” she asked in shock. she couldn’t believe she was even admitting this to him.

“you heard me.” chris smirked.

bianca’s face reddened slightly, and chris smirked. “what do you say we make your little dream come true, hm?"

bianca bit her lower lip, her eyes darting around the room nervously. "chris, we can't!" she protested weakly.

"no?” chris raised his eyebrows. “if i pulled your panties aside, you’re telling me you wouldn’t be dripping?” he asked, noting how her thighs were pressed together.

"i... i..." stuttering, bianca couldn't find the words to argue anymore. her body was betraying her, and the warmth between her legs confirmed it all too well.

"come on, ma,” chris said as his hands trailed down towards her ass, squeezing them tightly. “made you feel good in your dream, hm? let me make you feel good in real life.”

unable to resist any longer, bianca nodded, and chris grinned triumphantly. he pulled her closer, pressing his lips to hers and kissing her hungrily, their tongues tangling together in a messy dance. chris suddenly motioned for her to jump, and she instantly complied, jumping and wrapping her legs around chris’s waist as he kissed her harder, walking towards the bed and pushing her onto it. he pulled apart from her lips, his lips covered in her lipstick, though he didn’t seem to care as he said, “tell me what i did to you in your dream, ma.”

"y-you were kissing my neck, and then you started to undress me slowly,” she gasped as chris’s lips attached to her neck, bitting, licking, and kissing her skin. his hands trailed down her body, making their way to her back as he unzipped her dress effortlessly while still kissing her. she gasped as the dress fell and his hands started to cup her breasts over her bra.

“like this, ma?” he asked.

"mmm..." bianca groaned, enjoying the sensation of his hands on her breasts. "yes, just like that," she managed to croak out between moans.

"good girl," chris praised, pulling away from her neck long enough to whisper into her ear, "now tell me what happened next." he nibbled lightly on her earlobe before sucking it softly, causing goosebumps to rise on her skin.

he continued to tease her nipples through her bra, making them harden further. "come on, mommy,” he teased, knowing that was a secret kink of hers that he heard her overshare one time. “don’t be shy; tell me what i did next."

she couldn’t help it. the use of the word mommy always made her feel some type of way, so she no longer held back. "you pulled my panties down, and you fingered me."

"that’s a good girl," chris praised as he finally took her lacy bra off and sucked on her nipple harshly before turning his attention to her wetness. he began to rub slow circles around her clit through her underwear, creating waves of pleasure that radiated throughout her body. "tell me how bad you want me to touch you there, ma," he demanded huskily.

bianca moaned loudly, her body arching into his touch. "please, chris. i need you to touch me." she begged, her voice hoarse with desire.

chris grinned triumphantly, his eyes glittering with satisfaction. he hooked his fingers underneath her underwear and pulled them down slowly, revealing her smooth, shaven pussy to him. "just like that," he praised before lowering his head and sucking her clit between his lips, his tongue flicking it teasingly.

bianca moaned so loudly that chris had to place his hand over her mouth. "you need to be quiet, b. don’t want people to hear us, do you?” he asked as he inserted a finger and wasted no time in moving it quickly in and out of her, smirking as she threw her head back.

"after all, that would mean i’d have to stop, and you don’t want me to stop now, do you, baby?”

bianca nodded frantically, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "no, please don't stop." she begged, her body trembling with desire.

chris chuckled darkly, his finger moving faster inside of her, hitting her g-spot just right. "you’re such a naughty girl, bianca," he teased before suddenly stopping, leaving her hanging on edge. "but i’ll reward you for being so good." with that, he slowly inserted another finger alongside the first one, stretching her tight entrance as he began to thrust them in and out of her wet pussy.

bianca whimpered softly, her nails digging into chris’s back for support. "more, please, give me more," she begged, her voice shaking with need.

"mhm, i don’t know, ma,” chris teased. "is this better than your dream?” he asked.

"yes, yes, it's better," bianca panted, her voice barely above a whisper.

chris chuckled again, his fingers picking up the pace inside of her and hitting her g-spot harder and faster. "that’s a good girl," he praised, his voice husky with desire. "now, spread your legs wider for me."

bianca complied, spreading her legs apart as wide as they could go, exposing her sensitive folds to him. her body trembled in anticipation, begging for more.

chris didn't disappoint her. he added another finger, stretching her tight pussy even further. "do you like that?" he asked, his voice gruff with lust.

bianca nodded. “yes, chris, i love it,” she moaned, her eyes rolling back as she felt her legs start to shake. “chris, fuck, i’m-“

"cum for me, baby."

with one final push, bianca’s body convulsed violently, and she cried out his name as waves of pure ecstasy washed over her. her juices coated his hand and arm, leaving a sticky mess on the sheets.

chris smirked and lowered his head to kiss her sweetly on the lips. “you did so well, you know that?" he told her, his voice husky with satisfaction. as bianca caught her breath, he undressed himself quickly, revealing his hardened dick, which was dripping with pre-cum. "we’re not done yet, though, ma."

bianca moaned at the sight; she didn’t expect him to be that big. chris chuckled at her reaction and attached their lips together again. bianca moaned into the kiss sucking on his tongue as chris flipped them over so she was on top. she broke away from the kiss and looked at him in confusion.

“wha-“

he stopped her. "if i remember correctly, you said you rode me in your dream, hm?” he asked as she nodded her head.

chris grinned. "well, it’s also my dream for you to ride me. wanna see those tits bounce for me, ma.”

she nodded nervously, her hands shaking as she reached down to guide his cock into her tight entrance. slowly at first, bianca began to lower herself onto him, groaning softly as the head of his cock brushed against her sensitive spot.

“oh fuck," she gasped, her eyes wide with surprise and pleasure. "chris, you're huge."

“that’s it, ma,” he moaned back, his hands on her hips, guiding her up and down his length. "take it all."

bianca moaned and sank right down onto his lap, the pair both groaning as they looked down and realised their bodies were perfectly aligned. she slowly rode him up and down, her breasts swaying enticingly with each thrust.

his hands gripped her hips tightly, guiding her movements while his tongue traced along her neck and collarbone.

“that’s it baby," he panted, "ride me like you mean it."

bianca moved even faster, throwing her head back. “feels so good, daddy,” she moaned, and chris’s eyes darkened.

"that’s it, ma," he growled, his hands moving to cup her ass firmly, encouraging her to ride him harder.

bianca picked up the pace, her breasts slapping against his chest with each thrust. the rhythmic motion of their bodies created a symphony of sounds that filled the room—moans, gasps, and the wet slapping of flesh against flesh. their combined moans echoed off the walls, making them both lose themselves.

"i’m so close, chris." bianca gasped as he sucked on her nipple harshly.

"me too, baby," chris groaned, his own climax nearing. he increased the speed of his thrusts, matching her rhythm perfectly. their bodies slapped against each other in sync, creating a perfect rhythm of pleasure and desire.

bianca’s orgasm built up quickly, and she cried out his name as another powerful wave of ecstasy washed over her. her tight pussy contracted around his cock, milking him dry. when she finally came down from her high, she collapsed on top of him, panting heavily.

chris followed suit moments later, his own release filling her up completely. they lay there for a moment, their breathing gradually returning to normal.

“fuck that was.” bianca stuttered to out of it to even form a sentence.

chris chuckled and slowly pulled out of her. he headed towards the bathroom in the room, returned a moment later with a warm washcloth, and began gently wiping the mess they made off her thighs. bianca smiled softly, and once he was done, he helped her put her panties and bra back on.

he pecked her lips softly. "you okay?” he asked.

“never been better," she replied.

“good.” chris smiled. “but next time something happens, promise you’ll tell me instead of avoiding me?”

“if this is what happens afterwards, then I'll be telling you about every dream i have.”

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not a chris girl but this could of single handedly converted me

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo

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cheriecelestial · 2 months

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Angel Pt.1

pairing*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Red Hood!Jason Todd X fem!reader

disclaimer*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ fluff. slight suggestive content (?). swearing. canon typical violence. kinda long. not proofread !

a/n*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ based on that one prompt “Wow ! You’ve grown so much since I last babysat you” “I want to rail you so bad”. Reader is like 26 and Jason is 19-20. Set in the WFA verse + joyfire are a team. Kinda non canon complacent. Smut in part II

Part II

Under the nocturnal skyline of Gotham perched on a towering building was the vigilante anti- hero Red Hood watching, observing the city like a hunter stalking its next prey. His jacket whipped against the wind of the boisterous and animated city. He closed his eyes and listened to song of wailing sirens and the distant cries of people, ready to respond to the city's calls for help.

Gotham was a city that, much like its vigilantes, thrived in the night. The city was hued in the rapturous and vivacious of the nightlife. Neon signs flickered casting flashes of colours across the pavements of the night clubs. People scattered across the pavements like ants, some making their way home from a tiring day of work, others more aimless and leisure - their destinations less defined and indulgent. He pulled out his grapple hook gun and shot to a building a few blocks away from where his bike was parked.

In the shadowed alleyways, Red Hood felt a sinister presence stir. He kept walking without letting them know that he noticed their presence. By the footsteps, he could tell six no.. seven. Four of medium build and three a bit more burly. Judging by their lack of ability to mask their footsteps, he could guess they're amateurs. Well in all honesty, almost everyone was an amateur compared to him. Slowing his pace, Red Hood's hands instinctively moved to his holster, anticipating a potential confrontation. Nothing beat the thrill of beating up bad guys. However, amid the approaching group, he discerned another set of footsteps — urgent, lighter, tinged with fear, and most importantly heading directly toward him.

He felt someone clutch the lapel of his jacket desperately. "You're a vigilante, aren't you ? Please help me sir. I think there are bad people following me." Red Hood looked to his side and saw a woman much shorter than him and shaking like a leaf in wind. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at her. It had been almost a decade since he had gazed into those warm large eyes—a fragment of his childhood that he had long relegated to oblivion. Jason Todd had what most would call a troubled childhood. Abandoned by his birth mother and the only other one he had dead from drug abuse and an even worse father who died the hands of Two Face. Tossed through the foster system, he eventually found himself on the unforgiving streets of Gotham. Amid the darkest moments of his youth, one saving grace remained —his angel,Y/N L/N. One he completely forgot about when he assumed the mantle of Robin.

"Help me please." She implored, her voice trembling and on the verge of breaking - the same one who would calm his raging storm on bad nights and tell him that he was going to be okay, and in the moment he swore he was. Her gaze shifted between the men and the vigilante, moving closer to him without realizing to shield herself from the villains in the shadows. Almost as if in a trance, he raised his gloved hand to caress her cheek as if to check if she was real or not. "Just follow my lead." He spoke in a low tone and the woman nodded frantically. His hand encircled her wrist and he started running, dragging her behind him the second he heard the thugs charge. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't think twice before starting a fight and having it his way. But he couldn't bear endangering her in the slightest so getting her to safety was the only viable option.

Her breath came in rapid gasps, and beads of sweat glistened on side of her forehead as they navigated the maze of alleyways in their path. The flickering glow of distant streetlights created fleeting glimpses of their pursuers. Her heart pounded in her chest like the strumming of a frantic drum as adrenaline pumped poisoned her veins. Jason noticed that she couldn't run fast enough to outrun the thugs with her stamina. "Sorry about what I'm about to do”,he warned in a hushed whisper and without hesitation, he lifted her over his shoulder and began running. Y/N gasped, clutching onto the vigilante for dear life. Wind ruffled her hair as she watched the vigilante leave behind their pursuers effortlessly. "You know if this vigilante thing doesn't work out you could try out for the Olympics." She muttered not realizing she said it out loud. Red Hood let out a gruff laugh, "I could but I like beating up bad guys and saving people such as yourself just a tad bit more angel." Y/N blushed at the nickname but waved it off as commonplace banter.

He set her down next to his bike. And took off his chocolate coloured jacket and draped it around her shoulders. "How could I ever thank you?" The h/c haired woman smiled at him with a smile so infectious that the corners of Jason's lips curled up without his realising under his mask. "Don't thank me just yet princess. They aren't near done." Y/N blinked in confusion and followed Red Hood's line of sight where she saw three black cars racing towards them. Her features morphed from relief to horror and alarm in the blink of an eye.The vigilante revved his bike and looked at her,"What are you waiting for?" The woman looks at the approaching cars and back at the vigilante, contemplating her options and got on the back of his bike. His hand envelops her and plants it onto his waist as if silently asking her to hold onto him. Y/N flinches at the contact as it she touched something really hot and retracted her hand.

The masked vigilante plucks a helmet out of the saddlebag and strapped it on her head."You might want to hold on angel." Y/N hums in acknowledgment and holds the grab handle behind the seat. Jason rolled his eyes at her refusal to hold onto him and revves the engine making her lurch forward and crash into his back. Realising that doing this any other way apart from his was futile, Y/N timidly encircled her arms around his waist.

The vibrations of the engine shook her whole being as he raced down the streets. The streets, trees, people blurred in her peripheral vision and she started feeling light-headed. Gathering all the morsels of courage she could find, she looked behind her to see the thugs chasing them. They hadn't lost the three cars and things just got worse when she saw a man peek his head out of the window with a fun in his hand. I'm so dying today. She clasped her hands tighter around him and pressed her face against his rigid muscular back in fear.

Sensing her unease, he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her infront of him. Y/N let out a yelp from the suddenness of the contact.

"What are you -"

"You don’t want your back facing them when they start shooting soon." Y/N looked over his shoulder to the thugs and then sunk back into and then sank back against his chest.

"You know if it makes you feel better just know this is an average Tuesday for me." Y/N blinked at him incredulously and in a small voice muttered,"It's Thursday today." A nonchalant shrug was all the answer he decided to give her. How the hell does he manage to remain calm through it? I'm on the verge of a panic attack and he's swerving as if this is a joyride in his kingdom. And in that moment if someone said that he was the king of Gotham, Y/N would find it hard to refute it.

The bike picked up speed causing the h/c haired woman to crash against his chest harshly. It was as if the pressure of the wind glued her against him. To calm herself, she decided to try concentrating elsewhere. Absentmindedly trailing the ridges of his armour and the red bat symbol on his chest. She heard whispers and rumours about Red Hood, the prince of crime, the scourge of the underworld—an outlaw employing more lethal methods against crime than Batman. Despite initial conflicts with Batman, he was acknowledged as a Bat vigilante some time ago. This man was dangerous and unpredictable then why did he feel so familiar to her ?

“I know I have god-tier pectoral muscles but I’d appreciate if you stopped distracting me like that.” Red Hood quipped, sounding almost smug at her fascination. Heat rushed into her cheeks and she quickly withdrew her hand, realising how inappropriate that must’ve felt and hastily clarified,“ I’m so sorry, I’m not a pervert I swear.” Y/N felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.

“Hold on.” Red Hood skidded the bike across the road with a loud screech, making Y/N wince at the sound of the metal scratching against the gravel. He loaded his gun with one hand still wrapped around Y/N protectively and aimed at the tires of the approaching car. “I’d suggest for you to not look at it.”Y/N averted her gaze and moments later, she heard a series of crashes and explosions.

“Jesus Christ I thought I was going to die !” She exhaled in relief. Red Hood turned his face towards her slowly and looked at her as if deadpanning through the mask,“ I’m here you know. What makes you think I’d let you die ?” He retorted taking full offence of her words. “I- I didn’t mean it like that -” she stammered, partly scared to offend the vigilante.

"Whatever I'll drop you off." Jason rolled his eyes and patted the seat behind him. Y/N hesitated, remembering her mother's warning about getting on bikes with strange men, but given her current situation, she realized it was too late to dwell on that now. With no one pursuing them, the ride felt much more pleasant. The speed and the wind against her hair seemed to turn her blood to gasoline as the air dissipated from her lungs. Adrenaline fueled activities weren't for her, at least that's what her sense of self preservation told her. Y/ N pressed her cheek against Red Hood's back. Vigilantes had a symbiotic relationship with the city and as was a common saying in Gotham "The less bats you run into the happier your life is." She knew that this encounter might be a fleeting one, so she decided to relish the moment for now.

Feelings and thoughts were long forgotten, where everything faded into the background and only her physical self exists and the dancing lights at the hazy edges of her vision offered an intoxicating taste of freedom that was indescribable — stripped of obligations, responsibilities and consequences.

Y/N almost doesn’t notice when he stopped the bike. “Do you plan on holding onto me for long ? Not that I mind but we’re here.” Red Hood hopped off the bike and Y/N took off her helmet and hung it onto the handlebar. She scanned her surroundings, they were in front of a five star hotel with sports cars parked on either side of of the road. “Why are we here ?” The woman asked following behind the masked vigilante. “Well for one I don’t know your address so I can’t drop you home and second it’s too late so you should stay the night at a hotel and go home in the morning. It’s safer that way.” Y/N stared at him in disbelief,“ But I don’t have the kind of money to rent a room in a place like this.” Red Hood retrieved a key card from his pocket and placed it on her palm,“Who said anything about paying ?” The h/c haired took it reluctantly and slowly walked to the entrance of the hotel, looking back at him again and again. It wasn’t until she was inside the hotel that she saw him drive off. Y/N walked to the concierge desk and showed her the card. The receptionist eyed her with suspicion considering how she looked so out of place compared to her opulent setting. “Please fill this form. It’s for security purposes.”

The form asked things like her address and her phone number. As reluctant as she was, the receptionist looked like she wasn’t letting her through unless she filled it. Wary of the dangers of misuse of information, Y/N tried to keep her responses as brief as possible. Paranoia was the best friend of a Gothamite considering everything that went down in this hellhole. It was good to always assume the worse and subsequently prepare for it.

The receptionist offered her a tight smile and walked her to the suite. Calling it a suite was an understatement since it was the penthouse on top of the hotel. Just how rich is this guy ? Y/N assumed that the house was a property he didn’t live in because the place lacked personal touch. Either that or he was a real minimalist which was unlikely considering bat vigilantes’ love for theatrics. Y/N wondered if all the bat vigilantes were like a huge family with Batman as papa bat. Where would Red Hood fall in the hierarchy ? If she were to guess, she’d say he was probably the black sheep of the family. Y/N looked around the house, it was one straight out of architectural digests with its high ceilings and cool grey and white interior. She looked at the time and decided it was best if she hit the shower and go to bed and finally put an end to this crazy day.

Jason Todd checked into the hotel the next morning and was greeted by the overly friendly receptionist, personally he didn’t mind fangirls but anyone with even half a braincell knew the risks of being a vigilante groupie. She passed him the form that Y/N filled. He couldn’t help but smile at the form. Filling her work address and a phone number both which were most likely false give the conspicuous number of 7’s in the number ? She’s smarter than most civilians, he’d give her that. The penthouse looked almost unhampered with. His jacket was neatly folded on the dining table with a note reading “Thank you so much for saving me. Regards.” The tone of the note was clear ‘I appreciate you saving me but I hope we never meet again.’ Jason pocketed the note and left the penthouse. Fates had been kind enough to reunite him with his angel and he’d be damned if he let her get away .

“Yoohoo Y/N to earth. Anybody home ?”Y/N’s coworker snapped her fingers in front her face, snapping her out of her reverie. “Sorry about that Steph.” Y/N apologised with an awkward laugh. Stephanie Brown, albeit several years younger, was one of Y/N’s closest friends. She was a bubbly and cheerful soul anyone could tell that by the first impression she projected.

Since the night almost a week ago with the mysterious vigilante, Y/N often found her thoughts plagued by him. Curiosity of where he would be or what he would be doing right now. Her eyes often looked for any news of him while watching the news. I really have to stop thinking about him, even though they lived in the same city, the odds of them running into each other were minute.

The door opened and the bell on top of it clanged, announcing the arrival of a customer. “Mornin’ ladies.” The customer greeted. Y/N turned her attention at the newcomer at the counter. “Good morning detective !” she greeted the customer with a bright smile.

Dick Grayson served as a police officer under the GCPD and was one of the cafe’s frequents. From experiences of her own childhood, Y/N consider the police nothing but corrupt individuals on payroll of powerful people who bullied those weaker than them. But detective Grayson was one of the good and honest ones. He played a massive role in restoring Y/N’s faith that there were those in the police force who could be relied upon and ones that fought for a better Gotham.

"I'll go with the..." he glanced at the menu, a ritual he often performed. "the regular?" Y/N finished his sentence. He responded with a smile, revealing his dimples. "I never understand why you bother with the menu when you always order the same thing," she remarked. He shrugged nonchalantly, as if saying 'who knows.' A smile crept onto her face as she made his order.

“So how’s everything with the family ?” Y/N asked, making small talk. Beyond his consistent ordering and punctual 9:00 AM café visits, he frequently shared his sibling issues. "Oh, where do I begin? My brother is acting up, yet again. He pulled some crap about a week ago. He broke one of Dad’s rules, even though he said he did it to help someone but Dad was just not having it."

“ Which one ? The cool rebellious one or the little gremlin one ?” Y/N laughed sympathetically. She didn’t feel the need to probe and ask much but she always lent an ear to a friend so naturally she knew them by characteristics and not by name. From what she knew, Dick Grayson had three younger brothers - the broody rebellious one, the caffein addict smartass and the 4 foot gremlin edgelord from hell.

“The rebellious one.” he sighed wearily. Y/N placed his order on the counter, including a small pack of cookies. “On the house. You could use some sugar anyway. They’re free testers before we put them on the menu.” Dick accepted the coffee and cookie packet, flashing a bright smile. “Thank you so much. You’re an angel.” An odd feeling resonated within her when Dick called her that. That’s what Red Hood called her. Somehow the way the word rolled off his tongue seemed so different compared to when anyone else said it.

“Hey Dick do you mind if I ask you something ?” Dick nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “What do you know about the Red Hood ?”

Dick choked on his drink and burst into a fit of coughs. It took him a while to compose himself. “He’s alright. I mean he does help the GCPD I guess but he’s too unpredictable and we don’t exactly approve of his methods. He doesn’t hurt innocents but he’s bad news. Why do you ask ?”

“No reason.”Y/N brushed off the inquiry, and although Dick seemed skeptical, he left after leaving a tip. There. Is your curiosity satiated ? Even Dick said he’s bad news now can we stop thinking about him ? Her inner conscience reprimanded her.

Y/N's weary steps echoed in the quiet street as she walked home from work at night. The flickering light from the street lights streetlights casted long almost sentient looking shadows. Her thoughts — a mix of the day's challenges, the longing for the comfort of home blurred into oblivion when a strange chill crept up her spine with a sense of foreboding. Cautious of her surroundings, Y/N constantly kept watch around herself. Just a few yards before her apartment building, she heard their neighbourhood strays agitatedly hiss to something near the dumpster. Not wanting to get involved in whatever trouble Gotham had brought to her feet, she fastened her pace. Suddenly, a flash of vibrant red —the same shade she had been secretly craving to see in the past week, caught her eye.

“Red Hood ?” Y/N stepped into the shadows cautiously as if ready to flee at the first signs of trouble.

“Angel ?” He asked gruffly. Y/N walked closer and found him against the wall, clutching his side. His wound wasn’t a death sentence but needed to be tended to quickly. Her eyes widened in horror when she noticed the crimson coating his fingers,“You’re hurt !”

“ ‘Tis but a scratch m’lady.” He let out a pained laugh seeming to ease her nerves. “We need to get that treated.” Y/N urged. She knew that vigilantes couldn’t just walked into hospitals to get patched up because of the whole secret identity thing. And she also knew that taking it upon herself to treat him would go against every plan of self preservation she had. But she owed him his life. I’ll pay off my debt and we’ll never meet again. Y/N mentally decided and looked at him with newfound determination in her eyes. “My apartment is just upstairs. I have a first aid kit. Come with me.”

Red Hood gazed at her, momentarily lost in thought, then lifted his other hand to gently stroke her cheek. Y/N flinched at his touch, making him withdraw his hand. “Sorry I thought I was hallucinating you because from the blood loss. ” He admitted meekly. Y/N sighed and placed his hand over her shoulder. “Can you stand?” The masked vigilante nodded, rising slowly with a grunt.

Swallowing her rising concern, she brought him to her house and beckoned him towards her couch. Red Hood’s every step betrayed a hint of discomfort, his grimace almost visible even behind that signature mask. The second he dropped on her couch, she disappeared. He caught flashes of her running around the house like a busy bee at work. In seconds, she produced a first-aid kit and knelt next to him. “Lift your shirt.” She maintained her clinical tone, but the concern was evident with her eyes trained on the wound.

“Angel you know if you wanted to –” Jason started with a cheeky tone but was cut off by a stern glare, “Ahem yes ma’am”

Y/N breath hitched every so slightly when she saw the injury. It didn’t look like a bullet wound, the malformed spindle shape resembled a stab wound. “I’m sorry I don’t have any anaesthetic.” She didn’t look up from the wound as her cotton swab glided over the grevions injury. Shifting her elbow to his other hand on his thigh, Red Hood tilted his head seemingly questioning her,“ You can hold my arm and squeeze it if it hurts. I’ve heard that helps.”

“Appreciate the gesture angel but I’m pretty sure I’d snap your arm in half if I did.” His tone was both dismissive and endearing. Y/N didn’t insist, given his strength what he said was probably true. Vigilantes were exceptionally trained, surpassing conventional human limits. Unlike the caped metahuman from Metropolis, the bat vigilantes were more cryptid in nature. None would be where they came from and where they went. Invulnerable and insurmountable. Despite him being in a position that would render others vulnerable, he appeared unfazed, akin to a wounded yet formidable beast. There was a natural aura of dominance and power about him. They don’t call him the Prince of Gotham for no reason that’s for sure.

“You’re good at this. Like one of the best I’ve seen.” He spoke up, seemingly trying to come off as capable of being civil. “Well three years of med school. Some stitching is the least I can do.” She explained. Red Hood visible froze for a good second and inquired,“ You’re a doctor ?”

Y/N scoffed,“ Look around. Do I look like one ?” Red Hood looked around her apartment. Although well maintained, an ode to her efforts, the apartment was old and almost pitiful . Most of the furniture looked second hand and cheap. The curtain rods were rusted and the paint was peeling off from the walls with damp spots on the ceilings.

“You dropped out ?” He guessed. “Yeah. Couldn’t afford it.” She chuckled bitterly.

“Didn’t they offer scholarships or something ?” Jason was aware of Wayne Enterprises’ scholarship programs for talented students. When Bruce took him in, he assured Jason that if Y/N met the criteria, she would be enrolled in the program. Y/N’s intellect had always impressed Jason since childhood, he remembered that she would often sneak into libraries and memorise books worth of stories to recite them to Jason to help him sleep. There was just no way she wouldn’t be accepted into the program.

“They did but that didn’t pay bills. I needed to find a job to pay for my mom’s hospital bills.” She kept her response short, clearly not wanting to delve deep into the topic. “Work for me.” The statement was like a whiplash for Y/N. Work for him ? There weren’t many things Y/N had to take a double take for but this proposition was entirely unexpected. It caught her off guard, she stared at him incredulously with widened eyes. Red Hood was know for operating in the gray areas between legality and criminality and wasn’t exactly your quintessential example of a righteous lawful hero.

“Not in the way you’re imagining.” He hooked his free hand under her chin, gently closing her agape mouth. His tone was soft and reassuring,“ I’ve been meaning to find a backstreet surgeon to stitch me up. Comes in handy for a guy like me. I’m sure you understand angel.”

“B-but why me ?”Y/N stuttered, avoiding eye contact as her nerves threatened to overwhelm her. She could feel a chill of nervousness and panic creep up her spine. What if he got angry if she refused ? Jason noticed the change in the air around her and the stiffening of her muscles in panic that she was clearly trying to hide from him.

“Because you’re convenient. Your place is easy to get in and out of undetected, you’re talented and most of all —“ He gently lifted her chin to meet his gaze. Y/N let out a shuddered breath as Red Hood stroked her cheek with the back of his gloved hand. “— you fear me enough to not go around squeaking to the wrong people about me. No ?” Jason couldn’t help but relish in the reaction he elicited to the feeling of the leather gliding against her cheek in a silken featherlight touch. How adorable.

Y/N swallowed nervously before nodding slowly. A beat of silence passed and she let out a small sigh, recollecting herself and weighing her options. “How much are we talking ?” She asked him in a low voice. Jason could hardly contain his excitement, grinning wildly under his mask. A sense of pride washed over him as her first question after his offer focused on the financial aspect.

“Let’s see how about 2 grand a month ? Too less ? 3 grand ? 3.5 ? That enough ?”he suggested eagerly. Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief, almost bulging from their sockets. Without waiting for her response, he added, “Plus, there’ll be extra incentives when I’m feeling generous.”

“All that for some stitching ? There has to be a catch.” She reasoned. It seemed implausible that he would offer such a substantial sum for such a minor task. Jason chuckled," You’re smart. I like that in a woman. And to answer your question, it’s not just stitching. It’s about your discretion and loyalty. It’s a complete package. Plus that sort of money is pretty much pocket change to me.”

“And if I were to betray your trust ?” Y/N asked in a hypothetical sense, of course she had more sense than to betray someone of his stature and power. “Do you really want me to answer that ?” He countered sounding equal parts smug and menacing. Y/N shook her head in negation and continued stitching his wound. The process of stitching became a meditative rhythm - the needle piercing the skin, the pull of the thread, the knotting, and the slight twitch of Red Hood’s muscles with each stitch.

“I’ll take it.” She muttered. Jason was grateful for his mask and injury otherwise, he might have been unable to hide his urge to jump up and punch air in celebration. Agreeing to his proposition marked just the beginning of his grand plan for making Y/N his and for now, everything unfolded according to his wishes and he couldn’t be happier.

Y/N wrapped gauze around the wound and secured it with a metal clip. “Normally I’d suggest a few days’ rest but I have a feeling there’s no point in saying.” Red Hood commented with a shrug as he inspected the injury. Y/N rose and fetched him a glass of water from the kitchen, setting it on the table. “If you’re trying to get me to remove my helmet, it won’t work.” he remarked. As much as his distrust stung, Y/N rationalised that it was typical for someone like him.

She retrieved a scarf from the coat rack, folded it and tied it around her eyes before taking a seat on the edge of the couch, keeping a respectable distance from the masked vigilante. "What's with the blindfold angel ?" Red Hood asked, his tone tinged with amusement.

"Isn't trust earned through actions?" she responded. Y/N heard the thud of his helmet being placed on the table. Jason seemed genuinely impressed by her gesture. His gaze lingered on her figure as she remained motionless, noting how much she had changed since his childhood memory. Yet her kindness to those in need while still keeping herself guarded from those who would abuse it still remained unchanged. Jason’s hand twitched with the impulse to touch her. To hold her. He wondered how her face would look in his palms with her bare body melded against his own.

“ ‘Suppose it is.” Jason chuckled as he downed the glass of water and put his helmet back on. “I’m finished. You can remove that blindfold now, although it does look adorable on you.” He noticed her chest rise with a sudden hitch, and her cheeks flush red. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed, knowing the other implications blindfolds carried. As she removed the scarf and looked around, Red Hood had vanished without a trace. Her window was open and it was as if disappeared into the wind just as he came. She got why the bat vigilantes were often likened to cryptid beings and phantoms. Y/N was left to ponder over the events that had unfolded. Under the glass of water she offered him three hundred dollar bills were tucked. “I suppose I’m now working for the Prince of Gotham now.” Y/N mused to herself, realizing her attempt to avoid getting involved had failed miserably.

Jason's parents engaged in another round of screaming matches, this time he decided he’d had enough and thought of running away. Despite previous fleeting thoughts of escape, each time night fell — he faced the harsh reality of lacking sustenance and shelter. Convinced that the streets offered a marginally preferable refuge to the shithole he was force to call home, he wandered aimlessly till he found himself at the dumpster of a bakery. He knew shops like those threw away left overs even though they could’ve given them out — Jason saw it as a glaring manifestation of selfishness of adults.

He hid behind the dumpster and waited for someone to come and throw away the leftovers. After waiting for almost half an hour, the sound of the door opening caught his attention. Glancing cautiously from his hiding spot, Jason spotted a young waitress walking out. She was likely just a few years older than himself, a middle school or a high school student maybe, he thought to himself. As she approached to dispose of the food, she paused midway. No way did she see him ? Jason shrank back against a cardboard box, hoping she wouldn’t notice him.

“Hey kid you can come out. I already saw you.” the waitress said softly. Jason slowly crawled out and approached her. He eyed the tray of leftovers in her hand, wondering if he could snatch them and escape quickly enough ? The waitress seemed to notice this and raised the tray above his reach. “Against bakery policies kid. Where are your parents ?” She asked. Of course she wouldn't be generous enough to offer him any. In his mind, all adults were rotten to the core and selfish —why would she be any different ?

Jason scoffed,“ Does it matter ?” His statement was met with a sigh from the waitress, her expression conveying annoyance, a scene all too familiar to him. Bracing himself he said,“ Just do it already. I’ve had it from guys thrice your size.” Jason was well acquainted with the drill with diner employees — catch a few shoves and slaps, pretend to go away and wait for them to leave and then come back pick up the food.

He shut his eyes and waited for her to slap and swear at him to drive him away like everyone else. Yet moments passed but the expected blow never came. Instead, Jason felt a gentle pat on his head and looked up to see her smiling empathetically, though her eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. Wondering why she seemed so melancholic, he accepted the loaf of bread she offered and wolfed it down. “Won’t you get in trouble for this ?” He asked. With a forced laugh she admitted,“ I probably will but I can’t let a kid hungry now can I ?”

“I won’t tell anyone.” The young boy promised earnestly and she returned his smile. His gaze fell upon her nametag—Y/N L/N. Maybe not all adults are bad.

It had been barely four days since she last saw him that she heard from him again. In the dead of night, her doorbell rang. She approached the door cautiously and grabbed a baseball bat from the umbrella rack as a just in case. She didn’t hear any movement on the other side of the door so she cautiously opened the door, peering out. To her surprise, she found only a small, shoddily wrapped parcel resting on the floor with her name written in red.

There was no one except a small poorly wrapped parcel on floor with her name on it. Retrieving it, she carried it inside. Within the parcel lay a modest yet exquisite golden necklace accompanied by a handwritten instruction manual. Observing it she realised it was one of those necklaces that acted as an SOS signal. The parcel also contained a big folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, she discovered a map of Gotham City with specific locations ominously marked in red and the stark warning “DO NOT GO” emblazoned in bold letters. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtful gesture, maybe this is not all that bad.

Over the following days, Red Hood would appear unannounced giving Y/N enough jumpscares for lifetime, when she would walk into her living room and find him bleeding out on her couch. He wasn’t much of a talker which wasn’t a surprise.

His injuries presented a variety of shapes and sizes each time he visited, but recently, his injuries bore uncanny resemblance the markings of knife wounds. Some were superficial, while others cut deeper. However, considering the depth, placement, and angles, Y/N questioned whether they were the result of his typical fights. "Are you testing my loyalty? Seeing if I'll betray you?" Y/N clenched her teeth with silvers of anger and frustration glinting in her eyes. Red Hood appeared slightly taken aback but remained silent in response to her outburst. "Do you really think I wouldn't notice ? Either that certain type of knife has become Gotham’s thugs number one choice or you're doing this to yourself. Why ?" She pressed further.

“ I knew I shouldn’t have made it so obvious.”Jason wasn’t accustomed to others fussing over his safety. Typically he received, at most a pat on the back from those who worked alongside him, knowing he had endured much worse and could handle it. Her anger and frustration hinted at concern, echoing the tone when he would go and pick fights with boys twice his size.

“What’s that supposed to mean ?”

Red Hood let out a sigh and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “Listen, I enjoy spending time with you and I wouldn’t bother coming unless I needed medical attention. So you know —"

“— So you cut yourself ? To hang out with me ? What’s wrong with you ? What if you actually got into a fight with those injuries ? What if you got hurt for real ? You could really get hurt. How could you do that to yourself ? ”

Jason lowered his head in remorse, realizing he hadn't fully considered his actions. Despite understanding her perspective and acknowledging the wrong in purposefully hurting himself for her attention, he couldn't deny a secret sense of satisfaction. "I’m so sorry," he muttered his apology, genuinely meaning every word. Y/N released an exasperated sigh and took a moment to compose herself before speaking again. "Next time, just ask. It's not that complicated."

Jason's head lifted with hopeful curiosity, resembling a puppy eager for a treat. " I can do that ?" he asked tentatively, unsure if her words were genuine. Jason blinks, and then smiles. Her words cause something to stir within him, a sensation of warmth and affection he hasn't felt in a while. Y/N nodded and got up to dispose of the bloody cotton swabs in the kitchen. Jason’s eyes followed her eyes, watching closely and to see if she was still mad at him. Y/N was a pretty forgiving person but in all honesty, he did mess up pretty bad. She returned and settled back down with a sigh, causing a slight nervous flutter in Jason. “So what do vigilantes when they’re not fighting bad guys ?” Y/N initiated as an icebreaker, much to Jason’s relief. It’s not like he could say ‘hey I’m in love with you please hang out with me with marriage in mind’. Wait marriage ? Where did that come from ? Images of Y/N in a white gown walking down an isle flashed through his mind. Y/N Todd. That had a nice ring to it, Jason mused silently. He had heard that Bali was a popular honeymoon destination but Y/N once told him that she always wanted to see the stargazing so the Atacama desert isn’t a bad destination either.

“Um earth to Red. You still here ?” Y/N waved her hand in front of Jason who seemed to have spaced out.

“Red ?”Jason asked sounding positively amused by the unexpected nickname. She shrugged and replied,“ Calling you Red Hood seemed too long, so Red it is. Not very creative, I know.”

Jason chuckled,“ I’ll allow it. And to answer your question, vigilantes don't have much time for leisure. When we're not fighting, we’re either training or passed the fuck out from exhaustion.” Y/N felt tired just hearing that, understanding the reasoning behind it, but the question remained: he wasn’t wasting time by being here, was he ?

“Seems like there’s no room for hobbies?” Y/N quipped, eliciting another soft laugh from Jason as he visibly relaxed. "I suppose so but pros can squeeze in time for special things here and there." he replied, his voice still quiet but now tinged with a smile. His body language seemed brighter and happier, and for the first time since she saw him actually looking relaxed.

Y/N reached for the TV remote, flipping through channels before tossing it onto his lap and standing up. “I’m going to fix myself something. Do you want anything?” she asked politely. Jason shook his head, declining, “I’m good.” Y/N walked to the kitchen and started making herself popcorn. What sort of movies and tv shows would vigilantes enjoy ? She guessed they might lean towards crime-related or action-packed content, but then remembered her friends’ complaints about the inaccuracy of such portrayals.

“Seriously Janet ?! There’s no way you’re picking that dress. Just cuz it would look good on Jessica doesn’t mean it would suit you ! I can hear the wails of the colour theory all the way from here.” Jason shook his head, sounding genuinely disappointed. He probably didn’t even notice Y/N shuffling closer to the television, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. So I guess that answers my question.

“That’s an interesting choice.”

Jason rolled his eyes and diverted his attention back to the television again. “What ? Can’t a man enjoy some good entertainment ?” He retorted. Y/N laughed lightly dismissing his remark,” No no it’s not that. Personally I’m more of a k-drama and anime girlie but I hold nothing against reality tv.” He nodded in acknowledgment of her preferences and resumed watching. Sitting beside him, Y/N observed as he commented on almost everything the people on TV said, finding herself amused by how much more entertaining his live commentary was compared to the actual show.

Minutes rolled by and after almost a couple hours, Y/N got up to go use the washroom and when she returned he had vanished once again, as was his habit. A small note lay where he had sat on her couch earlier. She picked it up and read, “Had a great time. Thanks for today - R” Y/N chuckled and shook her head, Damn these bats and their theatrics.

Jason would show up every three four days, most of the time unharmed thankfully. The two would do a variety of things like watching movies and tv shows together, playing board games and video games and just talking in general. At first it was just discussing their common interests but eventually he would sporadically divulged minor, unimportant details about himself. Some things she was able to piece together were that one, the bat vigilantes was a dysfunctional family with Batman as their patriarch. Second, the Red Hood worked alongside Starfire and Arsenal as his teammates. And third, that he had to be the biggest classic literature nerd she had come across.

“What do you mean your best friend tried to set you on fire while you were taking a shower ?! Didn’t you like lock the door or something ?”

“Locked doors don’t really do much to people like us angel.”

“So who’s your favourite bat sibling ?” Jason fell silent at her question, contemplating the answer. “Well that’s a tough question. I have my set of challenges and grudges with all of them. We’ve tried to kill each other atleast once. More so with my brothers than the girls. I’d say I get along pretty well with spoiler and batgirl. And if you ask about my brothers, I’d say Nightwing. He’s the funny nice one, Red Robin’s the smart, loyal one and Robin is the little obnoxious one.”

Y/N chuckled,“ Guess the article checks out.”

“What article ?” Jason asked curiously. Most of his intel came from law enforcement agencies databases, informants, surveillance technology, his fellow vigilantes and his own investigative work so he didn’t really feel the need to keep up with the cheesy articles in Gazette.

“The cinnamon roll tier list !” Y/N’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

“The what now ?”

“So there’s this popular meme going online,”she started to explain,“ so there are four categories - first, looks like a cinnamon roll, is a cinnamon roll. In that category are the signal, the spoiler and nightwing. Second, looks like a cinnamon roll, could kill you. That one is for Red Robin and the Robin. Third, looks like could kill you but is a cinnamon roll, that one is for Batgirl and the last is -” she paused because she knew the next tier on the list might potentially sting him.

“Looks like could kill you and would kill you ? Let me guess that’s one for me ?” Jason chuckled humorlessly, fully aware of the kind of reputation that preceded him. He wondered if she held the same perception of him. Y/N remained silent, neither confirming nor denying his statement.

"You know, you don't need to constantly worry about offending me. Believe me, I've heard far worse than anything your pretty mouth could say to me." Y/N couldn't help but feel upset, while his words were true, there was more to it than that. She wanted to express that she wasn't entirely afraid of him, but that wasn't entirely true either.

“Anyways – ”She interjected, clapping her hands once to shift the flow of the conversation,“ I got a new video game from a friend. Let me go get it. DO NOT DISAPPEAR. I’m serious it’s creepy.” Jason responded with her a cheeky salute,“ Yes ma’am.” Y/N disappeared into the bedroom briefly and returned with the DVD. When she came back she noticed Jason had reclined on the couch, appearing to have dozed off.

“Red ?” she asked softly, approaching him. She tried to get his attention again, but he remained unresponsive. He must’ve fallen asleep, she figured remembering what he said about his schedule. Retrieving a blanket from the side of the couch, she gently covered him. She sat there for a while, observing him as he slept. Watching him like this felt natural and familiar. Leaning back on the couch herself, she tried to unwind in the peaceful silence. Y/N couldn't help but admire him and all that he had achieved. Finding a friend in such an extraordinary circumstance was something she had never anticipated.

After a while, a somewhat wicked notion crept into her mind. She tried to shush the voice. Hanging out with Stephanie was sure working its magic, she thought to herself. It was a harmless little prank really, surely he wouldn’t mind. Against all logic and rationale, she decided entertained the idea. Tiptoeing to her closet, she retrieved the item from her closet and cautiously returned, double-checking if he was asleep. Here goes nothing.

#dc #batboys #batman #jason todd #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood smut #dc smut #batfam #yandere jason todd #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #dc comics

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belokhvostikova · 10 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Tuesday was the development between you and Eddie Munson. Wednesday, peace finally seems plausible for the two hurt kids, and understanding becomes a valued aspect.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, implications to verbal abuse, self deprecating thought, mentions of anxiety, bulling, parent abandonment, domestic abuse, and childhood abuse and neglect.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I've gone back to all my posts and tagged everyone for the tag list. Literally. If you commented, I tagged you. If you reblogged and remotely mentioned you wanted more, I tagged you. If you were not looking to be tagged, please let me know so I can remove you. Also, I sincerely apologize to anyone who I've accidently been excluding from the tag list, that was my mistake.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐲

There was no investment in moral quandary for him. Logicality. Everything had to be logical under the guise that all faults of the world had been facilitated by the emission of emotions that tainted the globe.

Feelings were wrong. Sentiment was wrong. Empathy was wrong.

He believed it was such vulnerability that led to the downfall of his life- not that he’d ever verbally admit his life had crumbled right in front of him, but a pit within the deepest tunnel of his consciousness recognized it. Drilled it. Cemented it. He had chosen to blame the emotions of amenability for the reason why his wife came home at four in the morning with the familiar scent of the neighbor’s cologne. From there, he knew to get rid of it. Emotions. So when you sobbed, asking why mommy hadn’t been home for a couple of days, he said it was not worth crying over. When you had to stand in court upon a scary looking man in a robe and hear mommy agree to only seeing you every other weekend, he said to not worry and suck it up. And when mommy stopped picking up calls and seemingly “forgot” it was her day to see you, he said to get over it. But maybe it wasn’t too bad, right? He always said to be grateful that, at least, he stuck around. At the minimum, he always provided good take-out often, though you were quick to realize it was because he had no desire to cook for you. But, hey, he had always let you watch TV during dinner. Granted, it was because he never sat with you, and chose the comfort of the living room couch, where you could always see the history channel playing from the archway of the dining room where you sat lonely. It was then, you got a deep understanding of the Civil War. And at least his stoicism permitted a great hatred for the presuppositionalism that had infiltrated Hawkins, Indiana. That was good, right? Though, you were never one to define metaethics through divine revelation, so it kinda didn’t matter. But it could be worse. He always said he could be worse. That his choice to deprive you from any physical harm was somehow enough to garner him some merit as a parent.

And maybe that was one of the underlying reasons as to why Eddie Munson scared you so much. He was like your father. And your father scared you.

Mid week. The morning of spring Wednesday had been a groggily dawn of humidity and fog. Though no weather circumstance could derail the perfected routine of your father’s morning. Wake up, shower, brush teeth, make coffee. Black, no sugar. The bitterer, the better. Because that was by true definition strong.

It was like clockwork. Every morning. Because routine leads to success, he's ingrained. It was the only reason why every summer break since you were a child he had you waking up before sunrise with intentions of appearing downstairs for two hours of study time with a tutor he spent hours meticulously searching for that fit his standards. One with saggy cheeks, thin eyebrows, a thick accent, and a bad habit of reprimanding you with a smack of a ruler whenever you humanly made a mistake. The worst thing that could happen in his eyes was watching his daughter slack because of relaxation over summer. Especially after he programmed you into perfection.

But the unthinkable had occurred, and his routine was interrupted.

Between 6:30 a.m and 6:45 a.m, your father was set—like everyday—to retrieve the morning paper, sit down, set the timer, and complete the crossword puzzle. Ten minutes. Nothing more.

But by 6:33 a.m, Eddie Munson was nearly murdered by your father.

Oh, his girl. Of course, there was his sweetheart, Eddie was damn near devoted to that warlock, but then there was his girl. Definitely not the everloving relationship he had with his sweetheart, I mean, he touched her, and the harmonious sounds from her strings could elevate the pain of his mind, but there was still no doubt that a sentimental part of his heart was dedicated to his girl. Rusted and cranking, the old van had been gifted to the young man after countless hours committed to Harry’s Auto Shop over the summer. And though her imperfections nearly had him pulling the roots of his hair out of his head weekly, she still managed to get him from point A to point B—not to mention, she looked totally sick and provided the best comfort place to spark up a joint or spend time with a pretty boy or girl whenever the opportunity came (it never did).

But besides that, the moral of the story is his van, his girl, was deeply cared for.

Except for the occasions of last night.

Because right now, your father was wrinkling the informative pages of the daily news with a tight grip of pure seethe, because some dirty, gross van had parked over the curb of his property and ruined the pristine, clean-cut, green lawn with muddy tire tracks.

You had heard it all.

The blaring alarm at 5:45 a.m, the running shower from your father’s bathroom, and the heavy steps of his feet descend into the kitchen.

Exhaustion couldn’t fathom the ache of your body, as the fluffy duvet beneath you held no substance to the stiffening floor underneath. Not to mention, the heavy sorrow of the events that had only occurred a couple hours prior were relying heavy in your mind, prompting the loss of true sleep, made only worse when Eddie’s drunken snores were echoing as a constant reminder that he was right there.

Eddie Munson was in your bed- Eddie Munson was in your bed!

The ever so slight glimmer of the awakening sun was bleeding upon his sleeping figure, almost dead with no movement. He hadn’t shifted an arm or a leg, mouth still agape from his roaring slumber with a puddle of drool staining your satin pillow. You’d timidly approached the edge of your bed, knees scraping along the rough floor to reach his peaceful face. The disheveled bangs of his forehead had crumpled against themselves, shielding him from the oozing light through your window.

This was the calmest Eddie Munson had been in weeks.

No lumps in the mattress, an actual comforter, the pungent stank of his cigarettes now replaced with the captivating vanilla scent of your perfume, which eased him into a comfortable sleep and an all too real dream where you were in his arms. It felt scaringly natural.

There was a part of you that didn’t want to wake him. Whether it was because you could take an hour studying his pretty face, which led you to wondering how anyone could even fathom being so nasty to something so beautiful, or whether it was because that childhood anger and nestling vexation against a world that hated him was still deeply residing within Eddie, and you could easily fall victim to such hatred. It happened before, it could happen again.

You rested your head against your bed, a slight alleviation to the malaise of the floor, and let his warm breathing fan across your face. The tips of your fingers benevolently stroked the unruly strands of his bangs away, to reveal the fluttering eyes of his face. You wondered what he could be dreaming of.

You.

You were all he could think of. Awake and asleep.

“Eddie.” You softly whispered. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best choice given his hangover coma, but Eddie needed gentleness. “Hey, wake up.” You shook his shoulder. A pained groan prolonged far longer than you expected, as his face scrunched in a wince of a pounding headache. “Are you okay?”

That was too real for any dream. Eddie’s dry eyes snapped at the sound of your saccharine voice, suddenly realizing the devastating events that occurred last night. “Sh-shit!” He attempted to sit up, but your hand held his arm back.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You cooed, as he peered around frantically confused. He cracked his neck with a sharp turn, and his big eyes landed on you; once again, comforting him, as though he hadn’t put you through hell in the mere days he’s communicated with you.

His head fervently began shaking, as if to reject all that he’d done, as if everything he ever did you to was just a nightmare of his own fears, that he didn’t do what he did. But he did. And his eyes started welling up. “I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He choked. “For everything, I didn’t- I’m so fucking sorry-”

“Shh, Eddie-”

“I don’t want to scare you, and I’m s-sorry for doing it in the first place, I’m so so fucking so-”

“Eddie, just lay down, it’s okay.” You attempted to ease into him, as you lowered him down, his begrudgement leaving him hesitating until his back was flat against your bed.

Once relaxed, it seemed his body and mind gave up on the restraints of his emotions, and his stream of tears came pouring with all dejection and regret of how everything had played out between you two. Eddie Munson hated himself. Hated who he was. Someone set up for the failures of life, he rejected anything that could steer him from a path of love and acceptance. And he hated that. He hated the life he had. At any given opportunity to go back in time, he would scream at his father, hit his father, just get him and his mother away from his father so that he could just grow up to be a normal person. A normal person, who could process their emotions and not deduce themselves into a nihilistic asshole. A normal person, who wouldn’t degrade the only person who’s held him without hurting him. A normal person, who would love you and cherish you as you deserved. Yet Eddie Munson hated his life and hated any momentous occasion that could possibly diminish the pain of life… like you. Because good things don’t happen to Eddie Munson, and you held so much power to hurt him.

Seeing his palms stab into his eyes, you gently held his trembling wrist to relieve him from the pain he believed he deserved. “Come on, Eddie, please stop.” You softly spoke trying to ease his hands away from his face. “Everything is okay, I promise.”

“N-no, it’s not!”

“Shh!” You rushed out. “My dad’s awake downstairs.” You whispered.

“S-sorry.” He spoke so meekly, as his hands cleaned the staggering wetness of his eyes and cheeks.

The atmosphere between you both fell stagnantly silent, as he tried to control his breathing through the tiny sniffles of his nose. He felt you staring, eyes boring into the side of his head, as he peered up at the dark ceiling. He couldn’t stand to look at you right now. He had just drunkenly sobbed and was now blubbering like a child, because of all the bullshit he just put you through. He was a-fucking-shamed. Ashamed of all he’s done. Ashamed of who he was. And you were seeing the worst of it.

“Eddie.” He closed his eyes and shook his head no. “Please.”

He slowly turned his head and met your tired yet so fucking beautiful face. God, he could stare at you forever. How could he do this to you? Put you through off of that, just because he was scared. He fucking hated himself, and you could so clearly see the despise against himself in his saddened eyes. I’m sorry I am the way that I am, I’m sorry you have to put up with me, I’m sorry I’m here ruining your life. He didn’t have to say it, it was engraved on his face.

His heart almost lunged out of his chest when you crept closer, noses nearly touching, as your eyes engulfed him with a meaningful stare. “I’m really glad you came.”

“What?” You truly couldn’t have been, but your head nodded with the soothing confirmation he needed.

“Yeah, I am.” You whispered.

“You shouldn’t be.” He whispered. “What I did was awful.”

“I know.” You sighed. “I know, and please don’t ever do that again. But I’m still glad you came. Glad that we talked. Glad that I got to understand.”

“I wish I told you sooner… and better.” He pinched his eyes closed at the haunting memory. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you, I’m so fucking sorry I did.”

“I know you are.” There was no “it’s fine” or forgiveness to offer, because he truly did cross a line that terrified you. But you could accept his understanding of the wrongdoing he did. Because acknowledgement was a valuable step in moving forward.

“I just- Y/N, I just really want to be with you.” There it was. He was putting himself out there once and for all, risking it, because you deserved to know. The torment of his emotional unavailability was ending, because he was ready to face the adversity of his trauma to make you happy. But that was exactly the issue. You could see he was ready to do it for you. Not himself. And whatever was brewing between you and Eddie Munson would not magically dissolve the underlying issue within both of you under the guise that you both got together and skipped away into the sunset happily ever after. Reality was a harsh slap in the face, and you knew he’d hate it, but it was what was needed.

“I just want you to be okay, Eddie.” You confided with a heavy bite of your lip. “I… want to be okay, Eddie.”

His eyes were glossing with threatening tears again. He knew what was coming. “You don’t wanna be with me.” He murmured. It was no question, but a simple truth he had to face.

“No.” You spoke with deep conviction. “I don’t want to be with the person you are right now. I can’t be. Not now. It wouldn’t be right, and I just want us to be okay.” You brushed his bangs away. His lips began trembling, but he accepted your boundaries with a vehement nod to his head to let you know he understood. “Eddie,” you punctuated so it became cemented, “I don’t want you to do this again-”

“I won’t, I swear, I won’t drink-”

“No, Eddie… I don’t want you coming here. To my house. To see me.” You sighed, as his eyes desperately scanned your face for the off chance you’d say you were kidding and you wanted him over all the time. But your words continued.

“I’m really fucking sorr-”

“I know you are, Eddie. I know.” A heavy breath from your chest escaped. “But I need time, and it may not seem like it now, but you need time, too. So I don’t want you calling. I don’t want you asking anyone where I am or how to talk to me. Not Chrissy, not anyone. Promise me.”

He agreed.

But Eddie Munson would break this promise. Not for some drunken, overbearing, emotional reason, though. But for good reason. All because your bedroom door slammed open.

Synchronized through driven fear, yours and Eddie’s head snapped at the sudden bust of your bedroom door, where your father stood effervesce with indignation of pure enragement at the sight of Eddie in your bed.

“Get out of my house!”

“Dad, wait!”

Your words were not of care to your dad, as he shoved you onto the ground with a shriek of horror escaping your lungs, as he charged himself onto your bed. The shot of adrenaline had coursed out any inebriations from the night before, as Eddie went against the swelling pounding of his head to jump from the comfort of your sheets and tumble onto the floor.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Imprinted with the mud of his shoes, the pool of his drool, and now crumbled under the heavy weight of your father’s fall, the sanctity of your bed—the only thing that had caressed you through the hardships of your life, where you found solace in the safety of its soft cotton and silk, where your mother once cuddled you to sleep as she spoke of the future, I’m gonna lay your pretty prom dress right on the bed and watch you become so beautiful for your special night, where you cried yourself to sleep for countless night because she left you and she didn’t actually want to see you become so beautiful for your special night—had demised under the ruins of men who made you bawl your eyes out and made you feel so little about yourself. And maybe your bed being derelict was a cursory occasion to cry over, maybe it wasn’t; nonetheless, your eyes began to brim with the flooding tears of the overstimulated stress of an exhausted mind, dry eyes, and a splitting heart.

“Please stop.” Too quiet and airy for any big, angry, men to hear.

Because big, angry, men don’t care for the aching pain of the people they hurt.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…” Eddie stumbled onto wobbly feet, planting the palms of his hands to stand himself away from your reaching father. “M’so fuckin’ sorry!” At that point, the directions of his words were either targeted to you or your father, you couldn’t decipher, and truthfully, you didn’t care to decipher.

Your father managed to unravel himself from the hold of your blankets, stepping off with heavy stomps to follow Eddie around your room. “You better get out of my fucking house, I’m fucking calling the cops! How dare you fucking touch my daughter?!”

“Dad, please.” Weak, broken, unheard.

“I fuckin’ didn’t!” Eddie was fortunate enough to spot his beloved jacket, snatching it from the confines of your desk chair, where he was able to roll it out as an obstruction to your father’s determined path of strangling Eddie Munson.

Because in the mind of a relentless resolute driven by all the wrong ideas because of the pain he so adamantly refused the face, Eddie Munson was the cause of your ultimate failure. Eddie Munson manipulated his daughter. Eddie Munson got his daughter suspended. Eddie Munson would be the reason your failure tainted the family name.

Eddie pummeled through your door, coming face-to-face with the extravagant expanse of your home. Cold. Everything was freezing cold, from the temperature to the decoration. Deprived from any signs of life. As if it was a museum. His bulging eyes found the large staircase, and it truly amazed him how his feet found every step without thought, simply autopilot. There was a yanking urge that was demanding him to go back. Go back for you. Make sure you were okay. Make sure to clean your tears up. Once again, he was making you cry. Maybe not entirely his fault, but his being was partaking in your agony and he fucking hated himself for it. But the weighing steps of her father marching right on his ass prompted him to move forward. Your front door was swung carelessly, welcoming the hot air of the burning morning, where once again, the clean cut grass of the manicured lawn was falling victim to Eddie’s destruction of mucky shoes. Maybe drinking hadn’t been too bad of an idea—it absolutely was—as Eddie’s drunken state, at nine at night, had left his keys impaled into the ignition ready to go.

The haggard van erupted to life, Eddie had never been so grateful to hear the god awful clunk that definitely needed to be checked out. Peer out once more, your wrathful father ran with a tirade of curses that condemned Eddie Munson back to hell, but the screech of his reversing tires interrupted his polemic. “Don’t you ever come back! You’ll be dead before your kind can even step foot into my fucking neighborhood!”

Eddie Munson would return back in eighteen hours.

“There’s an old man sitting next to me…” Wayne softly chuckled, as the lyrics had been repeating out of his mouth for the entirety of his shift, after Rodney Nickelvich decided to play the voice of Billy Joel during break.

It’d been a particularly difficult shift. His back wasn’t getting any younger, and the evident ache that decided to settle in the lower region was making it known. But the stiffness of his folding bed would alleviate enough, at least until his next shift. But that never came for Wayne Munson. Because the second—the literal second—his head managed to even briefly skim his flat pillow, the presence of his caterwauling nephew combusted through their front door with no regards for the tired old man in the living room. Eddie hadn’t even looked his way. A straight B-line to the phone.

“And where the hell have you been?” Wayne groaned with prostration. “Comin’ in here like you own the place, have you lost your mind, boy?”

But there was no answer.

Where Eddie would have normally spoken back with a clear answer of respect, there was nothing. No acknowledgement.

“Ed.”

Already engraved into his mind like the chords to his guitar, Eddie punched the buttons to your number on the yellow phone. But then he stopped. “I need the time… I don’t want you calling.” But this was bigger than that, right? He needed to know you were okay. “Please don’t hate me.” He scrunched his brows in the burning pain of betraying your boundaries. Once again. His finger dialed the rest of the numbers.

But it was dead. Not a ring. Not a buzz. Not a single indication that your phone was even ringing. Just a deadline. And Eddie’s heart sank to the deepest pit in his stomach. “Fuck!”

“Eddie.” Wayne’s face etched with concern. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

Eddie’s chest began hyperventilating with worry for you. “I-I… shit, I-uh… I really gotta get to school.”

Wayne sat up, now. Never in the decade he’s been in the care of Eddie Munson had that boy ever rushed out to get to school. Something was deeply wrong. But he couldn’t even hurtle a question of scrutiny, as Eddie had already slammed the door shut with his being gone, so deeply perturbed.

Eddie was truly pissed off at this point.

The entire proposition of arriving early to school was to find Chrissy Cunningham, but just as it occurred yesterday afternoon, the cheerleader was nowhere to be seen in the breadth of Hawkins High. He knew he was going against your wishes, quite specifically, but his heart and mind couldn’t fathom the possible danger you could be subjected to. He had too. Right? Would you just hate him more for interfering? God, he was shooting himself over the complication he construed the entire situation to become. Asking his friends had quickly been classified as the most imbecilic measure he’d ever succumb to, as those guys had never found the courage to conjure up an idea to jump start an actual conversation with an actual girl. Knowing where the head cheerleader was was beyond their source of knowledge. Yesterday’s clothes, dry mouth, red eyes, the residing ache of his hangover still tormenting his sore limbs, and now having no comprehension of whether or not you were safe at the aggressive hands of your father, Eddie was about to traject the heaviest waterfall of beer and bile onto the grimy floors of Mr. Hall’s carpentry class. But the shrieking bell unexpectedly pacified the turbulence brewing in his belly, and he was shoving passed visibly annoyed bodies to reach the cafeteria. His only chance.

His overloaded mind didn’t even process the trouble he was walking into, but unwavering was Eddie Munson as he marched into the bustling cafeteria of crackling students and cardboard food, legs pushing him to the table. “Chrissy!” Heads snapped like automated robots. Yeah, he probably should have thought this out. Glares couldn’t even amount to the looks he was receiving from the highest of Hawkins High. This was no laughing matter, but the urge to not laugh at Jason Carver’s battered face left all self control out of Eddie, as the perfect comb-over paired with the purple swollen skin personified the magnificence of juxtapositions.

“You want something, freak?” Jason stood with a puffed chest.

“Look a little different, Carver, that new?” Eddie gestured to the contuse skin, smirking oleaginously. As if it was previously discussed, Andy McAvoy and Chance Williams stood to defend the precious honor of their friend. In Eddie’s mind, it pleased him to know a conversation of protection was ordered by Jason to his goons to preserve any remaining prettiness of his face. Prom was coming up. “Relax, I didn’t say your names, did I?”

Eddie and Jason’s gaze looked down upon Chrissy, who’s brows were cinched with confusion and worry as to what was going to occur. Jason could only snicker incredulously. “She’s not speaking to you! You really think I’m gonna leave her with some devil worshiper like you? Why don’t you do this whole town a favor and fuck off with the circus, fucking basketcase.”

But Eddie was indefatigable to the insults of the perfectly pristine. They’d been propelled since childhood, the last thing to strike his ego would be the dense words of Jason fucking Carver. Eddie had bigger issues at hand.

“That’s really cute, Carver, but she can make her own decisions, and right now,” Eddie locked eyes with a frantic Chrissy Cunningham, “we have something important to talk about.” It was imperative for Chrissy to understand, and the moment her eyes softened, a breath of relief escaped Eddie at her understanding. Your name was oozing importance.

“Are you that fucking insane-”

“Jason,” Chrissy held his hand, “h-he’s right.”

“What?!”

A disgustingly pompous smile eased onto Eddie’s face.

“It’s, uh, it’s for, um, Mrs. Durberry.” Chrissy nodded. “I-I have to, uh, tutor Eddie. We, um, we discussed it yesterday during, uh, lunch. Yeah, during lunch!”

“During lunch.” Eddie smirked with a condescending nod.

Jason huffed through flared nostrils, bending down to look Chrissy right in the eye. Though whispered in secrecy, Eddie rolled his eyes with agitation. “Are you sure about this? Is he just making you do this?”

“No, I promise.” Chrissy assured. “You know I aced chemistry, Mrs. Durberry is just trying to give me an opportunity to get community service hours, and tutoring was the perfect chance. You know it’ll look good for college applications.”

The lie was good enough to believe- not good enough to like, but good enough to believe, and that’s all Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham needed. Jason sat down in defeat, the other players following in unison, as Chrissy gathered her items. “You try anything, Munson, and you're dead.” Jason pointed with a stern finger.

Chrissy had quickly walked by, hoping Eddie would just follow, but of course, he couldn’t leave without the last word. “Right, right,” he slyly smiled, “might wanna put some ice on that, s’looking a little nasty. Who did that to you again?”

“Eddie.” Chrissy chastised.

Now, it was most abundantly clear that Chrissy Cunningham was not an indictment of the American education system, her grades almost as perfect as yours—though no one could come close to your precociousness—yet Eddie had to reevaluate his beliefs when Chrissy was marching vastly farther than anticipated.

“Jesus Christ, Chris, y’know we don’t actually have to intrude Durberry’s class? She fucking hates me.” Eddie giggled. “‘Specially after I used the bunsen burner to light a joint. Kept asking “what’s that smell” for a week.”

Chrissy finally came to a halt after turning into another empty hall. “Sorry.” She sighed. “Just can’t have Jason following us.”

“Y’know, you could probably do better than some control freak who follows you around.” Eddie shrugged.

Chrissy blinked at her shoes in contemplation. Eddie hadn’t expected the words to hit so deeply, a mere critique to the numerous problems he found in Jason Carver, but nonetheless, the cheerleader got extremely quiet, before shaking her head to get back to the point.

“A-anyways, um, what is it that you, uh, wanted?” She rushed out.

“Oh! Right, um, I need you to go to Y/N’s house.” His eyes widened, as his lips tightened between his mouth. He knew it was outrageous to ask.

“W-what?”

“Look, I know that’s a big ask-”

“I already gave you her number and address, why don’t you g-”

“I did!” He heaved. “I fucking did, and I messed up!”

Chrissy slumped,“Again?!”

Eddie winced. Again, again, again, again, again.

“Look, I “made” it to her house, and we got to talk. But her fucking dad caught me in her room, and just went haywire on me. Practically chased me out.” Eddie stressed. “And I-I tried to call her to make sure she was okay, I mean, it’d been a long night and she was crying when I left, and, fuck, Chris, I don’t know what her dad is capable of.” Is he like my dad? “Her line was dead when I tried, like off the hook, and I can’t go over to make sure she’s safe, Chrissy. I have to make sure she’s okay. Can you please just, I don’t know, do this for me, I’m fucking helpless here, I’m…” Helpless to my mother.

Chrissy was taken aback by the pure fear in his eyes as he rambled into oblivion. She knew you. She knew your father. She could only imagine how ballistic he’s gone in the past couple of days knowing what’s happened. “Okay, okay, okay, yeah, um, yeah,” Chrissy took a deep breath with a soft nod to her head, “Yeah, I’ll try to come over- but her dad’s really strict, Eddie. Like extremely, he’s the only reason why she’s so, you know, hard about her grades and stuff, I don’t know if he’d actually let me see her-”

“Please, please, just try.” Chrissy took notice of just how tightly his hands were balling into themselves, knuckles turning a blistering white from the lack of ease he was inflicting upon himself. “She’s your friend, and she doesn’t want to see me, so please, I’m begging you, Chris-”

“I will, Eddie, I will.” She reassured, as she adjusted her knit sweater that suddenly became itchy on her sensitive skin. “I just, um, I’ll probably have to come up with an excuse, a-and skip practice.”

“Look, m’sorry I’m dragging you into this, but I just need to make sure she’s okay, and maybe you can finally have a chance to talk to her about…y’know.” Chrissy shook her head quickly, acknowledging but not trying to think about her implicit endorsement to the status quo at Hawkins High, and how much it had hurt you. And she let it hurt you. “Just- you can’t tell her it was me who sent you, okay? Sh-she wants nothing to do with me, and I’m trying to respect that, I just need to know she’s safe, but she can’t know I sent you. I don’t- I don’t want to make her more upset, Chris. I can’t, I just-”

“Eddie,” Realizing the words were once again coming out a mile a minute, he bit his tongue, letting a bubble of air constrict his lungs with a fervent grip. He wasn’t about to cry. He couldn’t. Not here. Not at school. Not in front of Chrissy fucking Cunningham. Not that she’d judge much, she could already see the sheen of his eyes. “I’ll do it, I’ll check on her. A-and I won’t say it was you.”

His body was finally able to ease at her response, finally letting his airway release all tensions from the stirring anxiety that was still nesting in the crevices of his stomach. “Thank you, thank you so much.” His hands reached for her shoulders with a firm shake of acknowledgement, though his strength had her stumbling on her feet a bit. Not that he noticed. He was still worrying about you. “Just, uh, call me or something, the second she, uh- the second you know she’s okay.” Eddie didn’t want to think of the other possibility. The possibility where your father had laid a hand on you. Or worse. He wouldn’t know what to do. In his experience, silently crying and letting daddy take his frustrations out was the safest option. It was what mommy said to do, so dad wouldn’t do worse. At least ice cream was always promised at the end to make it all go away.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll do that.” She nodded in agreement.

With the confirmation stated, Eddie had already begun walking away with a determined plan in mind to sit in front of the yellow telephone until the shrilling call came through. His mind dead set on you.

“Wait!” Chrissy had to snap him back to reality. “Eddie, I don’t have your phone number.” She lightheartedly scoffed.

Chrissy Cunningham began to worry. Yes, about you. She was ready to march her way past your father in order to make sure you were okay, and to pour her heart out on a well needed apology just so you could understand how sorry she was. Even if you didn’t accept it. But she was also worried about herself. Never in a million years did she expect Eddie Munson, of all people, to show her what true feelings were. He hadn’t even talked to you for more than a week, and he was bending over backwards to ensure all his wrongs were corrected for your safety and comfort. Jason Carvered loved her, she knew it, but the subtle things were becoming pronounced. Do you really think you should be wearing that? My parents will be there. Just come to the party, I’ll look bad if my girlfriend’s not there. When she comes back, I don’t want you hanging around Y/N anymore. She’s bad news and betrayed your friendship by fucking around with that trailer trash. Don’t make yourself look bad by being friends with her.

“Shit, yeah, sorry, my, uh, my brains all over the place.” He crazily signaled with a swing of his hand. Unlike yesterday, Chrissy’s pink pen was tainting a small torn sheet of notebook paper rather than skin, as risking the chance of Jason Carver seeing Eddie Munson’s phone number written on her hand would prompt another outburst of fury between the boys. So as Eddie reiterated the numbers to his home, Chrissy copied with intent.

Intent to see you. Intent to apologize. Intent to inform Eddie.

“Okay, I’ll call you as soon as I leave her place.” Chrissy assured, as the queasiness in Eddie had simmered but surely hadn’t left. He knew as soon as he got home, the consternation would eat him unalive.

Eddie nodded his head. “Yeah, thanks again, seriously, I’ll owe you whatever.” He sighed, before his brows perked. “Oh! I can give a twenty percent discount!” He didn’t even have to specify.

Chrissy Cunningham didn’t smoke. But at least he was trying.

“Uh, s-sure, Eddie.” She simply agreed, and it was able to give him a satisfied smile. “Anyways, yeah, I’ll talk to you later. Just try not to worry too much, I’m sure she’s okay.” She inspirited.

“Okay, yeah, as soon as you can.” Eddie sighed. “I’ll leave you to it, I’m gonna go throw up or something.”

Luckily, Eddie Munson didn’t vomit in the filthy stall that is the boys’ bathroom at Hawkins High, though Chrissy Cunningham sure felt like she was about to hurl today’s lunch and breakfast standing at the doorstep of your home. Her toes tensed in the comfort of her sneakers, hearing the incoming steps of your father approaching the door. Hands gripping the straps of her backpack, she was ready- well, as ready as one can be about to face their best friend’s—did she even have a right to call you that—daunting father.

The door swung. “Hi, Mr. Y/L/N!” Smile, a bright smile and wave from Chrissy Cunningham was sure enough to get anyone to be polite. But his face plastered the same dead expression he’s had for the last four years Chrissy had known him. No smile. No squint of the eyes. Unemotional stoicism.

“Hi, Chrissy.” Robots had more pep in their voices. “Sorry, but Y/N is grounded, for quite an extensive period actually, so she’s not allowed visitors. Go home.” He began to close the door, but Chrissy’s manicured hand abruptly stopped the closure.

“Wait!” She immediately reeled back, seeing the disrespecting look take over his face. “Sorry, sir, I-I’m not here to hang out, it’s just, uh, I brought all the school work Y/N’s missed. You know, from her suspension?” She spoke sheepishly. “A-and well, we don’t want her falling behind, sir.” A nervous chuckle accompanied her faux parent voice. “In fact, Mrs. Durberry and I actually discussed tutoring, so, you know, Y/N is back on track by the time of her return.”

It was in regards to your grades, your father’s favorite. Chrissy Cunningham was a genius.

“Really?” He questioned quizzically.

“Yeah!” Chrissy bounced on the balls of her feet with a firm pat to her backpack. “I’ve got all her work right here. She’s free to turn it in when she gets back, and you know, she’s firmly secured that valedictorian spot, so there’s no need to worry.” She smiled, and of course, of course, that’s all he cared about in the wake of your suspension.

So easily had Chrissy been let into your home. She wondered what she would say to you, as she followed behind your father to your room. It was strange. Your home had always been a cold one, but your laughter and the endless sleepless sleepovers had the ability to bring warmth to such a colorless environment. But all that suffocated her was hostility. Long gone were the memories of an innocent friendship between the two girls. Another factor to consider was the mere fact that your father was guiding Chrissy. She’d been over to your house for years, the layout didn’t suddenly change over a couple days, and a nervous thump began upsetting Chrissy’s heart. And she found out why.

“Had to lock her up.” He uttered with no shame, as he pulled out a glowing key from his pocket. Haphazardly bolted on your door was a new lock, evidently cheaply and hastily done, as the lock resembled the numerous ones used for the lockers at Hawkins High, and the chipped paint and exposed wood could only insinuate the fury in which this job was done in. Your door lock, one onced used when you and Chrissy discussed the boys you thought were cutest at school in your pink pajamas, was now accompanied by a prison lock keeping you captive in your bedroom. “Should've seen the trash she was bringing in.” He muttered mostly to himself. Chrissy didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak. Too disturbed for her own wellbeing. “Do me a favor, kid,” he unlocked the door, “knock some sense into that disgrace.”

He walked away without a care.

The door creaked open, and Chrissy had taken a deep breath. Stepping inside, with a soft click of the door behind her, her eyes landed on the still figure on your bed. Turned away and engaging at the neverending nothingness of everything, you cocooned yourself in your blanket, like a hurt child. Because you merely were one. Chrissy looked away, inching tiny steps closer. Disheveled would be an understatement to the usual cleanliness of your room. Knick-knacks and personal items were thrown about, cracked, and broken, and damaged beyond the actions of someone who was depressed. No, this was the destruction of deep rooted anger.

No expecting the company, you simply screwed your eyes closed with the awaiting words of hatred you thought would be coming from your father at any second. But it didn’t. Only the familiar softness of Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend. “Y/N…?”

You immediately jumped at the sound, meeting your reddening, wet eyes with Chrissy’s round, worried blue ones. “Chrissy…”

The occupying distrust you had for her was incomparable to the pain of what had occurred today. Yes, she hurt you. Yes, you lost your one true friend. But you needed her. And your arms opened like the broken child reaching out for help, and she immediately embraced you on your bed. Your bed, where you spent countless times giving each other at-home mani and pedis, even though your allowances provided enough for professional services, but this was more fun. Your bed, where Chrissy once vented about the first fight she ever had with Jason Carver, because he disregarded her at a party to do a keg stand—yes, it was trivial, but they were sixteen at the time. And your bed, where you both shared the vulnerability of losing a mother, either physically or emotionally, through sobbing tears and tight hugs, but none of that mattered because you were best friends and had each other. Forever.

“Are you okay?” Her vision appeared blurry under the disorientating state of water welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything.” Chrissy stroked your hair. You couldn’t muster a word to respond with, merely silently crying into the junction of her neck, where she smelled of spring flowers. You’d picked out that perfume for her. Her seventeenth birthday. “I should’ve stuck up for you, I-I should’ve told everyone to stop, I’m so sorry I didn’t.”

Her apology suddenly revealed why you lost trust in her in the first place. Urgently pulling back from the hug far quicker than Chrissy would have liked, you brought your knees to your chest, letting your face find solace on the tiny space rather than her embrace.

“What are you doing here, Chris?” You mumbled so quiet, she was barely able to register it from the chirping birds outside.

“I came to apologize to you.” At least she wasn’t drunk. “I- Y/N everything I did to you was awful.” Her plucked brows furrowed with shame and remorse. You carefully picked up your head, as she gently held knee. “When everyone started saying stuff about you, I was so confused, and before I could even question it, Jason had me promise to not be around you, and I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to excuse what I did, I just should have known better, and I needed to apologize to you.”

Your eyes had closed in relief. You were beyond the trenches of exhaustion, everything was so sore from the exertion of crying, that the simple apology brought the grand relief you’d been yearning for. “I-I think I need space away from Jason.” That had your eyes snapping open. Jason and Chrissy, in love since the tenth grade, becoming the embodiment of young love in Hawkins. Their parents had practically set up a future in which both attended the same university as young adults, and married each other with the expectation of kids by the age of twenty-five.

“I don’t like who he is as a person.” She confessed with a wobbly lip. “ I know he loves me, but I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

You took her back into a loving hug, where she fell limp in your arms, as her tears stained your clothes. Though muffled you spoke with a small whine, “You sound like Eddie.” Which had her giggling through tears.

She had slowly pulled away, smiling at the small curve of your lips that was brightening your face. She wiped your tears, and caressed the hairs out of your face. “Yeah, he’s kinda my new friend now.” She shrugged. “Even offered me a discount to his… business.”

You laughed with a roll to your eyes. “Quite the entrepreneur he is.” She snickered in agreement. “But yeah, I could tell when he came to my house yesterday.”

“Oh, god.” Chrissy plopped back on your bed. “How did you even figure out it was me, you’re so smart?”

You giggled, joining her, as you stared up at the ceiling. “Seeing someone like Eddie Munson show up with pretty pink writing on him doesn’t seem like something that occurs innately in nature. Figured you had something to do with it.”

“I’m sorry for that, too.” She turned to look at you. “I shouldn’t have given him that information without asking you. He just really wanted to apologize to you, too, and it seemed like the right thing to do. What even happened?” She sat up to get serious.

You couldn’t fathom retelling the occurrence of what happened, so you merely opted for the safest choice, and nodded your head in silence. “He did apologize, just wish he would have done it differently.” You sighed. “And, uh, my dad-” Your throat had automatically constricted at the simple mention of him, eyes tightening with the hopes of suppressing the whirlwind of tears that were about to flood your face. “Chrissy, he wouldn’t stop yelling.” You began bawling, as she pulled you up to wrap her arms around your shrinking body. “H-he kept screaming a-and shouting, then he just- he just started throwing things-” Chrissy could only rock you body, gently and softly, letting your tears hit her shoulder with all might. “I was so scared.”

The dreaded question. “Did- did he hit you?” Chrissy spoke into your hair, terrified of how you might answer. But luckily, the tiniest bit of luck, you had shook your head no, and she let out a deep breath. But the harsh slap of reality was that your father had still severely crossed a line that put you in an unsafe environment. And you were petrified.

“He’s not letting me leave my room.” You whispered through sniffles.

“Did he take your phone, Edd-” Chrissy contemplated for a second, before she spoke extremely softly. “Eddie said you didn’t pick up when he tried to call you after what happened.”

“He tried to call me?”

“Just to make sure you were okay.” She emphasized. “He said he’s trying to respect your wishes of wanting space, but after what happened, he just needed to know you were safe… that’s why- that’s why I’m here.” Your brows furrowed and you immediately sat up. “I’d been wanting to apologize to you, and Eddie had been dying to make sure you were okay, so he asked me to come check on you, and so I could finally say sorry to you. He- Y/N, he really cares about you. We both do.”

This was the bit of progress you were wanting to see. To know that the Eddie Munson you met Friday afternoon, the one who coward away at the mere idea of feelings and compassion, the one who uttered the vile words that stabbed right through you, the one who shouted in defense because he was hurt, that that wasn’t him. It wasn’t who he wanted to be. It wasn’t who he truly was. But a recovery from trauma was not a linear progression, and last night you were able to understand the fluctuations of Eddie Munson, the reason why he berated and hurt, the reason why he comforted and protected, the reason why he wailed and sobbed.

“Chrissy, when’s the next time you’re gonna see him?” You cleared your face from staining tears.

“I’ll see him at school tomorrow, but he asked me to call him to make sure you were safe first.”

You nodded. “I, uh- can you actually ask him something for me?”

That one clunking noise Eddie had once been so happy to hear? Yeah, he’s returned back to detesting it, as he felt it drew so much attention to the all too quiet streets of Pinecrest Acres. He made the conscience—and sober—decision to park behind the gray De Tomaso Pantera—fighting the urge to just pop the hood and look at the beauty inside—that resided two houses down from yours. It gave him enough coverage away from any view of your father. Eddie was terrified. Much to his dismay, Chrissy had been fairly vague over the phone when she rang him at 5:59 p.m exactly. Luckily by then, a buddy of Wayne’s had taken him out to an early dinner before their shift at the plant, so his uncle missed out on the Olympic-worthy run Eddie had made to the phone the second it began ringing. And Chrissy had spoken. A lot. But so little at the same time. He was happy to hear you guys made up. Truly he was. But Chrissy had carried on for a five minute tangent about how gladly you accepted her back into your life again. Eddie Munson was honestly jealous. Though she had mentioned how you specified wanting time away from her, too, maybe meeting up to speak that coming Monday at school when your suspension would be over. Eddie had wondered if you would speak to him then, too. But he didn’t have to wonder much longer. After he so kindly told the cheerleader to get to the point, the real point he wanted to hear, she had assured him that you were okay. Physically, at least. Eddie had dropped to his kitchen chair with a breath of relief that no one had touched you. But then Chrissy kept speaking. She wants to see you. Tonight. That had Eddie trajecting back up from his seat. But his questions had disappointingly gone unanswered. No details. No explanation. No reasoning. Just show up, Eddie. At midnight. At her window. And not drunk. Chrissy had never gotten the full story as to what went down between you and Eddie, so that part desperately confused and intrigued the girl, but she didn’t push any further. Eddie, though, had cringed in disgust at himself because he knew.

An owl had hooted in the distance as he followed the tracks his beloved, dying van had made on your green lawn. Once again, Eddie had found himself in the same position as last night, cracking his neck and rolling his limbs for the climb of a lifetime. If it was somehow possible, he felt he was quivering more than when he was three beers down and no dinner. Yes, he was sober, but his heart could stop beating at the neverending questions his mind was bombarding against himself. Were you mad because he sent Chrissy over? Surely you couldn’t be, she would have said so. But you could also be really fucking pissed. The same type of anger that caught him off guard when his father swung on his little face when Eddie thought they were having a good time.

But he couldn’t rely on heavy thoughts as such. He just needed to get to you. Passed the trellis, over the trimming, onto the roof. Quiet as Eddie Munson could be. He couldn’t really be quiet, but he tried for you. Crouching his way to your window, he sucked in a deep breath before he ever so gently tapped on your window. He was eyeing his reflection, wondering who the hell he had become. The one definitive figure he didn’t want to become: his father. A relentless pessimist, hatred against the world, bruteness to show off, and the inability to take accountability for the hurt they cause, because they were hurt first, right?

But then your curtains opened, and there you were. You.

You, who’d included his friends when no one wanted them. You, who made him smile despite his hesitations of getting hurt. You, who took the fall for everything. You, who gave Eddie Munson a chance.

You lifted your window open. “Hi.”

Eddie could cry right then and there. His shaky trembling hands slowly offered themselves to you, and you peered down, gently laying yours in his, where your warmth dissipated his coldness. He sighed with a loving grasp. “Y-you’re okay? He didn’t- did he touch you?”

Eddie had heard it from Chrissy, but hearing your small “no” was more comforting than a third-party person.

“Why, um, why did you need to see me?” He softly cleared his throat.

“I want to talk, b-but not here.” Eddie nodded ardently at your request. “Just somewhere far.”

Somewhere far, he could give that to you.

Helping you out of your window, you followed Eddie’s led to the edge of your roof, where you traced the dying height from your second story room to the hard, hard, ground. “Don’t be scared.” He soothingly smiled. “Remember, I made the climb drunk.”

You shook your head in disappointment, but he saw that small, beautiful smile peak through your lips. “Just, um, please don’t let me fall.” Your stomach sunk at the eerie possibility.

But Eddie was there, and he let you know with a secure squeeze to your joint hands. “Never.”

You watched him descend. Off of the roof. Over the trimming. Down the trellis. He made it look so easy, as if he actively partook in the illegal activity of breaking and entering. Eddie would never admit it, not now at least, but for good reason he had done it once. Once. Mr. Godly had a cat that fifteen-year-old Eddie once saw the old man kick. Safe to say, Cronkers now resides in the makeshift cat house of cardboard, wood, and a childhood blanket behind the Munson’s residence. Her favorite is Wayne’s Monday meatloaf.

He encouraged you down delicately. Instructing you to take small movements, find your steps, and he’ll be right there. He’d always be there. When your Converse hit the holes of the trellis, his hands faintly found your waist, where you trusted him to carry you down the last couple abrasive steps onto your crushed garden. Feet safely on the ground, you gazed up at his staggering height and met his concerned eyes. You merely nodded before he could get the words out, are you okay?

“Your car?” You interrupted his staring. But in his defense, your face was illuminated mesmerizingly in the moonlight of the dark sky.

“Right, right.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He muttered in embarrassment, as he quickly walked away before you could see his flushing cheeks. As if you hadn’t already witnessed him ugly cry drunk in your bedroom.

You walked the quiet trip to his van, where he graciously opened the door for you. You didn’t know at the time, but the couple yards it took to get to his car, he’d been battling himself whether or not that’d be the right move to try. He’d never opened the door for anyone. But your small “thank you” that flashed his way had him praising to the gods he didn’t even believe in that he was a genius.

His car smelled strongly like cigarettes and weed. It honestly hurt your head, but you hadn’t expected anything less from Eddie. It made you giggle to yourself. The usual was everywhere; littered receipts and wrappers crumbled into the door compartments, numerous scented trees hanging from the rear view mirror, which you could only assume had been Eddie’s attempt to mask the nicotine and marajuana, and of course, an array of tapes thrown upon the floor at your feet, you could vividly imagine Eddie getting tired of a tape and carelessly getting rid of it. But then there was something else.

Eddie appeared in the front seat. “You ready?” He heaved.

“Yeah, but, um, why do you have these?”

“Ice cream?” He questioned more than answered. Yes, ice cream sitting in the tight space of his cupholders, two cartons with a spoon for each. “Um, well, I figured it’d be nice to, uh, have. I always, uh, liked having it, I guess. Always made me feel slightly better as a kid. It’s vanilla and chocolate. You can take whichever.” You eyed him incredulously, he eyed you worriedly. “Do you not like either of those flavors? I know I went basic, but I thought they were safe choices. I can get you whatever. Strawberry, cookies n’ cream, mint?” He grimaced, as though it was a deal breaker but he’d look right past it.

You giggled at him. “No, Eddie, it’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.” You shyly smiled.

“Okay, good.” He smiled, with a whistle of relievement. “So, it’ll make you feel better?”

Lovers Lake had been the destination of choice for Eddie. It was quiet and calming. The car ride had been, too. Eddie had suggested some music, but was adamant about his disdain for the radio, though you weren’t necessarily in the mood to have the voices of Megadeth screaming at you this late at night. Eddie had begrudgingly agreed. So it was quiet. He was itching to ask you why you wanted to talk, though that only seemed appropriate whenever you would arrive. You had reached over and played with the mini bobble head figure of Garfield that was nestled against his van’s windshield. You said it was cute. He blushed. Then proceeded to nervously ramble about how Uncle Wayne had one of Odie in his work truck. You didn’t know Uncle Wayne, but he spoke about him like you knew every detail about Wayne already. The lake had been abandoned and lonely upon arrival. The lights to Rick Lipton’s lake house had been shut off for nearly a year now after his arrest. Eddie had only agreed and smiled when you mentioned how an old, lovely couple probably lived there and sat out by the lake to watch the sunset. Sure, something like that. He’d let you have your fantasy. The way the idea lit up your face and eased your tension, he wasn’t about to ruin that.

“We can, um, head to the back.” He offered, to which you agreed.

In truth, the bundle of blankets and pillows in the back of his van didn’t paint him out to be the greatest of all people, but he quickly assured that he frequently takes nap in the comfort of his van when he doesn’t have the energy for Mrs. O’Donnell’s voice. Specifically adding a yapping gesture with his hand to emphasize. So there you were. Sitting in the back, doors open to let in the midnight breeze, as you looked out to the glistening waters. You’d settled on vanilla after you noticed the tighter grip Eddie’s hand had clutched around the chocolate flavor, and surely, a blooming smile erupted on his face when he got to secure his preferred flavor of dessert.

“So, um-”

“I just wanted to speak to you.” You confided. “You know, when we’re not yelling, crying, or drunk,” you giggled at his wincing face, “as we have been doing for the past couple of days.”

“M’a fucking mess, I’m sorry.”

“So am I, Eddie-”

“No, you’re not.” He firmly attested. “You were absolutely perfect before I came into your life and fucked everything up.”

You teased, “You're saying I’m not perfect now?” Your mouth dropped in a dramatic gasp that had him smiling.

“No! No! I’m not saying that at all, you are perfect now, you’ll be perfect for the rest of your life and you won’t even have to try.” He sheepishly grinned, filling his mouth with a big spoonful to bite back the smile.

“Hate to break it to you, Eddie, but I’ve been far from perfect even before I met you. I wish you would see that. It’s doing more harm than good.” You spoke sincerely. “I don’t like you placing me into a bubble, Eddie, especially when you’ve hated the people who’ve done it to you. But I never have.”

His head dropped with a nod. “You’re right.” He accounted. “I’ve had the bullshit done to me for years, I thought it’d finally make me feel good to do it to someone like you. And it was fucking gross of me, because you’re right, you’ve never done anything to me. Actually, that night you took our photo, that was quite literally the nicest anyone has ever treated me- us. And, fuck me, did I like the shit out of you.”

You laughed at his shy revelation. “You have such a romantic way with your words, Eddie Munson.” You joked.

“Sorry.” He covered his mouth so kidlike. “But, uh, yeah I obviously liked you, and well, something in me was just fighting me to stay away. Or get away, more than anything. Because, um, it’d… it’d really fucking hurt if you didn’t like me back.” He couldn’t meet your eyes, speaking with pure shame as to who he was as a person. “And, well, mission fucking accomplished, I, sorta, kinda went above and beyond with that logic.”

“You think?” You smiled.

“It was so stupid of me.” He regrettably sighed. “Because-because I thought- you were just so nice to me. Ready to be my friend and everything, that I knew, I fucking knew my feelings would get too much for me and the realizations that I couldn’t be with you fucking scared me.” His voice had significantly softened to ease the burning ache in his throat. “A-and I’m such a shit excuse of a person that I fucking hurt you when you didn’t deserve it.”

“You are not that, Eddie, don’t say that-”

“But I am, Y/N, I’m so fucking terrible. I-I’m, fuck- I really fucking hate my dad.” Your brows creased at the sudden change of topics. “He was an awful person, he- he would-” The crying began. “Fuck,” he wiped his tears completely embarrassed, “He would just do terrible things to me and my mom, and I fucking said- I fucking said I wouldn’t be like him, be like her- she just fucking took that shit, Y/N, she said it was for the best.” You held his hand, his ice cream long forgotten and pushed to the side. “I just don’t want to be like him- them. M’tryin’ so fucking hard that it fucking backfired. M’such a terrible person, and I’m so sorry.”

You wished this conversation wasn’t full of tears, but you realized how inevitable that idea was. You and Eddie Munson were hurting and releasing. Crying was necessary.

“You are not a terrible person, Eddie.” He had to hear, loud and clear. You rested your head on his shoulder, where his head dropped upon yours. “Terrible people don’t sit and wonder if they’re terrible. And the fact that you care about how you are as a person shows it.” You caressed the back of his hand. “You are a worthwhile person, Eddie. I can so clearly see it.”

“I’m really fucking sorry for everything I’ve done to you, Y/N.” He wiped the incoming snot from his nose with his denim sleeve. “I-I need you to know that everything I did was out of fucking stupidity.” He huffed. “What I called you, those names, that was fucking disgusting, and I don’t believe that about you at all. I never have.”

“I’m sorry for what I said about you, too-”

“Don’t you fucking dare say you’re sorry for telling the truth.” He deeply laughed through his sniffles, voice deeper from the being nasally stuffed.

You smiled back guilty. “No, I am! What I said was really mean, too.”

“Absolutely not, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “What was it, ‘a sulking asshole too pathetic to deal with their problems?’ You hit it right on the nail, princess.”

“Well,” you giggled, “even if you won't let me apologize, I need you to know that I still feel bad. Slightly.”

“Fair enough.” He grinned. “But I do need to apologize, and I need you to know that I’m truly sorry, Y/N. For everything. For what I said. For what I did. For making you feel horrible and scared. And for just putting you through all that. You didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“I know.” You whispered. “And if it’s any consolation to you, Eddie, I also hate my dad.”

“Oh, my god.” Eddie clutched his heart. “He really put a fucking number on me, fuck me.” He groaned, turning to face you. “Please, please, please tell me if he does something. I won’t be able to fucking live my life not knowing.”

Your lips tucked tightly within themselves, and with a soft nod you assured him you would.

You spoke. You both spoke for a while. The hours had passed unknowingly until both tubs of ice cream were empty by 3:33 a.m. Tears and laughter had flooded the back of the van, and you felt like you’d been his friends with him since childhood. He couldn’t fathom the way he treated you, when speaking to you floated him into another dimension of peace and acceptance. Something he hadn’t felt in the entirety of his life. But when you caught a glimpse of the repeating digits on his watch, your heart panicked and you urged him to take you home, which he suddenly complied. This time, though, Megadeth was gladly played, and to say you were shocked would be quite an understatement. Eddie had belted a laugh at your abrupt introduction to metal, finding your this-is-weird-but-I-don’t-want-you-to-think-I’m-judging-you face as the cutest thing ever. And sooner than he liked, he pulled up behind the De Tomaso Pantera. Your attempt to say goodbye fell short, though, when he shot down your idea to walk home alone.

“Really, Eddie, go home, it’s late.” You huffed, when you reached your house.

“I will, I will,” He snickered with defensive hands. “Just, uh, th-thank you so much for, um- well, being so understanding even after all that I did. I just- you really are the best, Y/N.” He ranked his hands over his face in hopes of concealing the ever growing smile on his face.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You giggled at his flustered state. “You’re quite incredible yourself.”

“Do, um, where does this… leave us?”

“I still want space, Eddie.” You spoke honestly, to which he concurred. “Until we’re okay.”

“Until we’re okay.” He sighed.

Eddie had managed to take advantage of the four hours of sleep left until school began. There was no sleeping past his alarm clock, no rush to get dressed, no giving up when lateness was inevitable. He’d shown up, showered and full with a bowl of cereal that went a long way, as he approached Ms. Kelly’s office. It was nerve wracking. He’d never considered this to be a good idea, in fact, following his father’s word, therapy was a pussy excuse for the delusional to waste money on. But those were the words that held him captive from the potential he so well deserved to reach. Turning from her filing cabinet, Ms. Kelly had caught sight of his timid figure standing at the door.

“Eddie.” She hadn’t been unfamiliar with his being, she’d actually been the one to break it to him the last two times that he was in for another year at prison Hawkins High. “How can I help you?”

He sauntered his way into her office, taking a seat with a gruff. It was evident his persona to seem calm, cool, and collected was falling through the cracks, as his finger spun the numerous rings on his fingers. “I, uh, I was wondering if it’d be cool to, um, just talk?”

“Absolutely.” Ms. Kelly dreamed of the day Eddie Munson would enter her office with good intentions. “Anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “No.” He sighed. “Just got a lot pent up inside, I guess.”

“Well, the floor is yours, Eddie.” She smiled. “Talk as much as you need.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | Unfortunately, my tag list for this series has gotten too long, so I will not be adhering to any further requests to be included. I'm so terribly sorry, but the amount of tags has beyond reached its limit, and I think it's best to stop. I hope it's understandable. Nonetheless, thank you all for your kind support, I hope you guys continue to enjoy the series, and if you ever have any ideas as to what you'd like to see, I'd love to know!

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#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #the yearbook: club pictures

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cowboydisaster · 4 months

Note

For the Christmas countdown!

Dutch sends reader and Arthur to find the perfect Christmas tree for camp. Reader says she knows a place near Colter. But they get lost, and what’s that? One bed? Needing to share body warmth? What ever could go wrong 😈😈 as smutty as you find comfortable to write behe

* ˚ ✦ Ceasefire * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 2.8k a/n: One bed trope is elite. love this prompt. Arthur is a little toxic in this one ngl. probably med. honor. I aint gonna lie gang, this is fucking FILTH. warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, dubcon

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: FOUR days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

Arthur kicks the old door in, nearly crumbling the rotten thing before sticking his lantern into the worn down cabin. No words are exchanged as he ushers you though the threshold, slamming the door behind you both.

The storm outside is brutal, battering the sides of the cabin, sounding like bullets pelting the walls. Hail and snow beat down on the roof, carried by whipping, whistling winds. Even in your wool coat, your limbs feel like ice, your fingers and toes numb.

The cabin you’re entering is old and creaky. The wind seems to whisper through the walls eerily, letting cold air soak through the cracks and wrap around you. You shiver, walking through the main room, pushing open a squealing door to reveal one small bedroom with one tiny bed. You nod, figuring as much. It’s the only door in the house, so you avert your attention back towards Arthur, knelt before the fireplace. He's digging through the wood by the mantle, grunting and sighing angrily to himself. A tense silence continues between you and Arthur– it hangs in the air like static electricity, and you’re just waiting for it to strike.

“Arthur, I'm sorry.” You whisper, arms pulling your coat tighter around yourself.

“Kinda late for apologizin’, considerin’ our circumstances, dont’cha think?” Arthur growls, finding a few pieces of dry wood and tossing them into the wood keeper in the fireplace.

“I knew where I was goin.” You argue coldly, anger rising up the back of your neck, making the hair stand. Arthur shakes his head, avoiding your eye contact as he lights a kindle.

“Oh, you did, did you? Then you mind tellin’ me why in the hell we’re stranded in the middle of god-knows-where, then? N’ on Christmas Eve? Dutch sent us to get a goddamn tree and thanks to you, we ain't even got one.” Arthur growls, voice finally rising, even though he’s been trying to keep his composure since you admitted you were lost.

“I– Well you got me all turned around when you took us to the trapper!” You yell, pointing your finger at him angrily, “I had us on the way and then you just had to take us off on some wild fuckin’ goose chase. What even was so important that we had to take an hour-long detour anyway?! How are you gonna blame me when you had to drag me across the state just to what?! Sell a fuckin’ pelt? Make some more money for old Dutch?”

“No!” Arthur roars, standing up from his position on the floor. His anger flares up at your ignorance, “I was savin’ up money to buy your christmas gift—to buy you that goddamn saddle you wanted!!” Arthur’s voice reaches a shockingly loud timbre, and your ears ring. You step back, shocked and mortified by your assumption. Words fail you, and you stutter over them, tears already forming in your eyes at what you’ve done.

“Arthur…” You say, tears forming in your eyes as he brushes past you, towards the door, “Arthur, you can’t go out in that storm.” You protest, but he’s already putting his gloves back on, placing his hat on his head.

“Arthur, I'm sorry. Please don’t go out in the storm.” You plead as he pushes the door open.

“I need some damn air.” He hisses, slamming the door back shut in your face.

Your hand covers your mouth, silencing sobs as you watch him leave from the window. You hear Sugar’s cries as Arthur leads Jasper out of the small stable, and you watch as the gray horse carries Arthur out the main drag, his coat blending in with the downpour of snow and ice.

— — —

You roll onto your side, shivering on the single cot. There’s no blankets, so you do your best to keep warm by curling in on yourself and blowing warm air into your hands, down your coat sleeves. Cold tears slip down your face, your worry growing tenfold with every minute that Arthur doesn’t return. If he’s not back within the hour, you’ll go out into the storm to find him.

You glance at the pocket watch that is clutched between your numb fingers, signaling that he’s been gone for an hour and a half. Your heart seizes in your chest. The wind causes the windows to shake and clamber, and every once in a while, you perk up– hoping it’s Arthur coming back to you. But it never is.

A miserable whimper leaves your lips, and you sit up, cross legged on the bed to steal another glance at your watch. The fireplace gives off just enough light to see, and you push yourself up from the bed to start pulling your boots on. You’ll be damned before you let something happen to Arthur out there, not when it's your fault he’s out there in the first place.

Before you can get your boot on, the door swings open loudly. Arthur steps in, shoving the door shut behind him, stripping his big blue coat off and abandoning it on the floor. You let out a breath of relief, tossing your boots aside to run to him.

“Baby- I’m so sorry for hollerin’ at you. I shouldn’t have left ya here.” Arthur rambles, feeling like a fucking fool. You care none, too relieved to see him here. He holds his arm open, catching you just as you run into them, tears of relief flooding your face.

“Oh, I was so worried, Arthur.” You exhale, crumbling against him.. Lucky for you, he’s always been good at piecing you back together.

“Christ, darlin’, you’re freezin’.” Arthur points out, readjusting and scooping you up into his arms. You lie your head against his chest, arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him, as he carries you back into the bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have blamed you.” Your voice cracks.

“Don’t matter, now. Now, I just gotta take care of you.” Arthur whispers, and you sigh with relief. He carries you into the bedroom, tenderly placing you down on the bed.

“Lets get your clothes off. They’re wet, gonna get you sick.” Arthur says, worry deep in his eyes as he begins to undress you. He tenderly peels away each layer of clothing, hanging them over the fireplace mantle to dry. Once you’re bared before him, shivering, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders. It’s warm and dry, and it smells like oak and his favorite brand of expensive cigarettes. You inhale the scent deeply.

“Be warmer if I take mine off, too.” He whispers matter of factly, pulling off his own layers, sliding next to you in the bed.

Arthur winces as you cling to him on the bed. Your limbs are like ice against his skin, and he pulls your back to his chest. His arm wraps around your middle, keeping you anchored to him tightly. Your body fits against Arthur’s so perfectly. Like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

A few moments pass by, with Arthur running his fingers over your hip, rubbing his hand down your thigh, waiting for the skin to warm up.

“Any better?” He asks eventually, voice hoarse, waiting for the answer he knows won’t come. You nod your head, but your teeth chatter. You're shaking like a leaf against him.

“Ya trust me?” Arthur asks. Of course, you nod your head. You trust him with your life, “I’ll warm you up.” He whispers.

You shiver, this time not from the temperature as Arthur slides the jacket down over your shoulder blade. He runs his lips across your shoulder, pressing kisses in a line. His lips distract you from his wandering hand, fingertips trailing down your stomach.

You breathe shakily in anticipation as his fingers reach your throbbing cunt. His skin is hot where yours is cold, adding an extra layer of sensitivity. You flinch when his thick finger bumps your sensitive clit.

“Too much?” Arthur whispers between kisses, his hand drawing away from your skin. You nod.

“We got all the time in the world. Jus’ gotta warm you up proper.” Arthur explains. He repositions himself between your legs, pushing your knees up by your ears, spreading you wide for himself.

“Can’t wait to taste you.” Arthur grumbles, pushing your thighs back even more. You grip the sheets in anticipation as he licks the length of your cunt, coating his tongue in your juices, flicking your sensitive bud with his tongue.

Your stomach seizes, and you whimper.

“Yeah, how’s that? Talk to me, darlin’.” Arthur instructs, his nose rubbing against your clit, his tongue sinking into your heat. Arthur’s beard is tickling your thighs, and his fingertips are teasing along your entrance.

“S’good, Arthur.” You exhale loudly. Your body is already warming up. Your skin is flush with want as he teases you. Arthur’s tongue circles back up to your clitoris, flicking over the bud in languid swipes. You taste so fucking good, he could keep you spread like this forever and never get enough. You would have no qualms with that, happily holding his head between your thighs for the rest of eternity.

He wants nothing more than to keep you spread open like this. To taste you, kiss you. To hear you whimpering and calling his name. He wants to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you, until you’re sleepy and content and sore. He wants to press his cock into you over and over again, to roll his hips into you, stretch you out, fill you up. He wants to watch his cum leak out of you, just to fuck it back inside.

Arthur’s cock twitches, and he groans, slipping two of his fingers into your aching entrance. Feeling how slick they become when he pulls them out, when he pushes them back in, curling them to hit that spot that makes you sing.

“Arthur–” You moan, back arching off the bed. He wraps his free hand over your stomach, pushing you back down to the mattress, “So good. I– Oh, so fuckin’ good, Arthur.”

He smirks, tongue still flicking over your pink, swollen clit. Sucking it between his lips, grazing it with his teeth. It’s more than you can take.

His fingers curl up, squelching as they rock your own juices back into you, brushing up against your fleshy g-spot, teasing it.

“I-” You gasp, “I’m close, Arthur. I- I can’t it’s too much! Too-” You moan, tears of pleasure slipping down your cheek.

And like the pull of a silk ribbon, he's pulling you undone. You're cumming on his fingers, squeezing them within your tight walls. Your clit is seizing against his tongue as you cry out his name, hands digging into his hair, pushing him further against you. You rock your hips against his face, thighs squeezing his ears. Juices gush around his fingers as he works you through your orgasm. Euphoria wracks your brain, picking you up and carrying you to another plane of existence.

When you come down from it, you’re putty in his arms. Limp.

“Easy, baby. Y’okay?” Arthur asks, hand easing up your waist, purposefully avoiding the spots where you’ll be the most sensitive right now. You nod, hands reaching up to his jaw, gripping him and pulling him down towards you.

“Wanna kiss you.” You manage to murmur, soft as silk before his lips are meeting yours.

You can taste yourself dripping from his tongue. Can feel the sticky wetness on his beard as you pull him impossibly closer. His tongue slips into your mouth, infiltrating your senses with the sweet taste of your arousal.

Goosebumps break out across your stomach as Arthur’s knuckles trail up your waist, his thumb tickling a small circle around your stiff, sensitive nipple. It sends pleasure in shockwaves down through you, and you arch your back, pushing your stomach up against his chest. The hair on his chest teases your flushed skin, adding to the pleasure of it all.

“So goddamn beautiful.” Arthur mumbles, pulling away just to get the words out before he’s against your lips again, devouring you.

“Think you can take me now, darlin?” Arthur whispers, lips moving to your jaw, pressing loud kisses along the sharp line. You hesitate. He’s so big. It takes a lot of preparation.

He senses your worry, and then he’s there, reassuring you, praising you, making you feel so good.

“You can take me.” A kiss to your neck, “You do so good, so perfect. You can take it. My good girl.” Arthur mumbles against your skin, hand slipping between your legs, pushing your thighs apart. His fingers slip back into your cunt, first two, then three. You whimper, hands digging into Arthur’s shoulders.

“See? Takin’ my fingers as ya are. My good girl, aint’cha?”

You nod your head, teeth sunk into your bottom lip, “Yes, yes.” You whisper, breathing shakily.

Arthur positions himself over you, slipping his fingers away, and you gasp at the feeling of his thick tip sliding up and down your lower lips. He traces his swollen, rosy tip across your overstimulated clitoris, and your nails dig into his shoulders, a pulse of pleasure rippling up your spine, sending waves down through your bones.

You pay no mind to the weather, to the temperature. It bothers you none now.

His thick, pulsing cock nudges against your entrance, and instinctually you tense, taking in a sharp breath.

“Shh, shh, easy, sweetheart. Relax. You can take it.” Arthur coos against your ear, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It's like being swaddled in a heap of comfort, of safety. You know he’d never lie to you, never hurt you.

“Thata girl.” Arthur hums, grunting deeply as he thrusts just the tip into you. You squeeze him tightly, your walls gripping him, pulling him into you. He could do this all day, stretch you open, stuff his cock into your pretty little cunt, press kisses to your lips and your neck and your nose.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it.” He grunts, pushing himself into you even more. Your back arches, stomach filled with pressure and legs spread open wide, “That’s perfect, so good fr’me.” He moans.

“God, Arthur–” You cry out, a whimpering mess when he starts to rock. He’s splitting you in two, filling you so full, you can barely take him all. His length knocks against your g-spot, surpassing it even and stretching to your cervix.

“Feel-” Arthur groans, “Good?”

You tuck your nose against his chest, nodding, “Fuck, so good, Arthur. You’re so big.”

The boost in his ego ramps up his stamina, and he rocks into you harder, sending the headboard crashing against the wall loudly with every thrust. The rhythm is barely noticeable compared to the sound of the hail beating against the roof.

You’re suddenly glad to be stuck out here, if this is the repercussion. You crave his hands on you, his lips against yours. You want him to bend you over the table, take you against the wall, on the floor. You’re content to have him on every surface of this cabin, just to stay wrapped up in this bliss for a little while longer.

“Easy does it, good girl.” Arthur grunts, face covered in a sheen of sweat, dripping down from a strand of his hair, falling onto your breasts. He fills you with every thrust, his cock carving out the shape of your walls, stretching them to wrap around him perfectly. The signature, wet sound of sex fills the room, drowning out even the storm, yet pale compared to the sound of your mixed moans and breathing.

“M’ close-” Arthur grunts, pace growing quick, cock twitching against your walls. You’re getting close, and he’s there too, grunting and squeezing, gripping your soft flesh. He curses, thrusting hard and deep, hips slapping loudly against yours.

It pushes you over the cliff edge with no abandon, and again, you’re free falling, only kept here by the physical tether that is Arthur holding you. Your walls clench and squeeze, constricting around Arthur’s length. He groans beautifully, the sound cathartic to your ears, sending more blood rushing to your gluttonous core.

“Oh– Arthur!” You scream, gasping for air just to release it all back out in a slew of curses and moans. Your back arches high enough off the bed that your breasts slot against Arthur’s chest. Your body shakes, like a star on the verge of explosion, receiving no mercy as Arthur continues to thrust into you. He’s losing his control, caught off guard by the pulsing and fluttering of your second orgasm. You’re squeezing him so tight, and god– the moans you’re letting out are driving him wild—

And then, his warm, thick cum is flooding you, filling you up as he stutters and shakes above you, “F-Fucck, sweetheart. Takin’ me– so damn well.” Arthur groans, hips pumping into you twice more, arms shaking from strain. He pumps the last of his spend into you, groan dying down into a deep rumble in his chest.

He stills, taking deep breaths along with you, eyes slipping shut. His forehead falls against yours, and he presses a sweet, long kiss to your lips. It sends butterflies to your stomach, even after all this. He pulls back from the kiss, resting his forehead on yours once again.

“That was–” You begin, catching your breath, “damn.”

Arthur chuckles, “We’ll sleep the rest of the night n’ check out the weather in the mornin’. I don't reckon either of us will be cold.”

You huff a laugh, wincing slightly as Arthur pulls out of you. You grimace as his cum leaks back out.

In a few short moments, Arthur has you clean of him. He lies beside you, head resting on your lower stomach as you brush your fingers through his hair.

“Next time we fight, just skip the runnin’ off, and take me to bed, alright?” You whisper, breaking the calm silence. Arthur exhales sharply.

“Yeah, we’ll do that.” He chuckles, gripping your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“You think Dutch will be pissed about the tree?” You ask, referencing the Christmas tree that you’d failed to bring back to camp.

“He surely will be.” Arthur says, “But, I say-” He presses a kiss to your hip, hand wrapping around the inside of your thigh, “to hell with his christmas traditions,” another kiss, “I like this one better.”

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

#cowboydisaster's christmas countdown #bea's christmas countdown #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic

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sleepysnk · 1 year

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a/n: thank you @kxmisato for convincing me to make a pt. 2 of dirty secrets. i’m genuinely loving this, so it might be a mini series. who knows! but i hope you guys enjoy, tehe 😁🤍

pairings: hanma shuji x fem!reader

warnings: modern au, college au, nsfw, smut, hanma is reader’s older brothers best friend, mentions of alcohol, some possessiveness if you squint, dirty talk, praising, use of pet names (babydoll, doll, princess, good girl), kinda public sex, rough sex (?).

taste ft. hanma shuji

Your dirty secret.

Unlike some people, your dirty secret wasn’t something embarrassing. Everyone had at least one in their life, but it was the total opposite for you. Your dirty secret was that you were fucking your older brother’s best friend, Hanma.

For the past two months, the two of you had been seeing one another.

Hanma had kept up with you since the night you both hooked up at that frat party. He made sure to keep your agreement under wraps because of your brother. He wouldn’t exactly be thrilled with the fact that his younger sister was having sex with his own best friend. You two maintained secrecy for a while. Sometimes, you’d see Hanma at parties and give him that “look” to hint that you wanted him. He knew very well what that meant, and he’d make sure to fulfill any desire you had. Other times, he’d link up with you in the middle of the night and fuck your brains out in his car. It was a recurring pattern, but neither of you gave much care.

Despite your “thing” being strictly sexual, Hanma often took you out. He would take you to some pretty nice restaurants or pick you up to watch a movie at his place. He told you that as much as he was attracted to you physically, he adored your personality.

You and Hanma weren’t exactly aware of this, but some people had figured out the two of you were a thing.

Some of his very own friends had seen the two of you walking around town together. They were friends with your brother, but none of them had the balls to actually go and snitch. Hanma could be kind of intimidating and he’s even gotten into some fights where the guys were left stunned by the damage he’d leave behind. They didn’t want to meet the same fate, so they kept their mouths shut about it. However, it could be comical at times to see the lengths you’d both go to keep it private.

It was a surprise that your brother hadn’t figured it out.

Speaking of your brother, he was hosting his annual birthday party that day.

It was his twenty-first birthday, to be exact. He had been hyping up the party for the last few months, and, of course, he allowed you to come because you were his sister. He also wouldn’t hear the end of it if your parents found out, so he decided to save himself a few arguments.

All of his friends would be there, including Hanma. It was also going to be a pool party since his birthday was in the summertime. He was beyond excited to have everyone come over. You were happy to celebrate, but you were also excited to see Hanma. He had been non-stop messaging you about how he couldn’t wait to see you and how badly he missed your presence beside him in bed. The idea of seeing him shirtless in the pool made butterflies swarming inside your stomach. You saw him naked enough, but it never got old for you.

You didn't think the circumstances would lead to what happened the day of his birthday party, but it aligned perfectly.

A little while into the party, your brother began to complain that the alcohol had been running low. His main goal that night was to get blackout drunk to the point where he couldn’t stand, but he couldn’t do that if he didn’t have enough alcohol. His friends were also there too. They wanted to drink with him, so the only choice they had was to go out and grab more.

Your brother had announced to you that he was going to go out with his friends to get more drinks. You figured as much, so it wasn’t really that shocking.

However, what was most surprising was that Hanma had offered to stay behind.

He had explained to your brother that he’d stay back because he didn’t want to tag along. He claimed that he’d rather wait and it wasn’t a very far drive anyway. Your brother, of course, believed Hanma because this wasn’t the first time this had happened. They were also best friends, why would he not believe a word that came from his mouth?

Well, truth be told, Hanma wanted to stay behind for a different reason.

You.

You didn’t think things would unfold so fast. As soon as your brother departed with his friends, Hanma dragged you up the stairs to your bedroom. You wanted to resist him so badly. You knew your brother was bound to come back with the hour, but Hanma kept kissing you and touching you in places that made you melt. Your body completely betrayed you and gave into his touches.

Soon enough, you were lying against your mattress with Hanma’s cock bullying your walls.

It didn’t help that you looked so fucking sexy in your bikini. The black lace hugged your body nicely and showed off everything he wanted to see. He got so fucking pissed when he caught one of his friends staring at your ass as you walked by. He may have not known it, but you were Hanma’s. It took everything inside him to not sock his friend in the jaw. You drove him crazy.

He hovered over your body, tracing your waist and your hips with his fingertips. God, you were a fucking angel to him. He couldn’t have found a more perfect woman than you. “Fuck.. baby, you’re so fucking beautiful..” he groaned, squeezing your thighs with his hand. “Could fuck you like this for days and I’d never get tired..”

Your hands went into his hair, tugging at the curls on his head. Nobody else could fuck you like he did. He did everything perfectly when it came to you, and you couldn’t get enough of him. “H-Hanma! More.. please!” you begged, looking up at him with desperation swirling in your pretty eyes.

Hearing your voice made him smirk. He felt your pussy squeezing his cock. He fucking loved when you hugged him like that. “Yeah?” he asked. “Don’t worry, princess, I’ll make you feel really good..”

Hanma then used the hand with ‘Sin’ tattooed on the back to toy with your clit. His ego was stroked immediately when he saw you jolt instantly from the added pleasure. One perk of fucking you all of the time meant he learned what made your body go nuts. He picked up on everything faster than any subject he took in school. He took care of you so well.

You were his best friend’s little sister. You deserved all the princess treatment.

A sharp gasp pooled from your mouth at the double pleasure. His pace was absolutely relentless. You had already felt that coil in your belly appearing, and your vision turned slightly blurry every time his cock brushed against your g-spot.

He was about to keep up with his pace, but suddenly slowed down when you both heard the front door open downstairs. Panic began to flood through your body at the realization that your brother was now home with his friends. Neither of you were close to finishing, but you didn’t want your brother to catch you with Hanma. There’d be no proper way to explain this, and it’s not like he’d actually believe something wasn’t going on. Your brother wasn’t stupid.

Hanma felt somewhat nervous, but the idea of fucking you upstairs again only made him want to continue. The thrill of possibly being caught and having to shut you up drove him up the wall. Fuck, he wasn’t gonna get blue balls because of your brother. There was no way he’d let that happen.

Hanma’s hand went over your mouth as he slowly pumped himself into you. He could feel how shaky your breaths were from how he fucked you. “Shh.. keep quiet.. we don’t want your brother to hear us, right, doll? Don’t make a peep.. or I’ll stop right now.” he spoke into your ear. “Understand?”

You tugged at his wrist, signaling for him to remove his hand so you could speak. “Hanma.. you know I can’t keep quiet..” you whispered, intertwining his fingers with yours.

He knew it was difficult to maintain silence in that kind of moment. You were also really close to your orgasm, and who was he to shut you up? He couldn’t do that to you, no. He was going to make sure he heard your voice when you came on his cock. He knew it was risky, but he had a plan in mind that might get that risk out of the way. It’s not like your brother would come up anytime soon. He just had to finish you off, and that’d be it.

Hanma reached over to his cell phone which was beside your bed on the table. He quickly pressed on Spotify and played one of the many songs he used to play in his car while he fucked you. He turned up the volume nice and loud so it could prevent anyone from possibly hearing you.

He started to pick up his pace now that the music was playing. “How about now..?” he inquired. “You know how much I love hearing your pretty voice when you cum..”

Whimpers and whines began to fall from your lips from his thrusts. The familiar feeling of his cock reaching that delicious spot inside of you soon returned, making you feel such great ecstasy. You couldn’t hold in your moans anymore. It was too much for you to handle.

“Hanma! Oh, god, Hanma! Right there!” you cried, placing your arms around his neck.

Hanma placed your thighs around his waist, gaining a greater access to your cunt. He took the open opportunity to give you a deep kiss. His tongue darted inside of your mouth instantly, swallowing any moans that escaped your throat. You, on the other hand, struggled to kiss him back from how great the pleasure was. Your bottom lip trembled and paused at every move of his hips. Fuck, you were losing your damn mind and right now.

He then pulled away from your lips. He stared at you with lust-filled eyes. “Tell me you’re mine..” he grunted. “Fuck, say it.. now..”

Your mouth fell ajar from his request, but nonetheless, you wanted to fulfill it. “I-I’m yours, Hanma!” you moaned.

“That’s right.. fuck! You’re my good girl, (Y/N).” his pace then quickened, allowing his balls to slap against your sensitive clit. “All mine..”

The knot in your stomach threatened to snap at any second. There was so much going on around you it became almost overwhelming. Your brain had become foggy, your eyes saw white stars, and your body was shining with sweat. It was coming, and it was going to come hard. His dirty talk was only winding you up more. Hanma Shuji was fucking perfect, and you were perfect for him.

Hanma felt your walls slowly closing in around him. He knew your orgasm was close. He was going to give you the best one ever. You were his pretty princess. He wasn’t going to deny you a single damn thing.

“Come on, babydoll, cum around my fucking dick..” he cooed. “Don’t disappoint me, princess..”

Suddenly, your orgasm washed over you. “Hanma!” you screamed, your body trembling from how hard it hit you.

Hanma grinned so hard when he heard his name fall from your lips. Your gorgeous face looked amazing while you came. Your lips were glossy and so fucking pretty. He could kiss them for hours if he really wanted to. “Yeah.. that’s my girl..” he said, trailing his hands down your body.

“What the fuck?”

A familiar voice rang inside your ears. Hanma turned his head to meet your older brother standing right in the doorway of your bedroom. He quickly went to cover you, making sure that he didn’t possibly see you naked. He could see the embarrassment cover your features the second you realized he was standing there, watching as Hanma shielded your body with his own.

“Seems like the secret is out now, huh, doll?”

#summer speaks #smutty talks #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers fanfiction #hanma #hanma shuji #hanma shuji smut #hanma shuji x y/n #hanma shuji x you #hanma shuji x reader #hanma x you #hanma x reader #hanma x y/n #anime fanfiction #anime fanfic

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absolutebl · 6 months

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This Week in BL - Gangsters Win

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top. Delayed October reviews included this week! (Still traveling but now in home territory and familiar hotels.)

Nov 2023 Wk 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) 2 of 8 - GIVING ME LIFE. How dare they be this… this... Just. How dare!

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 1 of 10 - I have been waiting for another truly sports centered BL since HIStory 2: CTL. This is nowhere near as good, but I don’t care. It’s great pulp and Sprite is a fab central character. I've realized that I love the pulps most when they’re ridiculously soapy (identical twins identity trope for sport’s fuck’s sake) but ERNEST about it (not campy). This one is taking itself seriously and it's so cute that it's trying so hard. Good little pulp. Dee mar.

Dangerous Romance (Fri YT) ep 12fin - was it me or did this show kinda flag on you too?

Poor, struggling Sailom is forced to tutor his bully, Kang, and they fall for each other despite circumstances. I loved it for the first 4 eps, liked it for the middle 4, and then kinda lost interest. I think it's because the focus shifted from Sailom to Kang, and I just find a disenfranchised character more interesting than the poor little rich kid archetype. Ultimately the script waffled and failed these actors - the leads and sides were solid, and support cast on point. 8/10 pretty standard 2023 GMMTV fair

Absolute Zero (Thai Weds iQIYI) ep 6 of 12 - It’s sort of a paradox of emotions not just time. It remains sad and I remain wary.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) The Camp Fire ep 11 of 24 - Launched with an argument over rude pronouns and mistaken identity. Highlights the joy of camping. Ugh. I don't think this one is for me despite the pair.

Venus in the Sky (Tues iQIYI) ep 10fin - NO SINGING. I can't believe they brought in rando SIDEs just to sing! WHHHHYYYYY? Sigh.

An indifferent pulp with indifferent acting and poor chemistry (despite high heat) based on the reunion romance trope that was just... so... slow... It wasn’t entirely a waste of time but I can’t in good faith recommend it. unless you have a very high tolerance for Thai pulps and ultra tsundere characters. 5/10 ONLY WATCH IF YOU'VE NOTHING BETTER TO DO

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Kiseki: Dear to Me (Taiwan Tues Viki & iQIYI) ep 12 of 13 - I don’t mean to be rude because you know I love the main couple in the show, but they are simply being out acted by the sides. They are so damn good. Ai Di and his dumb oversized sweaters and flappy flappy sleeves is EVERYTHING.

Bump Up Business (Korea Gaga) 5-6 of 8 - More language negotiation, so of course I like it. I also like that they openly let Eden admit to a crush on a boy. I like this whole thing way more than I should. Save me from myself?

You Are Mine (Taiwan Fri Viki) eps 9 of 10 - I don’t understand why baby boy is trying to escape so badly. (Except for plot reasons.) Running of the gays! Look at you Taiwan stealing Japan’s favorite trope. This show is fun but it’s a bag of tropes held together with some very thin fraying mesh plot.

If It’s With You AKA Even If I Fall In Love With You AKA Kimi to nara Koi wo Shite Mite mo’ (Japan Gaga) ep 5fin - The leads are so painfully cute portraying a softly simple story of teen first love. This was a nice little piece with an early yaoi feel that come off as brief, as if it were meant to be a short story that had been extended into a series. Sweet but ultimately rather forgettable. 7/10

Mr Cinderella 2 (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 6-7 of ? - yeah I forgot to watch again, I may be dnfing this by accident.

It's Airing But...

I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan Tues Netflix-Japan & ????) - in classic JBL fashion, I Cannot Reach You could not be reached. It looks good though so I mgiht put some effort into finding it grey.

Look at Japan dropping all the tropes in on scene: rooftop, kabedon, hand hold.

SHADOW (Thai Gaga) 1-7 of 14 - this is a horror BL with ghosts & paranormal elements in a boarding school setting. I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all). It features Singto (who did paranormal BL He's Coming to Me) opposite Fluke N (who's done a couple horror's before). Also Fiat. Dan suffers from sleep paralysis, and in his dreams he sees a shadow that suffocates him. It gets worse when he transfers schools. I'm holding off on this one and if told it's good I'll binge watch.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until it completes its run.

One Room Angel (Japan Gaga) - adaptation of Harada’s manga of the same name (which I did not like) about a convenience store clerk who's stabbed, nearly dies, and returns home to find an angel waiting for him. With only 5 eps and a good chance this won’t end happy, I'm gonna wait and let you tell me how it goes.

Can I Buy Your Love From A Vending Machine? AKA Sono Koi, Jihanki de Kaemasu ka? (Japan cinema release in-country only) - This one is a movie from Japan so in customary fashion who tf knows when (or if) it will get international distribution. Salaryman Ayumu Koiwai just can't tear his eyes away from the strong, muscular man as he checks on the stocks of the vending machine in his office. I did some hunting but only found the manga, so I'm marking it cnf and moving on with life. This will be its last appearance on the weekly update.

I Finished It!

Love in Translation (iQIYI) ep 8 - solid ending, man these two are a great pairing.

A sweet little pulp about a Thai boy with a crush on a Chinese influencer who ends up in a business relationship with her ex-bf. This show had truly great chemistry between the leads, cute found family with good rep, and an exciting (if silly) ending that almost, but didn't quite, make up for how incredibly annoying the main character was in the first half. Gotta say the make-out scene in the convenience store is one of the greatest in Thai BL, tho. 6/10 DEF WORTH WATCHING BUT FLAWED

I Feel You Linger in the Air (grey) ep 8 of 12 - so that was A THING. I did a seriously extensive deep dive analysis, historical & linguistic extras, and review here.

I truly loved this time travel romance. IFYLITA is an exquisite BL, from filming techniques to narrative framework (much like Until We Meet Again). Steeped in history and family drama it edges into lakorn (but no as much as To Sir With Love and with way less scenery chewing). This is an elegant and classy BL… from Thailand which normally doesn't even try for classy. The main couple (both as a pair and individuals) were excellent, particularly Bright (Yai) whose eye-work acting style is a personal favorite of mine. Pity about the ending. Oh it wasn’t that sad but it wasn’t good either. This show should easily have earned a 10 from me except that it fumbled the… erm… balls. Argh. Whatever. 9/10

Only Friends (YT) ep 11-12 - What can I say, this wasn't my thing, it was never gonna be, and I didn't like it. Basically Thailand did the L-Word but with branded BL pairs and the only agenda seemed to be slut shaming and making sure those pairs stayed healthy and sponsor ready. Consequently, the pairs were all executing well and to the best of their ability (of course) but all other characters got shafted, both in the good and the worst possible ways. Unrated but if falls somewhere between 5 (hot mess) and 3 (what am I doing with my life?)

Next Week Looks Like This

11/10 Middleman’s Love (Thai Fri Mandee's YT & iQIYI 1 of 8? - TutorYim (brand pair origin = Cutie Pie) with side couple KingUea (Bed Friends) from Domundi trailer here. This used to be a JimmyTommy vehicle before the pair split (also prev title Middle Love). Adapted from a Y-novel. Jade works as a graphic designer and has always been stuck in the middle - average. His heart is hardened after a life spent being overlooked because he is not as charming or good looking as the rest of his family or friends. When his office gets a hot new intern, Mai, Jade assumes Mai couldn’t possibly be intersted in him. Mai, of course, has other ideas. Warning this is a Cheewin comedy so tonally it could be very OFF, but the cast is solid, and I have liked his stuff on occasion.

11/10 Last Twilight (Thai Fri YouTube) - JimmySea are bakc and maybe it's good this time? I dont' know, GMMTV isn't doing great right now. Burdened with heavy debt, Mork, a mechanic, is forced to take a high paying job as a caretaker for Day, a rich heir who suffers from partial blindness after an accident. Day recruits Mork as he realizes the latter does not see him as a disabled person, but rather as co-equals. As they spend time together, the two begin developing feelings for the other. However with Day just having 180 days until he becomes permanently blind, how will the two weather the trials ahead?Upcoming November BL

11/11 Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) qp 1 of 8 - Looks like House of Stars meets Boyband. I am not excited.

Upcoming in November

11/16 PLAYBOYY (Thurs ????) ?? eps - trailer here, high heat and it's helmed by Cheewin (shudder) with screenplay by Den (Only Friends) under Copy A Bangkok. It's gonna be a shizz show people. It's predicting Thai style "dark" (War of Y) one of my least favorites. Apparently there is a "plot" but when has Cheewin ever bothered with plot? A university kid who was involved with escorts, sex-trade, porn, online hook-ups, drugs, prostitution, blackmail, revenge, and so forth goes missing. His twin (sigh) and two friends look for him.

11/17 Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 1 of 14 - high heat teaser here, based on alittlebixth's omegaverse novel #พิษเบ๊บ’ set in the world of car racing (author says show will not be omegaverse). Charlie (fresh face), a young hot nerd, approaches his driver idol (Pavel "my love" 2 Moons 2) to borrow a racing car and win one for the team. Production house is new to BL but behind the Club Friday stuff. Show stars many known actors: Nut (Oxygen), Pop (Ram in La Cuisine), Pon (Phai in Gen Y, we LOVE him), Benz (twins in En of Love: This Is Love Story).

11/19 Bake Me Please (Sun Gaga) ep 1 of 6 - trailer here, stars Ohm (of OhmFluke) opposite Guide (bestie from IFYLITA) and possibly also Poom (well known, but not for BL). This looks like an actually gay version of Antique Bakery (play it again, BL). Still, I'm intrigued, it looks HELLA pretty.

11/22 7 Days Before Valentine (Weds ????) ep 1 of 10 - trailer here, horror-esk. Adapted from y-novel of the same name, directed by Tu (180 Degree) stars Jet (Why You… Y Me?). When you want your old love again, but fate sends you a reaper instead. All he can do for you is kill people. I'll likely give this a pass and wait to binge later. I'm planning to try SHADOW and I can only handle one Thai horror at a time.

11/25 The Sign (Sat ????) ep 1 of 10 - trailer here, horror-esk, but with a suspense and adult characters. Special investigators who loved each other in previous lives reunite with their new bodies, stars Billy Patchanon (BillySeng) & Babe Tanatat (new). Includes other SCOY favorites as a special investigation team. I may give this a try because I like the non-horror bits.

11/26 The Whisperer (Sun ????) 1 of 10 - trailer here. Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). He has dimples (My Ride) but I don't think even that gives me the will. Maybe a binge for me.

11/26 Cooking Crush (Sun YT) 1 of 12 - OffGun are back, trailer here. Adapted from the novel “Love Course! เสื้อกาวน์รุกเสื้อกุ๊กรับ” by iJune4S this is about Prem who runs a not-so-popular restaurant with 2 friends. About to go on a cooking competition with a huge reward, Prem gets involved with Ten, a stressed-out med student who wants Prem to teach him to cook.

11/30 For Him (Thurs ????) ep 1 of 10 - high heat trailer, I suspect iQIYI will scoop this one up. From the people who brought us Unforgotten Night (please no) based on a y-novel, man nursing a heartbreak has a one-night stand, but the other boy didn't want it to end. It looks terribly trashy so I'm in! Maybe I'll do a trash watch?

VIP Only (Taiwan) - may be delayed/canceled

Wuju Bakery AKA Space Bakery (Korea) - this one may be DOA

A Breeze of Love (Korea) - I know less than nothing about this.

Nov 2023 line up with screen caps here. Not kept updated.

Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Yang's little smile! Argh. (Love in Translation)

This is our mean and grumpy gagster character talking about playing in game support roles. It's fucking adorable. Such a nasty criminal. (My Dear Gangster Oppa)

(Last week)

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heademptie · 1 month

Text

Thinking about Ghoap x Comms!Reader

(This is unedited ramblings at 10pm, this may end up being something, it may not)

(Also don't know if this is an actual job, but it makes sense to me that it would exist. But this is fanfiction so who cares)

Reader works for the military as well but their job is to monitor and transcribe communications during ops. Maybe they tried to be a soldier but got denied for some reason, maybe injury, maybe because they couldn't cope with directly taking lives or loosing them.

And readers been at it for a while, is good at thier job, keeps their head down, keeps what they hear to themself.

Reader is loyal, so they get a bit of leeway with their work. Gets assigned to monitor some of the 141's comms and becomes a detatched form of familiar with the team. They don't know who reader is, that they even exist, that most of their radio chatter is being heard by one person at a desk in a government building so far away.

Typically reader just zones out when working, purposefully trying to forget the confidential things they hear once they leave the building. But the 141 is... entertaining. The way they speak to each other with such familiarity and how they can make jokes without loosing sight of the mission, and how at the drop of the hat they hone in and get serious. They start to look forward to 'Price's paternal exasperation, 'Gaz's quick wit, 'Ghost's dry dad jokes, and 'Soap's cheeky comments. Occasionally they're graced with 'Laswell's easy verbal volleys with each member of the team. (Thinking about including Roach too)

And its obvious to reader, absurdly obvious, that Ghost and Soap are together. The thinly veiled, and the very not thinly veiled, flirting between the two is a giveaway. But what really sends it home is the panic. Reader was the one to transcribe the recoding from Las Almas. Right at the beginning, when Ghosts voice called out to Soap, he was calm in that call. But then Soap didnt answer. And reader heard the concealed panic when Ghost called out again, and they heard the relief when he did.

So reader figures out that they're together. Assumes as much. And takes a bit of joy from it. Takes some joy that people in such a brutal line of work have someone who understands and cares for them.

Maybe circumstances lead to reader needing to be saved. Or maybe they end up on base at the same time the 141 is there. And they run into the team some way. Readers smart, so they keep thier mouth shut about being privvy to their comms. Keeps to well known facts about the 141, the stuff soldiers outside of the team would know through reputation and minimal meetings.

Maybe they go out drinking, or maybe reader ends up bonding with the team some. They're all chilling somewhere together, and someone starts hitting on Soap and reader brushes it off. He's an attractive guy, charming too, its understandable. But Soap doesnt turn them down and reader looks over to Ghost who's watching the interaction too. And reader, without thinking says something about an open relationship. Ghost whips around on them in carefully concealed shock and asks them to repeat. Reader explains slowly, not yet realsing their error.

Its not until later, when Soap has left with the pretty thing who hit on him and Ghost had left quickly after readers comment, when Price is chuckling over his drink after reader has explained what they said, that they learn.

Ghost and Soap are not in fact in an open relationship. They are not even in any kind of relationship, romantic or sexual. And reader is shocked, if not a little disappointed, maybe even hurt. It's their own fault, really, they built up this false relationship between real people in their head only for it to remain in their head.

Later on, reader finds Ghost. Wanting to apologise for, stepping over the line? making the unsolicited comment? they're not entirely sure but they feel they should apologise anyway.

This is kinda where my thoughts end. I do have some I haven't mentioned but I don't know where to put them. Nor do I know exactly where this is going. Just some brain rot I've had.

#call of duty #ghost cod #ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #brain rot #fanfic #i dont know what im doing #just having thoughts #comms!reader #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley

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depravitycentral · 7 months

Note

Hii I think I've read all your hxh stuff but the Tumblr blog search is kinda scuffed so if you've already answered something like this just ignore me

Anyway I was curious to know how/if you think the phantom troupe members would share a partner. Like maybe not all of them sharing one partner (that's the dream fr tho lol) but maybe 2 or 3 members sharing one if any of them are into that

Then that leads me to my next two questions, Kurapika and Leorio, would they share a partner or are they just not into that

Then lastly (and if you don't write for them or have any ideas that's fine ignore this) do you think Silva and Kikyo would keep a little "pet" around?

Anyway sorry for the long ask, I guess I could have split this up but I didn't want to spam your box 😅 have a lovely day! ❤️

Please ignore how late this answer is... Also the answer to the Silva/Kikyo question will be posted separately!

Tw: kidnapping, mentions of physical violence, manipulation, mentioned non-con

I was wondering how long it would take before poly yanderes would be discussed on this blog!!

My personal philosophy on poly yandere relationships is that they only work in very, very specific circumstances. The whole concept of a yandere is someone who feels such blinding and overwhelming love and desire for another person that they literally throw their morals out the window just for the chance to bask in a bit of affection or love from their special someone, and adding another person into the equation doesn't exactly fit this vision.

Most yanderes don't want to share you - you're theirs, simple and plain, and often only a very specific person could be the one exception to this rule. Even then, the relationship is often still strained, because unless feelings develop between the two yanderes themselves, jealousy will always be an issue and you as the darling will have to be very careful about making sure you give equal amounts of love and time to each yandere.

But instead of focusing on the logistics of it, let's discuss the actual pairs/their dynamics!!

Machi and Pakunoda are the least resistant to sharing. They respect each other, and while it may be a stretch to call them friends, this respect and trust has led to a solid foundation for them to build off of. Neither are especially forceful with their darlings, instead preferring to hover and take care of them with minimal physical force, and this helps keep both of them placated. Machi is sort of the bad cop while Pakunoda is the good cop, but the reason this pairing works so well is that they help bring out qualities in each other that would normally be their weak points. Pakunoda helps Machi relax and warm up to physical affection with her, because her own natural touchiness is easier to convince Machi that touching you won't be the disaster she's so sure of. And Machi helps Pakunoda attend to every facet of your wellbeing - Machi properly feeds you, tends to any wounds of yours, makes sure that you're getting enough sunlight, that you're still moving and not becoming lethargic, all things that Pakunoda knows she should do but sometimes skips in favor of kissing you or spoiling you. These two are definitely the best pair to get stuck with - still overbearing about your safety and hard to handle always watching you, but certainly better than others.

Shalnark and Chrollo are, admittedly, not equal players in this partnership. Most likely, Shalnark initially became interested in you, and upon Chrollo's eventually learning of your existance, he found himself charmed as well. Shalnark wasn't the happiest at the notion of sharing, but he sees the partnership as an opportunity to help keep you in line and make himself look good. He and Chrollo are both very, very talented manipulators, and by playing off of each other, they're able to present themselves as simply loving partners, managing to gaslight you into thinking that you're overreacting about them being 'horrible' and 'evil' for kidnapping you and forcing you to be their partner. And frankly, it works - they're convincing, and because you get no reprieve or time away from them both at once, eventually you will begin seeing things their way. This isn't a particularly desirable relationship, if only because while you'll eventually be happy (your mind too mixed up to even realize you're unhappy, that is), you'll lose a piece of yourself in a way that you wouldn't with other pairings. You'll be somewhat of a shell of your former self - still you, but with the parts that they like emphasized, and the more problematic parts of your personality (like your desire to leave them) being repressed.

Uvogin and Nobunaga is possible, but it's unlikely that things would last long. This is because Nobunaga is particularly delusional, and Uvogin is particularly lucid. And this combo - Nobuanga's infantilization of you and Uvogin's leniency in your independence - spells out disaster. Things would be tense; arguments would sprout often, with you left to awkwardly stand in the middle, desperately hoping that Uvogin will win the argument. (You don't like him either, but at least his ideas are less dehumanizing than Nobunaga's.) I think it could work, if they worked hard enough to establish how to treat you, but you'd be constantly walking on eggshells around them. (Plus, if you think your poor pussy is getting a little too much action with just one of them as your yandere, then get ready - they fuck you every night, nearly, one taking your cunt while the other shoves himself down your throat. Occasionally they'll even try for your ass, though Uvogin has the sense to force Nobunaga to get you properly prepped before he fucks what he thinks is 'her best hole - it's so tight'. They're just gross, and you'll very obviously favor Uvogin - which once again sparks problems of jealousy. So it's possible, but unlikely to work out.

Phinks and Feitan is another unlikely combo - their types are very different, firstly, but if they did manage to develop feelings for you, things will become very violent very fast. Neither wants to hurt you (at least, not deep down), but they don't exactly agree on how to punish you or respond to your misbehaviors. Feitan is more strict, deciding that you must be punished when you act out because it's the only way to get you to behave how they want. Phinks doesn't share this mindset - he's more of a sucker than Feitan, more inclined to just make you promise not to do it again and then naively believe that you meant it. And this leads to problems - their treatment of you is so radically different, both in the way that they speak to you and how they touch you, that they'll be fighting over nearly everything. And while you won't ever be physically harmed, you'll be subject to watch them physically fight when they're arguing, swinging fists and lightning fast moves making you curl up into a ball because god, they're monsters. Again, it's possible if they can figure out a system that's a compromise for both of them, but it's unlikely.

This probably isn't the answer you're looking for, but it's my opinion! There are probably some more pairings that could potentially work, but these are the ones I see being most likely.

Unrelated to the Phantom Troupe, some other pairs I could see being potentially successful are: Leorio and Kurapika (they're into that!! more protection, as far as Kurapika is concerned, and Leorio is more clingy than possessive, so he wouldn't mind sharing with his best friend whom he is already displaying borderline homoerotic tendencies towards), Knuckle and Morel, Misturi and Obanai, Uzui + wives, Douma and Akaza though it would be very, very rocky and is significantly more unstable than these other matchups, Aizawa and Hizashi, Overhaul and Chrono, Tendou and Ushijima, Bokuto and Akaashi, Hinata and Kenma, don't ask me why but Goshiki and Kindaichi, Kita and Aran, Suna and Osamu

#_lee discusses #yandere hxh #_hxh #yandere kny #yandere bnha #yandere haikyuu #_bnha #_haikyuu #_kny #_all fandoms

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diluclover300 · 2 months

Text

Just One Week (8)

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

also on my ao3: diluclover300

CHAPTER INDEX:

I H8 U

My Kinda Fun

Balance

{S] Awake

Eggs and Rice

Wait, but I'm broke

Couple's Discount

Waffles + Cream

CHAPTER 8: Waffles + Cream ....

There are a million questions you want to ask that large back in front of you, the person who hasn't said as much as a word ever since you left that store.

"Where did you, no, how did you pay for all of that?" Being the most obvious one out of them all.

"Why did you lie to me?" Being the one that generously weighs itself onto the back of your mind.

"Where are we going?" Being the most relevant.

"You bastard! Help me out here!" Being more of a plead as the sun shines onto those shopping bags you barely manage to hold. Then, as if to torture you further, your skin absorbs the merciless heat, eyes squinting against the sky.

"Why did you come here?" Being the one Gojo has already answered at the very beginning of your ill-fated encounter.

And last but not least...

"Why didn't you stop me?"

That's the one you really don't want to ask, let alone acknowledge as you follow behind his trail. Those occasional whistles he lets out are faint, each pitch gliding along the equally faint spring breeze. Perhaps it's not that you're afraid of asking.

You fear his answer.

You rotate your wrists as you walk down the sidewalk, warming the numbness lying in your arms. The fibers of each bag handle rub and scratch against the hair of your arms, overwhelming when paired with the blinding sunlight. As they do, you lift and tilt one arm after another, regaining your balance when the burdensome weight of the clothes shift back and forth along your anchor-like limbs.

You're more than sure that Gojo hears. That he hears the flapping, the small ripples of each paper bag - your obvious struggle. You are also positive that he has no plans in relieving that suffering, but you can't blame him either.

You'd wish such a fate on your worst enemy too.

There's an urge to speak, an urge to ask, however. You can't fight off your gut feeling, the responsibility to initiate conversation. You look up at him, watching as he takes a left, fully expecting you to follow. And you do, not bothering to put up a fight.

Quiet was nice, quiet was peaceful. There was comfort in silence, security in it's presence. You agree with that statement, and you strive for it... under normal circumstances.

Gojo Satoru was not your normal. Gojo Satoru was a nuisance, never once was he peaceful. Gojo Satoru, his presence, was one of danger, not security.

So ask. And you do.

You ask a question of relevance.

"Where are we going?" You quicken in your steps, trying your very best to catch up with his abnormal pace.

In that question lies a hint of regret as it sits in the air, ignored. That gets you to reflect on each and every event leading up to this moment, most notably your tears. Those beads, unpleasant as they fell, heavy as they sat on your skin. What a mistake you made, a grave, terrible mistake of showing Gojo Satoru your sacred tears, to bare your hidden agonies.

You vow to never shed a single pearl, to not let a single droplet of your suffering escape. Not in front of him.

"Hey," You say, the sound of rustling paper bags accompanying your voice. "Gojo."

Satoru can't help but think, his mind on a rampage with no set finish line, at least, not visible to himself. It's one hell of a marathon.

There are a million thoughts, a million tracks he must run across, past, and through to keep his sanity. Quite a difficult choice to make, and he's normally not a picky guy.

He'll run through all of them as fast as he can, with all his might, until his legs give up on him.

Alright. He gazes upon each track, preparing himself for the hardships ahead. Each track is painted in the same shade of...

You.

On pure instinct, his feet propel him to begin his jog, sucking in a hefty breath as he does.

This track, he can already tell that it's a tough one to navigate, the soles of his shoes imprinting onto the strange, thin paint. What is left of the track beneath him as he takes another stride is a pile of powdered pigment, full of irregularities and chips.

The track is as unfamiliar, as alienating as your distraught-ness left him. His steps slow as yours did, recalling the freeze of your figure admits the bustling crowd of people. The tremble of your eyes, how your eyebrows tightened against one another, fingers fisting themselves with such unwavering intensity.

Satoru takes in a shaky breath, one that could be mistaken for a gasp. The bend of his knees that his palms reside on remind him of your limpness. How he held your lifeless wrist in the heart of his hand. How your skin stuck to his. How your fingers mindlessly grazed, how they grasped his.

He sprints, the sweat piling onto his forehead then downwards. The least of his concerns as you consume him whole.

Was it right?

Was it okay for him to treasure something so tender?

His heels sink into this lengthy, unpredictable track, biting back the burn in his calves.

Five years. He tried to ignore it, tried to defy the laws of time.

You are not as you left him.

Gojo feels his heart pound along to the beating of his muscles. Those eyes, those foreign looks, those pitiful expression were his fault only. He was to blame.

He wonders if this was how you felt. Suffocated. If the walls of your ribcage and lungs collapsed against each other at that very moment. If he too could share an ounce of that pain. If he could ever gain the right to lift up that veil of misery you wear.

Though, he supposes that the brick, the pain that hits him, that has hit him hours ago was his share of what was yours. Pain.

Satoru wants to decipher you more than himself. If you were the last thing he could understand then, he'd...

He'd do it. He'd give it his all because he has never seen you like this.

Detached.

Another stride as he pushes forward.

Alone.

A definite gasp.

Different.

Just when he wants to give up, just when his legs stutter on this turbulent track, the finish line flashes before his eyes.

Gojo Satoru will admit it as he cannot deny the truth any longer.

Forward he moves. Run, he does. As long as his legs can muster.

You are unrecognizable. There are parts of you, familiar parts that have turned unfamiliar. There are sides of you which have never seen the light of his days.

The black-and-white checkered strip of tape rips at his waist.

You have changed.

He doesn't allow himself a break, determined as he travels, panting through each light jog he takes to the second track. A testament to his efforts.

Neither does it take him another second before his feet and legs glide and cut through the air, breaths steady as he paces himself.

Ah, he examines the deep shade of paint below him, one that absorbs his shadow. This track is easy. Shamefully easy.

Now this was something he didn't put much thought into, something that just came to him naturally. Satoru doesn't shy away, nor does he fight with his own body as he runs. It is that effortless.

As much as you have changed, as much as you've become unrecognizable, you still are as beautiful as you left him. Even more than he recalls. Time has aged you like the finest of wines. So exceptional that his heart pitters and patters with his flesh, creating a symphony only you could orchestrate. And this doesn't stem from his unruly pace, no, not at all.

Satoru hasn't discovered this until recently, but he feels lucky. The selfish kind, the kind filled with shame as he thanks the heavens for the loneliness that seems to follow you around. A loneliness so adamant that even the most ordinary of occurrences are ones of pure intimacy. A loneliness which unknowingly, subconsciously binds you to him, and him to you. A loneliness which keeps him on his toes.

Oh, he hopes and prays he's one of the few, no, the only pair of eyes set on the movie that is your existence. The entirety of it, for as long as it lasts, from the beginning to the very end. This odd wish of his, this secret of his, he has no idea where it stems from.

Not even those thick spurts of air filling his lungs could imitate it. Neither could they begin to satiate him as the image of you has. ]

Even as his legs pulsate, even as his skin bleeds the extremity of his efforts, painting his skin in such a disturbing, thick film...

You cut through them, these troublesome sensations.

Gojo blinks against the orange sun as he sprints, and all he sees is you. You, who is seared in the black of his eyelids and vision.

No matter how he looks at it, no matter how much he tries to paint himself as a fool in denial, no matter how much he knows he shouldn't - he does.

Satoru thinks it, he thinks, ponders, and finally settles on the thought he shouldn't. You, the girl who hates him as much as the heavens detest hell, you are everything he has ever wanted.

At first, he had to pinch himself. To check if it wasn't a dream, if the thick of his lens wasn't seeing the way that fabric sat, the way it flattered every inch of you. Slightly cinched at the waist, flowy and flowery in the skirt, breath-taking as it complimented the gold that is your skin.

To think it had been five years. Time has served you well.

If he were to go on, then he'd go on for centuries, he couldn't possibly-

Satoru trips. He tumbles on his shoelace.

He couldn't possibly forget those tears. How they stained you, how they peeked through the curtains, your eyelashes. How thick that stare was, a hostile force. One he couldn't stop.

With a short sigh, he fumbles with his shoes, knees bruised as he looks up to the new, undefined track before him.

Those tides that can't be ridden or surfed, hostile as they splash against the sand. Waves he has never witnessed, crests and troughs that are unfathomable.

With a firm wipe of his forehead, he tackles the ground before him, aiming to leap above the cracks.

He will get over this, even if it kills him, even if his body refuses to cooperate. Gojo Satoru was the strongest, he tells himself. He is Gojo Satoru himself, with the strength of the heavens above. Incomparable. Unshaken. Undefeated.

His hands leave the ground before him, the arch of his foot launching him forward. Nice. He can do this. He will do this, no matter what stands in his way.

No matter what, he will not falter. He will not crack as the ground beneath him does. Gojo Satoru will not... he will not...!

Why. Why did you cry?

He screams, an earth-shattering sound that disappears in the large stadium surrounding him.

Who? Who was it?

He falls, one foot shattering after another. Gojo Satoru has failed, his fingers grasping at the dust below him, nostrils inhaling the particles as his cheeks scrape against the rock hard floor. Purple and blue, the strongest is.

Weak, the strongest has become. Weak as he lies on the floor, body sprawled out as his thighs cut against the cracks of this track. The track he cannot run, the track he cannot figure out. A maze in disguise.

Those tears. Their cause. Your pain. Your agony. Your loneliness.

"Hey." You watch as he pauses in his steps, unresponsive. "Gojo."

He doesn't know. He can't know. You won't let him know a single thing. These mysteries will remain mysteries, and there's no way in hell he'll get to play detective either.

"Hello?" You wave a hand across his face, peering into his sunglasses. Was he daydreaming? "Hello-"

You. You who is in front of him, the person who is mirrored, reflected onto his pupils. You, who he has sought out for months. You, who has crossed his mind without fail. Every. Single. Night.

Who were you? Did he know you? Did you know him?

"What?" It's a response, cold-hearted in it's nature. As if he calls out to himself as he glances at you, then at the buildings around him. Tall as they stand, thick as they sit.

Uh-oh. This was not where he planned on going, he only planned to wander off until he could figure it out, until he ran through his obstacles. Until he could put together this puzzle, unscrambled as it lies in his mind. But his surprise turns into one of acceptance because he can't piece it together, because this is where his thoughts lead him. To a destination that is unplanned, the destination that is fate.

He guesses this is what happens when he can't think straight. He ends up in the middle of Osaka, answerless, just as confused as you are.

"Where are we going? We've been walking for fifteen..." You sneakily take a look at that brand-new watch of his, with a thick leather strap and gold accents. What a useless way to show off, you personally think, and you would've said something about if he wasn't threatening you with those Six Eyes every five minutes.

"... fifteen minutes, that's how long we've been walking and..."

It seems he has also lost track of time along with his awareness as his thoughts formed tracks of their own. All because of you. Someone he does not know as well as he thought.

Satoru watches as you huff out your complaints, how you shoot him daggers with those eyes, squinting at him and then the sun before your lips continue to hack at his ears.

"- and I'm hungry, you didn't even offer to help me. You just kept walking, and -"

He knew this. How refreshing that tone is, that annoyance of yours, a good friend of his. The way your arms almost flail around to further express your frustration. The way your face molds itself to fit and depict your emotions. You keep going, on and on.

Okay. You're hungry with an roaring appetite. Satoru fumbles with his wallet, hand shoved deep inside his pocket as he does. You can't see it, or maybe you haven't noticed it. Yet. He awaits the question.

"- Ugh, these bags. They're heavy." You lift your arm up, a frown that he swears is a pout makes it's way onto your face.

Satoru searches around, and he finds it. The solution to his problem - you.

"Are you even listening to me-"

"Wanna eat waffles?"

"What? Are you just going to ignore-"

...

First of all, you had no idea you were apparently invisible to that monster. You were so clearly ignored, every word you spit out, each sentence nothing but a senseless source of noise to him.

And second of all,

"A table for two, please."

You never said yes to eating waffles!

"Of course. Right this way, sir."

The café is as weird as weird gets, each seat painted with waffle cones, the walls decorated with fried chicken and ice-cream stickers, and a small waffle-figure with googly eyes in the middle of each table. It's plain weird.

Reluctantly, you sit in the spot across from him, the only other spot available. Then you're trapped, a menu pushed towards your direction as soon as you're sat.

"Feel free to look over the menu while I get your waters. Excuse me."

You nod at the waiter, arms unwinding themselves when the shopping bags slip off your wrists and then onto the floor. What a relief, you've never felt anything like it.

"How cute. Y/N, look at the little characters."

Nonetheless, your euphoria is short-lived once Gojo's presence dawns on you from across the table. The hums he lets out are haunting, nightmare-ish as he fumbles with the menu, pushing down his glasses.

"Wow, this fried chicken dude looks like you. Just look at those eyes, they're so big and angry... it looks just like you." He turns his menu over, pointing at the stupid drawing.

It's ugly with the thickly-drawn eyebrows, hard to look at with the amount of crumbs on it. You're offended.

"Whatever." You grumble, pushing the menu back down onto the table. He chuckles.

This was anything but relaxing, the only normal thing in this place being the music on the speakers.

The menu doesn't intrigue you with the amount of waffle and fried chicken characters on printed on, and neither does the sound of waffles for lunch entice you. You'll pass, silently reaching for your phone.

Soon enough, you scroll through your social media feed, deciding this would be a decent, and a rather socially accepted (normal) way of shutting down conversation.

Well, you thought it was. He doesn't have any of it.

"You done looking at the menu? Already?" You're fast, more decisive than he's expected.

"I'm not getting anything." Nevermind. You don't even look up from that screen, bunched up in your own bubble as the screen illuminates your face.

A bubble so thin that he is tempted to pop it. And he would, but he refrains, looking from you to the menu below him.

"Okay. Have it your way."

You're a problem he has to continue solving.

...

You sip on the water placed in front of you, mumbling a small thank you to the waiter. The ice clatters against the rim of tall, then the straw as you swallow. God, you're parched, lips squeezing the life out that clear plastic straw as you drink and scroll down the bottomless pit that is social media.

Right now, you're forced to listen to Gojo's chirpy voice as he orders, forced to see his smile from the corner of your eyes.

"Can I please get..."

He must love the sound of his own voice, you think, internally groaning as his order strings on and on. The cadence of his smiley, cheeky, and choke-able voice talks and talks for ages. Your thumb presses onto your phone without much thought, eyes sucked into a video of someone's white cat dancing along to music you can't hear.

It's been well over three minutes now, and you're astonished. Were you imagining it, or was he listing off the whole menu at this point? What a crazy-

"The chocolate croffle with extra sprinkles, and then, uh, was it the cheesy, no, the pizza waffle - yes, that one."

What a crazy combination.

Your stomach coos, a sound only you hear when your organs both fail and torment you.

That chocolate croffle, oh, you could only imagine it's taste, how the chocolate would melt against your tongue. Defeated, you pathetically swallow down your own spit, fingers prodding at your forehead once you take another scroll at your phone. Your eyes bore into the random video of a cat rolling around on the floor.

"Also, I wanted the brownie waffle, the one that comes with an ice cream scoop, and the, um... what was it? The one that came with fried chicken, right? The Korean one, god. I just can't remember the name." Gojo rambles, pointing at the menu.

You anticipate the answer, the suggestion sounding delectable.

"The waffles that come with our Korean fried chicken?"

You unconsciously lick your lips, back hunched over, stuffing your face into your phone.

"Yes, that one. Thank you." You hear him slightly laugh his words out, catching how he rubs his neck. "That'll be all."

You frown as your stomach twists in on itself, fidgeting with your phone like a kid in a grocery store.

"Alright, I'll get that right out for you, sir."

...

You're hungry, growls growing louder with each plate clattered onto the table.

It's an assortment, an array of colors and waffles. From sweet, savory, and salty, to a mix of flavors as your phone begins to serve as a shield instead of a form of entertainment. You want nothing more than to chuck it out the window and dig into the food you flat out refused to order.

"Sweet." Gojo flashes a smile at the waiter, and you swear she's giggling like a schoolgirl. "Thank you."

Oh, her face is getting red. For him? For that man?

"Of course." Oh, you don't know whether to hurl at the sight or laugh, so you seal your lips shut, stomaching the scene that unfolds. Those pale cheeks look like strawberries, and his dorky grin only grows wider and friendlier.

Were you third-wheeling right now? Seriously?

You want to crawl underneath the table, but before you even get the chance to, she walks off with such cheer in her steps that you'd think she had almost got his number or something. Gross.

Either way, you're thankful that his smiles clears up otherwise your favorite song would be tainted with the memory of some waiter kicking it off with your arch nemesis-

"Tie me up so I can't escape, Hold me tight and shake me up, so that I can't come to my senses-"

You sit up straighter, your phone discarded at the song, and if you were a dog, your ears would be perking up at the sound.

"Kiss me on the lips, so I can't breathe."

It's no mistake. That is the new XXX song playing on full-blast. Your eyes dart from the waffles, from a Gojo Satoru that stares right back at you, then at your phone on the table.

"I'll swallow you deep now, the whiskey that is you."

You cough, patting your chest at the lyrics.

"Peaches and cream, sweeter than sweet-"

Your mouth waters and you swallow. A thick sound, one that you can't control.

Ah, this was going to be awkward. Your favorite song, and your favorite band from high-school was going to be tainted by the memory of this - hungrily staring at Gojo's food.

"You're too sweet, you taste so-"

"Isn't this that one boyband you like?"

You look up from the food in front of you, then at him, who patiently awaits your answer.

"Y...yeah." You confirm his suspicions, diverting your attention to the half-empty glass of water that sits next to you, sipping away.

Satoru slowly nods, not paying much mind to the lyrics. It sounded familiar, like the music that came out of your earbuds yesterday. Those falsettos and that catchy tropical house beat is what he mostly remembers, other than being caught off-guard, by well, you.

"Okay, it's time then." He declares, and you'd rather not question it, keeping to yourself as he pulls out his phone.

You do not care what it is, and you certainly will not-

"Come on," He taunts, holding his phone up with both hands. "Pose for the camera."

Your curiosity gets the best of you as you make direct eye contact with the camera pointing directly at you.

What the hell?

"No." You cross your arms, bringing your hand out to the phone as he uses his fingers to pinch and zoom at his screen. "I'm not taking a-"

"What about a selfie, hm? Does that sound good?" You can sense him point the camera up high before you actually look into it, seeing his and your face in the screen.

You make a face, lips curling down as your eyes tighten up.

"Oh, come on." He pleads, and then you notice that peace sign with not two, but three fingers. "Please-"

It sticks out like a sore thumb, it takes you back to your high-school days. When Satoru always posed like that for class pictures, how it spread around like wildfire. The selfie pose of the century.

How nostalgic.

"You still do that?" You don't mean to, but it comes out before you can think it through.

"Huh?" You've given him an opening, he realizes as he turns to face you, camera lowered. "Whaddya mean?"

You roll your eyes, wishing you had kept your mouth shut.

"That." You repeat as if it'll make an idiot like him understand any better. "I'm talking about that."

He's so close. Satoru is so close, he's about to win his prize by acting a fool. There's no doubt about it.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't?" You can't believe it. Not for a single second.

"Nope. No clue."

You sigh when he looks at you dumbly.

"Oh my god-" You become frustrated, eyes directing at the sign he holds up. "This, it's that-"

You give up, imitating how he holds out his thumb along with those two fingers.

Bingo.

"Like this-"

SNAP.

You can't even process it, that's how quick he is when he brings out his camera, fingers hovering over the shutter button.

"Gotcha." He snickers, stuffing his phone into his pocket. "You fell for it."

You blink.

"You- Gojo, you can't just-"

"Too bad because I just did." Satoru shrugs, leaning in to take a bite out of that sweet little chocolate croffle with extra sprinkles. The plate you were feasting on with your own two eyes. It's ruined.

He tears it apart with his teeth, chewing the waffle of your dreams and swallowing it down with a swig of water.

"Delete it." You snap out of your trance, blinking as you're forced to choose between each conflict- your stomach and that damn selfie. "I mean it-"

Your stomach growls like a lion's roar.

"Just eat." He says in-between bites, burying his grin underneath a face full of food.

"I'm not-" Another growl, one so ferocious, one that rips through the music. How humiliating it is when you bask in your own embarrassment, your bodily reactions giving you away.

"Are you gonna eat?" He places his waffle down, patting his face with a napkin before putting it aside. You sit there stubbornly, as still as a stone, miserable and hungry as your eyes glue themselves to the floor.

That's fine. Satoru knows how to solve you, his special problem.

"Should I feed you?"

You don't budge as your eyes move. You won't fall for it, not this time. He thinks he's so smart and witty, but really he's not. Not in the slightest, and you'll prove it.

"Aw, look at you. Open wide." He coos, pulling the brownie waffle off the plate next to him. This will be fun.

You'll prove it. You will not be swayed. You will not do as he says.

"Here comes the airplane. Say 'Ah'.." He reaches over, voice dripping with honey as his eyes warm behind those sunglasses of his.

Like hell you would.

"Come on."

Great. You're stuck in the middle of this terrible role-play scenario, frowning when he presses the waffle at your lips, arms tightly crossed. People are staring, you're well aware.

"Why are you feeding-"

Good grief.

Your words are muffled when he pushes the thing in your mouth, hooking it against your teeth. You hold and bite onto the waffle, ripping a piece off with your teeth because you feel obligated to not let the delicious thing go to waste.

"Oh? Good job." You shrink in your seat when he coos, muttering curses to yourself when you see him bring a spoonful of ice-cream to your lips. He's surprised that you play along, eating so well when he proposes to feed you.

"Open wide."

Fine, you lose when you don't talk back. You lose when your lips wrap around that damn spoon, the ice-cream thick as it pools against your tongue, pulling away once you've swallowed.

"Yeah, just like that. Good." Satoru feels full just watching you eat, more than satisfied when you chew your food good and swallow equally as well. He's never done anything this fun before.

This unexpected taste, the explosion of flavors against your tongue as the sugar-high rushes to your head. You don't just like it, you love it, skin melting when the hint of vanilla ice-cream ghosts around your tongue.

You don't have the time to feel embarrassed or offended when you reach for the spoon in his hand. Satoru lets you have it, not wanting to put up a fight. You're eating and that's the only thing that he cares about.

"I can do it myself, thanks." You grab the bowl of ice-cream, shoving another spoon down your throat.

"You eat well." He responds, resting his cheek on his palm as he observes you. "It's a good thing."

Damn it. Your skin burns even when the cold of the ice-cream hits your teeth. You hate it, you'd do anything for it to go away. At the very least, the endorphins rush to your brain and you feel okay for a bit, eating away.

"I know." You subconsciously begin to shrivel up at his stare, scooping another spoon of ice cream. Gojo doesn't take a single bite, eyeing you down as if his goal was to set you on fire.

Way to make you feel guilty.

"You're not eating?" You're inclined to ask, already halfway through that ridiculously sweet brownie waffle.

"What? Are you worried about me?" Satoru scoots forward, tone mocking. "I'm flattered-"

"You have a sweet tooth. I'm not worried about you." You swallow, stirring around the ice in your glass with a teeth-marked straw.

It takes a moment, one of silence, when you begin to mull over your words. Gojo grins from ear to ear, his glasses loosening as it slides down his nose bridge.

"You remember that? For real?" Great. Now he thinks you care, he's beaming.

Oh, you regret it because you've admitted to remembering, feeling small in your seat.

"You do. I'm glad." Satoru concludes, turning to catch the waiter's attention.

You don't say a thing.

....

You were right. Gojo Satoru has a sweet tooth, and a large one at that when the waiter brings not one, but two cans of whipped cream to your table upon special request.

"Thanks." You watch as they exchange another cheesy, gooey interaction. Another, "Of course." before she shyly nods and walks away. You wonder if he's doing it on purpose or if he's just completely oblivious.

It's the latter, isn't it?

Maybe this was your doing, your fault as Gojo clicks open the can of whipped cream, oozing the white fluff in his mouth. The sight is unappetizing, and you let him know.

"You're gross." You mutter, grabbing the other can to spray on a plain waffle.

"What're you doing? I already opened one."

You watch in horror as he sprays the same can he's put against his lips on your food, the can in your hand slamming onto the table.

"What?" He gulps down a glop of cream, licking the corners of his lips clean. "Something wrong?"

You give him a soulless stare, looking down to the now contaminated waffle then at him.

"You're the worst."

"Huh?" He points at himself in disbelief. "Me? What did I do?"

He's right. What did he do? He's been nothing but generous, nothing but kind. He even put cream on your waffles for you.

You disagree, tracing your memories back to those burdensome questions that tickle the tip of your tongue. The most obvious one of them all is the prisoner you release from the jail of your mind.

"Don't act dumb, you literally tricked me into thinking that I would have to pay for your clothes-"

"Our clothes." He corrects, stacking up all the empty plates around him into a tower before his eyes land on the waffle he so lovingly garnished. "Finish your food."

You were not going to let him ignore you. Not again, you promise yourself as you scarf down the rest of your food, face full of cream as you talk.

"How did you pay? You tricked me into thinking-"

Satoru yanks you by the chin, causing you to let out a strange noise, one that is muffled when he presses a napkin under, over, and across your lips.

It burns when the sweat of his fingertips caress against your jaw. It disgusting when your skin blends with his.

It hurts.

"I didn't trick you. It just felt nice to have someone... uh, how should I put it?" You try to pull away, but his fingers don't let you go, looking at him when the blue of his eyes flicker against his glasses.

"I wanted to show off." He swipes a firm press against your nose before his grasp loosens, laughing as you get up from your seat. "You know, I'm rich. Super-"

"Then pay the bill." You grab your phone, slinging each bag right back onto your arms. "I'm leaving."

"I already did." He gets up to follow you. You turn away.

"Thanks."

You can't even look at him, biting the flesh of your mouth as you make your exit.

Huh. Strange.

...

#ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fanfic #archive of our own #enemies to lovers #eventual smut #friends to lovers #romance #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #satoru #satoru gojo

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inmyheadimobsessed · 1 year

Text

More Than I Should {pt. 1}

pairing: riri ✘ black!fem!reader

series summary: riri williams hated you. from the cold stares and the snide remarks, there was no other conclusion to be drawn. the logical response in this circumstance would be to ignore her, avoid her at all costs. you weren't friends, so this should be an easy task. you only had one class with her, and you rarely saw her around campus outside of it. that was until you started dating her best friend. suddenly you'd found yourself thrusted directly into her life, and suddenly her attitude towards you was becoming an issue. you were never one to care what people thought of you, but something about riri captured your need to please. it was easy to convince yourself you only cared because of your boyfriend. she was his best friend, so the two of you needed to get along. he was none the wiser, chalking her coldness toward you up to her naturally standoffish nature. but you knew better. one way or another, riri williams was going to like you, you would make sure of it. (or the one where you're on a mission to make your boyfriend's best friend like you and the two of you end up falling for each other instead)

chapter summary: riri likes to stare, you'd gathered. she hates you, but enjoys watching you. everything she does leaves flustered and confused, and craving her approval. all of which goes unnoticed by your boyfriend. a party leads to drinking and drinking leads to riri reluctantly driving you home, where she extends a slither of kindness.

word count: 9.4k

contains: angst, CHEATING, fluff, smut (eventually) 18+, reader has a boyfriend, friendship betrayal, lying, riri is mean (at first), reader is a baby gay (very confused), jealousy, slow burn (kinda), and just a lot of mess

tags: @verachii @szalipcombo @rxcently @coolestgay @widowmakker @fetchyourlife @blackgcomica @n7cje @shurisbbymama @bestfriend491 @mocha-aya @uhwhatsay @shinsousliya @bratydoll @shuriswifereal @shuriri4life @letitias-fav @axailslink @chidinma @xoxo-dede @yvxmpire @generallysapphic @mbakuetshurisprincess @quintessencewrites @adeola-the-explorer @dejaonline @bubshri @zayswriting @la-reine-insane @shurisjournal

divider by: @firefly-graphics

note: soo this is gonna be a series. this idea came to me while i was listening to some of my favorite sapphic cheater bops, specifically 'ur best friend' by kehlani & kiana ledé and 'more than i should' also by kehlani & jessie reyez, hence the name. i think we can gather two things here: 1. i love kehlani and 2. i love sapphic cheaters and i will always root for them. so fun! if cheating is not something you enjoy reading about, please do not read this fic because i plan to make it very messy lol. obviously i don't condone cheating irl or whatever, this is FICTIONAL! i feel like i have to say that idk. but for my chaos enjoyers, this is for you. mwah <33

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“You know she hates me right?” Your eyes climbed your boyfriend's lanky frame. You watched his laugh build from his core: abs flexing under his white T-Shirt, throat bobbing as his neck sprung backward, allowing the glorious sound to escape his lips. Loud, genuine, hearty — this was the only way Hakeem knew how to laugh. It consumed his entire face, breaking his deep dimples free every time.

A smile of your own was inevitable. Hakeem’s laugh made you laugh, but you were being one hundred percent serious with your accusations. “She does. That girl cannot stand me. And I know she don't want me here.”

“She don't hate you, she just… needs more time to warm up to you. She don't really like new people like that.” His laughter subsided and he lifted his fist to bang on the large garage door. It was obnoxiously loud, echoing in your ears and you winced. You rolled your eyes, at his words and at his actions. How much more warming did she need to do? Was three months not enough time to warm up to a person?

She should be sweltering. “Yeah well, she need to speed up the damn process cause I ain't going nowhere.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyes brimming with curiosity. “Oh, you not?”

“No. We locked in buddy, and your lil best friend need to get on board with that.” You couldn't fight your pout and his eyes softened the moment he noticed it.

He cupped your cheek, palm warm and calloused as you nuzzled into it. “I know how important it is for you to be liked. Just give it a little longer okay? She gon come around.”

You nodded and he kissed you gently. The door swung open then, but Hakeem refused to pull away. You, on the other hand, couldn't stand the idea of her watching you kiss him. When you broke apart, you weren't the least bit surprised to find her eyes already on you. It was a habit of hers, studying you, sizing you up. It wasn't hard to guess what she was thinking; Riri's expression broadcasted just how she felt about your being there. Her stare was intense too, and it made you feel exposed. Brown eyes housing the potential to heat, glared at you in the coldest of ways, shooting darts of ice right into your chest.

Hakeem was incorrect in his assumption about your need to be liked, the opinions of strangers mattered very little to you. But you let him believe that was the case, you thought it easier than admitting the truth. Riri’s opinion of you mattered for some reason, hers alone. That was the truth. An innocent one on the surface, she was your boyfriend's best friend. She was important to him, which in turn made her judgment important to you. However, the crippling guilt you felt each time you thought of her, and sought her approval made you acutely aware that your truth was not solely pure.

There was something else there and you refused to understand it. You weren't entirely sure you even could if you tried.

“Nigga why the fuck you banging on my shit like the feds?” She stepped aside, letting the two of you in as she gave you another once-over. “And why you brought her non-smoking ass? She not gon do nothing but sit there.”

Hakeem laughed, winking at you as he tugged you along past Riri, but you couldn't find the joke. He shrugged, “She wanted to come.”

“To do what?”

You ignored their back and forth about you. It was their pattern and quite frankly you couldn't bring yourself to be bothered. Being the center of attention was sometimes entertaining.

“Bruh chill. She not gon do nothing, just let her hang.”

Riri rolled her eyes, “That’s exactly my point. Her energy be fucking up my vibe and shit.”

You roamed the partially messy space, taking interest in some blueprints Riri had pinned to her board. It was your first time in her garage so you couldn't help your fascination. Being amongst her sketches, her creations, her tools; it was like stepping inside her brain. According to Hakeem, she only invited those who she trusted. Your being there was obviously not for that reason, but you were flattered nonetheless. Her willingness to let you in the door was something, right?

Fingers traced the images before you as your curiosity flared. Some of the diagrams looked familiar, but with a twist only achievable by the young scientist. You could tell a lot of work was put into all of it. Skilled, meticulous. “Riri, what are you building? This looks really cool.”

Her head snapped up and she darted to your side, completely abandoning her bickering with your boyfriend. “Don't touch that. Move.”

“We went over something similar in class, I was just wondering–” You reached for the paper once more, eyes twinkling in amazement, but you startled when she ripped it down.

Annoyance buzzed off her as she balled it up and tossed it into the trash. “See why ion want her around? She don't mind her damn business Keem.”

You eyed her, confused. You truly saw no issue with admiring her work. You appreciated a great mind, but maybe you’d offended her in some way. “Sorry Riri, I didn't mean to–”

“Well, you did.”

Hakeem spoke up, clearing his throat, “Okay nah, ease up on her. She ain't do nothing.”

You watched as Riri’s stiff body visibly relaxed at the bass in your boyfriend's voice. Her shoulders shifted downward in her orange sweater, slouching a little and she sighed. “You right. I just need to smoke, I'm kinda on edge right now.”

She turned to you and you caught a flash of something in her eyes. Something unfamiliar, something… apologetic. “My bad.”

When she spoke, her voice came out soft and rushed. Delicate, like she was desperate to comfort with words. A lousy ‘my bad’ was hardly an apology in your book, but for reasons unbeknownst to you, you were willing and eager to accept it. Being angry at her didn't even cross your mind. Her tone alerted you of her intentions and it was enough for you.

“It's okay.” A small smile formed on your face, it was quick, but she caught it. Riri didn't return the gesture, and you hadn't expected her to. You were content with the simple fact of her knowing you were not upset. There was a moment where you two stared at each other for longer than appropriate and you found yourself holding your breath. One beat, two beats, three; neither of you looked away. It was difficult, you found. It was difficult to tear your eyes from hers.

Hakeem’s arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in closer and he did the same thing to Riri. You peered up at his gorgeous face as he beamed, pearly whites and dimples on full display. “Aww look at my girls. See this is progress, Ima make sure y’all love each other soon, watch.”

You laughed at his enthusiasm and so did Riri, a rare moment of synchronism between the pair of you. Hakeem had that effect on almost everyone. He was inviting and convincing, impossible to deny.

“I'm finna roll up.” He let you both go and jogged to the couch in the back corner of the garage. Riri looked at you again before walking away. Those eyes, they knew just how to stir you, no matter the duration of the stare. Something always came alive when she watched you, creating even more confusion within you. You ignored it, because of course you did. Deciphering Riri’s coded glances was not a task you found yourself wanting to do.

A strange feeling barred you from trying, and you wanted no part in that either.

She followed after him and you after her, plopping right into Hakeem’s lap as you always did when the three of you hung out. Or rather when they hung out and you third wheeled. No matter, you had to solidify your place in his life, she needed to know you were there to stay. Riri Williams needed to grow used to having you around.

•••

“Just pick up the damn cards nigga, on my momma you doing too much.” He sounded amused, but his words housed a twinge of irritation. This tone of voice, the over-exaggerated drawl on syllables, was one you knew well as a girlfriend who enjoyed pushing buttons.

Riri shook her head, hellbent on ignoring him. “Y’all cheating cause how y’all both dropped two draw fours on me? Nah, I ain't picking up shit.”

“Bro, just pick up the cards.”

You looked between the two of them, holding your own cards to your chest. You’d moved out of Hakeem’s lap when he asked you to play, still using the space as a leg rest. His fingers massaged your ankle and toyed with your gold anklet as you sat silently, enjoying the show they were putting on for you.

He was adamant about making her pick up all eight cards, but Riri refused to let up. Firm in her belief that you two were cheating. You were, but of course, you had no plans to admit that. He’d slipped you the card when she inhaled the last pull of the blunt and you giggled.

“If I pick them up, how I know you don't got four more shoved up your ass just waiting to fuck with me again? No.”

This got a laugh out of you and Hakeem smack your foot. Riri was too smart for her own good, there should be no way for her to know you were working against her, but alas.

Hakeem stood his ground, declaring his innocence yet again but she was not buying it. “Man come on, you messing up the game.”

“Well, game over now. Cause I know y’all cheating. I don't care.” Riri threw her remaining cards onto the weathered coffee table, kicking her feet up onto the sofa.

“Bruh, why you can't just take the L and move on?”

She laughed, glancing at him as he threw his head back in frustration. He’d really believed he could win the game amidst his scheme, it was adorable. You took this as an opportunity to crawl back into his cargo-clad lap to cuddle and console him.

“Aww, baby, I'm sorry you lost.” Your head found his chest, poking his stomach and he chuckled. Hakeem was nothing short of a big baby, whining and huffing whenever he didn't get his way. You possessed the skills to end all his theatrics though, one method being tickling.

He laughed under your touch, kissing your forehead before shutting his eyes. Eyes. A different set was on you. When you peered across the space, the culprit revealed themself. Riri was watching you again, this time in sheer disgust. Her scowl was a thing of nightmares and it unnerved you. Suddenly you felt embarrassed, ashamed to have shown your boyfriend even the slightest drop of affection.

An overt expression of disdain; the scientist seemed shameless as her eyes flung sharp daggers in your direction. The look sliced at your skin, once again leaving you feeling bare.

“What?” You questioned, voice a dry croak.

Riri rolled her eyes and sat up, repeating your question mockingly. “What?”

“Okay...” You decided not to press it and went back to cuddling your boyfriend. Riri refused to cease her stare though. Hot, searing irises burned a hole through your flesh as you clung to Hakeem, who'd apparently dozed off at some point. Your arms looped around his torso, head against his stable chest. His heartbeat, consistent and calm like still waters, contrasted yours entirely.

The rhythm in your chest was but an uneven swell, rippling erratically the longer you held her gaze. Riri sensed your attempt to challenge her and she leaned forward, spreading her legs as she strategically placed her elbows atop her knees. The ends of her braids draped her shoulders, making her appear harder than you knew her to be. It was unsettling. Her expression did not falter, but you felt your own on the verge of cracking.

You watched her, unblinking, and she quirked her brow. Your sensitive skin tingled the longer she kept her eyes on you. Every tendon in your body pleaded with you to release them, allow them to loosen and cower away but you denied them the luxury. Two could play in this game.

Riri very obviously sought to intimidate you with her glances and it was working, but she didn't need to know that. You scanned her body, her posture, taking her in fully. Her eyes were bloodshot and barely open as she gaped at you, which somehow made the tension-thick air even less breathable.

The garage sat silently in wait, much like the two of you, anxious to see who would be the first to break. Riri’s whirring machines and the subtle snores Hakeem breathed out were the only audible sounds in the space. When he stirred under you, your body jerked. It startled you and ripped your focus from your consuming staring match with his best friend. You’d lost, just like in UNO. Riri smirked at you, pride in her victory evident by the way her lips curved. She got up, and with the utmost grace. Sitting down you appeared shorter than her, and as she strode closer to you, you grew frantic.

She said nothing as she towered over your body, still sporting that devious smirk. You weren't breathing and she knew that. Eyes fanned you up and down languidly, then she reached forward and you flinched. Evidently in vain because she was not reaching toward you, but instead toward your slumbering boyfriend. She slapped his face lightly to wake him, catching your eyes fleetingly as she did so.

You exhaled when she moved back, dizziness and confusion swirling inside your head.

“Wake up. Y’all gotta get up outta here.” She crossed her short arms, waiting for Hakeem to rise.

Seconds later, he did exactly that, yawning before pecking your cheek. The gesture calmed you a little, recentering your buzzing thoughts. “You kicking us out already?”

“Yes. I got shit to do and like I said, she fucking up my vibe.” A quick glance came your way before she turned her attention back to your boyfriend.

“She ain't doing shit, you just a hater. But we'll go, leave you to your super secret whatever the fuck.” He tapped your thigh and you stood, hugging your middle as you waited.

Once on his feet, he stretched dramatically, as he often did. It made you smile. He dapped Riri up before taking your hand in his and leading you toward the door you entered earlier. “Aight, Ima catch you tomorrow. Please don't blow the place up.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She chuckled, wide and toothy. You found yourself appreciating her smile. It was genuine and you liked that.

“Bye Riri.” You waved and were surprised when she cocked her head, acknowledging your goodbye. Warmth slithered throughout your system, clogging the punctures created by her watchful eyes. You grinned wider when you stepped out into the cool night air, walking hand in hand to your boyfriend's car.

•••

Tired eyelids fluttered shut for the fourth time during your lecture and your head descended to your open laptop, making you jerk up when your face collided with the keys. Your eyes widened as they darted around, desperate to know if your mishap was witnessed by anyone. Luckily, the number of students was sparse, and everyone seemed just as checked out as you, good. Everyone except for her. Much to your chagrin, Riri was the only person who saw you, because of course it would be her. The remnants of her light laughter caught your attention, making you turn your head to face her.

That everlasting smirk hung on her face as it did routinely, smug and jeering. Her expression displayed pity and you scoffed. How dare she pity you?

You squinted at her, shooting her a disapproving glower and she rolled her eyes in response. Within seconds, she’d returned to her own laptop, tapping away and zoning out for the remainder of the class. It irked you, the way she so easily dismissed your presence. Rarely did she regard you in the classroom, if at all, and when she did this was precisely how it always went. Like you were a bother and something easily forgotten.

When class was over she shot up, ready to book it out the door. Usually, you’d let her leave first to avoid any run-ins with her attitude, but today you were a little more than hopeful as you scurried after her.

“Hey! Hey Riri!” You called but she kept walking, short legs and tiny feet carrying her far. “Riri!”

“Oh my god, what?” Her head whipped around, knocking you back some. Regret bubbled in your stomach. You’d given yourself rules, usually, you followed the rules. Number one being steer clear of her if Hakeem was not present. It was for your own sanity as much as it was for hers.

Her bored pupils coupled with the uncontained irritation painting her face reminded you exactly why rules were a thing. Riri’s impatience was palpable and it beamed off her in heated waves, melting away your spurt of confidence.

There was no turning back now though, you had her attention. “Dr. Lucas is really boring huh? I almost fell asleep so many times during his lecture, it’s crazy.” Small talk accentuated your awkwardness. It was a curse, truly, and it was causing the shorter girl to screw her face up more.

“Yeah.” Her reply was clipped and curt, but it wasn’t like you expected anything more.

You blinked, breathing slowly in attempts to steady your racing pulse. God, her eyes were crafted with the specific intent to scrutinize. They scanned you, studying your mouth as it moved, pointless words spilling out of you with seemingly no end. And there it was again, that irritation. You had no idea how she did it, how she possessed the ability to rattle you so. With minimal effort at that.

“I took some notes, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open you know? It’s like man you really putting me to sleep when I should be learning, you should be teach–”

Riri huffed, cutting you off immediately. You’d prepared for it, but the action still stung. “Is there a point to this conversation?”

“Well uh–” You stammered, having lost control of the train carrying your thoughts.

She smirked, “Use your words.”

“Hakeem and I are getting food later!” A lie, but one that could easily be morphed into the truth with a simple text. Your boyfriend was the king of spontaneity.

“Um okay, have fun? The fuck?” She spun on her heels, ready to leave you and your gaping mouth behind, but you grabbed her wrist. A mistake. Riri looked offended, like the very act of your hand on hers was in some way insulting. Her gaze panned from where your skin touched to your face. “You’re touching me.”

You ripped your palm away from her wrist hurriedly and cleared your throat, “Uh, yeah I'm sorry. But I- do you wanna come with me? And Keem? To Freeda’s?”

“No.”

You’d seen firsthand how much she loved their fries, Riri had never once turned down food from Freeda’s, so you knew she was saying no just to spite you.

“You sure? You know I work there, I can get you all the free fries you want.” You teased with a pleading grin.

A spark of excitement flashed in her irises, and you were certain you’d hooked her. But when she opened her mouth, your face fell. “Nah.”

She left without another word and you frowned. Now you were irritated, not just by her rejection, but by your own desperation. Why'd you have to approach her in the first place? The outcome of that conversation would be obvious to anyone. You sighed because you were hungry now too, so you decided to text Hakeem anyway. He could cheer you up. Fries too, fries would cheer you up.

You: Hey baby, meet me at Freeda’s in 20?

Keem: Bet.

•••

You had about forty minutes left in your shift, but waiting impatiently for the old couple in the far corner of the diner to finish their meal made it seem closer to forever. They looked happy though, and you couldn't help your smile. The image of them made you think of yourself and Hakeem at their age. Would the two of you make it there? Was he your one?

He hadn't arrived at the time he promised and it annoyed you some. You needed his presence around as a distraction from your thoughts.

The conversation, or lack thereof, you had with Riri soured your mood for most of your shift. You just couldn't shake the feeling you’d messed things up with her even more after that encounter. The way she looked at you when you grabbed her arm played on a loop with every order you took. Her face colored in pure disgust, eyes wild and accusing.

The diner was small and not very busy this late in the night, so the quiet gave you too much time to mull over every detail. You munched on fries as you sat at one of the empty booths, but they weren't doing the job of making you feel better. Something was missing. Hakeem and his pretty smile were missing. He’d be feeding you fries and allowing you to pout like he always did when you were upset. What use was having a boyfriend if he wasn't on call to rub your back and feed you whenever you needed?

“Thanks, y’all have a good weekend!” You smiled, waving at the couple on their way out the door. They were your last customers of the night and you sighed. At least you could eat your cold fries shamelessly without the fear of judgment.

The door dinged as you popped the greasy piece of potato into your mouth and your eyes shot up lazily. A grimace formed on your lips when a familiar face sporting a soft, apologetic smile greeted you.

“I know, I know, I'm hella late. But I actually have a good excuse.” He scooted in next to you and bumped your shoulder playfully.

“No. I'm mad at you.” You tossed a fry at his face and he winced dramatically, grabbing his chest as if you’d wounded him. He was attempting to make you smile, but you wouldn't let him off that easily.

Hakeem wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and you almost broke. Almost. “I had a shitty day and you were supposed to be here to distract me from the shitty thoughts caused by my shitty day.”

“I'm sorry baby. My shit wouldn't start, you know how that car be giving me problems. I slick need a new one for real.” He pecked your cheek, soft and sweet and you had to wrestle a sigh of relief. His lips on your skin did many things for you, but you weren't done being annoyed with him just yet.

You pouted and he mirrored it, somehow appearing even cuter than he already was. Those pleading brown eyes and quivering lips were enough to make you fold. You grinned wide, poking his dimple. His reciprocated smile rivaled your own as he pulled you in for a kiss. The kiss was desperate on your end and you whined against his mouth. If only he knew how much you’d craved his lips all night.

Hakeem pulled away and pecked your forehead, lifting your legs into his lap. Fingers rubbed your thighs, smoothing up and down, and you relaxed into the feeling. There was something amazing to be said about his effortless ability to comfort and soothe. It was so simple for him, so natural. His eyes were on your face, reading you as one would an open book. “Let me guess, Riri?”

“Yes. Your stupid best friend ruined my day.”

His chuckle lit up his entire face, making his chest bounce and you threw another fry at him. “What her short butt do now?”

“She was mean to me.”

“Ain't she always?”

You shot him a glare and he apologized immediately, throwing his hands up. “I'm sorry she was mean to you. I’ll make sure to yell at her when she–”

Before he could finish, the bell dinged again and in walked the devil. You groaned at the sight of her and she was quick to do the same. Riri had changed out of her hoodie and jeans from earlier. She now wore loose-fitting cargo shorts and an oversized Aaliyah T-Shirt with gold jewelry that complemented her complexion. Her braids framed her face with the middle part she rocked and they swayed past her waist. She looked good.

She stuck her hand in her pocket as she approached the booth, hesitant to sit in front of you and Hakeem. Eventually, she did and like clockwork, her eyes found you.

“Why she said you was mean to her?” Hakeem questioned and Riri scoffed.

The scientist sucked her teeth, examining your cozy position next to her best friend, “Ain't nobody was mean to her.”

You stayed silent, words have never been kind to you in her presence, so you thought it best to avoid them.

Hakeem grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together and you smiled to yourself. “Now we both know that's a lie. What I tell you about easing up on her? Got my girl all sad and shit.”

“It's fine Keem. I'm over it.” You lied, scanning Riri's unbothered form in front of you. Her arms were crossed and she eyed the basket of cold fries you were previously munching on.

“Y’all want fries?” Riri’s reaction was the only one you checked for and sure enough, her eyes lit up like a Christmas Tree. They both nodded and you stifled a laugh, pushing Hakeem out so you could get up.

Before you went to the back, he reached for your wrist, eyes gentle and concerned as he watched you. “You sure you good?”

Your response was a short peck and you nodded.

“What I tell you bout giving out free food to your friends?” Your manager Benny quizzed with a hot glare. You rolled your eyes grabbing the baskets of fries anyway.

“It's just fries.” He groaned in response before walking away. Benny was all bark no bite, and he let you get away with a lot, not that you were complaining.

When you returned to the table, Riri and Hakeem were laughing at something on his phone and you smiled at the sight of them. Both their faces grew brighter when the aroma of greasy fried food hit their nostrils; they were practically salivating.

“Here you go babe, and here's your ranch,” You placed the basket in front of him and kissed his cheek before turning to Riri. “And I made sure to put that seasoned salt you like on there.”

Her face expressed shock, but only briefly before she grabbed the fries from you, fingers brushing over yours in the process. “Thanks.”

The first word she'd uttered to you since her infamous “nah” earlier and it made you oddly content to be thanked by her. You sat, watching them eat as you sneakily tried to take one of Hakeem’s fries. He smacked your hand away instantly, and you whined.

“Ion even know why you tried that,” Riri spoke up and you shifted slightly. She was right, Hakeem never shared food with anyone, not even you.

You cleaned up after they finished and the two of them fell into a conversation about Hakeem’s car. “You sure you can have it ready by Sunday? I gotta drive up to see my grandma, she in the hospital.”

“You know I gotchu man. I might actually be able to get it to you tomorrow if it's just your engine again. If it's something else, we'll shoot for Sunday.”

Hakeem shook his head and she looked confused, “Nah you can't tonight. I got a party to go to.”

Riri raised her brow, face unimpressed. “And what that got to do with me?”

“Wait lemme rephrase. We got a party to go to, all three of us. You gotta drive.”

Your head jerked at the same time Riri’s did, “Oh nah.”

“No.” Good to know the word was just as icy when she shot it at him.

He huffed, rolling his eyes at the both of you. “So y’all not tryna slide? It's Friday night.”

You shook your head, “Absolutely not. I'm way too tired and I got homework. Plus, I ain't dressed for no damn party.” You gestured to your work shirt, riddled with stains, and your jeans. Hakeem nodded in agreement, making you scoff.

“And I just don't wanna go.” Riri added.

“Look, Riri can just get you home, you can change real quick, and we can go.” He poked out his bottom lip knowing it would make you weak.

Riri’s dry laugh let the both of you know exactly what she thought of that idea. There was no need for words, and yet, she said them anyway. “That ain't happening. I already didn't wanna come here, but now you telling me I gotta drive her home, wait for her to change, drive to a party I don't wanna go to, then drive the both of y’all back to your separate apartments? And I ain't heard nothing bout no gas money either. You got me fucked up.”

She had a point. It was a lot and you didn't want to be a burden, nor did you even want to go to the party. You looked at her stern face for longer than necessary, and instead of snarling at you, her eyes softened. They regarded you kindly. Odd. But you took it.

“Riri’s right.” Your attention was still on her and you could've sworn you saw the glint of a smile under all that rubble.

But of course, Hakeem got his way, and you were now on your way to your place to shower and change. Riri begrudgingly agreed, but not before spitting a few choice words at her best friend. Words that you agreed with, words that made you giggle.

Riri and Hakeem sat in your small living room while you got ready. You were strapped for time, so black leggings and a simple backless halter top made the most sense for the night, pairing the outfit with your black and white dunks. Casual, yet still very cute. If you got cold later you would just steal Hakeem’s hoodie.

“Baby, can you tie this for me?” You called, stepping out of your bedroom. You loved the top, but tying it in the back was always a chore. You shoved your back in his face giving him no choice in the matter, which meant your accentuated bosom was facing Riri, who sat across from you.

Hakeem struggled with the strings; you could tell by his long sighs that he was frustrated, but you were too caught up in the way Riri sat silent and unmoving as she watched — no ogled you, to care. Her eyes honed in on your chest, gulping anxiously at your barely covered breasts. It was fascinating, garnering this reaction from her. She did nothing to conceal her stare. It was blatant and open. Probably because she was too caught up in it to notice anything else, like your awareness. She’d never regarded you with anything similar to awe before and you quite liked the look on her face. Hot was hot you guessed, even if she did hate you.

You smirked, deciding to play into it. “Ugh, Keem baby you doing the shit wrong.”

“I never said I knew what I was doing.”

Your glance alerted her immediately of your plan and she shifted uncomfortably. She looked flustered. Like actually flustered at the simple thought of what you would request. Being on the other side of this sort of torment boosted your ego, you loved it.

“Riri, can you help me? I know it'll be easy for you.” You sang your words, practically sauntering toward her and she stuttered. She floundered nervously, drowning in your sentence and your drawl.

“Uh, yeah.” Her voice cracked a little, but only you noticed because you were looking for it, planned for it even.

Your eyes traveled up the short girl and she cleared her throat when she realized she'd been caught staring at your cleavage. A grace fueled twirl turned your back to her, but said grace evaded your body the moment fingers grazed your spine. Riri gripped the strings, yanking them tighter than necessary as she tied your top. The harshness of the act, the bite — it made you gasp, trapping a bubble of air in your throat and you covered your mouth.

Your neck twisted to face Hakeem immediately. He was blissfully unaware and scrolling through his phone. Good. An unfamiliar sensation coursed through you, heating your ears and leaving you embarrassed at your reaction.

“There you go. Now can we leave so I can get this damn night over with?” She shoved you away slightly and you tiptoed back to where Hakeem sat on your couch’s armrest.

His smile was breathtaking when he looked up from his screen to you, eyes twinkling in sync with his earrings. “You so damn fine.”

“Boy shut up.”

Hakeem pulled you in by your waist and bit his lip. “Come here.”

A blush crept up your exposed back, searing you all over as he took you in. You leaned in to kiss him and he grabbed your ass, making you screech. “Keem stop it, oh my god!”

“You ready.” He whispered, lips padding over yours still.

You nodded with a smile, then pecked him again.

“We going or what? Cause I can leave y’all to finish whatever it is y’all starting over there.” Riri’s voice echoed in the small space and you froze just as Hakeem rolled his eyes at her.

He got up and grabbed your hand making you smile wide. You loved having his hand in yours, it made you feel protected and safe, even here. “Ayo why you always so damn grumpy? Do all short people be that grumpy all the time?”

Riri was not a fan of the teasing. She trekked to the door without a word, clearly not caring if either of you followed behind her or not.

•••

Sitting in the backseat of Riri’s car did not shield you from those eyes of hers. Each time she peered at you through the rearview mirror, you shuddered, mind racing back to the feeling of her hands on you. You couldn't stop thinking about how roughly she’d handled you. Your insides bristled and shame consumed you. Because you liked it.

There had to be a logical explanation lurking somewhere beneath your puzzling thoughts. Your attention shifted to the city lights now, taking them in as Riri zipped down the road. Maybe their gleams could give you some insight. Maybe you only thought you liked the feeling, when what you really enjoyed was the kindness she'd shown you. Riri helped you without protest, without contempt. That's what you liked.

With that conclusion drawn, you decided to give your brain a break, refusing to delve into the other thing she did that made your insides swivel. You refuted the idea of it entirely, tucking it in the depths of your thoughts.

The party would do you some good, help you unwind. You just wanted to enjoy good music, get drunk, and grind on your man.

Hakeem opened the door for you and stuck his hand out. “So chivalrous, oh my.”

“You know how I do.”

You gripped his right and he extended his left for Riri. For a moment she just watched his palm with a scowl and crossed arms, but when Hakeem brought out the dimples, she cracked. She plastered on a smile of her own and shook her head before snatching his waiting hand.

“Mmm, yeah. That's what I thought.”

If anyone could put her in a good mood, it was him. A twinge of jealousy struck you then. Unexpected and shifty as it arose — the feeling unnerved you. You weren't jealous of Riri or her dynamic with your boyfriend. That was never the case. Your mind had been betraying you all night, and this was just another instance of that. Alcohol would fix it, it would fix everything.

The three of you walked up the steps as a unit, hands swinging back and forth per Hakeem’s doing. You giggled lightly, widening your smile when you caught Riri doing the same. She made no move to shift her happiness when she grew aware of your gaze, instead she quirked her lips, aiming the expression directly at you. The gesture made you blush and you soaked up the fondness there. Housing it because the likelihood of it happening again was practically nonexistent.

Entering the house party was like stepping into a packed sauna. Warm bodies filled the tight space, bumping into the three of you as you attempted to maneuver through the crowd. Lil Durk blared from the speakers and a steady rhythm bounced in your system. You guys had barely moved past the front door before you began feeling sticky.

Liquor mingled with the rancid smell of piss and nausea threatened you. The flashing lights were not helping. Bright beams made an already dizzy mind all the more unsteady. How you were talked into coming here, a mystery unsolved.

You shot a glance at Riri still clinging to her best friend's hand and her bored facial expression told you she too regretted coming. Hakeem on the other hand, looked elated to be there. His eyes roamed the filled living room, presumably looking for the nearest place to get alcohol.

“Y’all want a drink?” He asked in that giddy tone of his. You should shake your head, say no, but you needed to forget a few things. A nice buzz would assist you in doing exactly that. You nodded and Riri did the opposite, finally letting go of his hand.

You trailed her steps as she walked away. It wasn't good to split from the people you came with in an unfamiliar setting, you thought, so keeping an eye on her was the smart thing to do. She trotted off to a corner, propping her back against the wall. By her stance, you could tell she would not be moving for the rest of the night.

“Stay here, Ima be back,” Hakeem instructed before leaving to get your drinks. You did not need to be told twice.

When he returned, he placed a red solo cup in your hand before knocking his own back within seconds. So that's how the night was going to go. Great.

“Come here baby.” You sipped your drink and he pulled you to him making you giggle. Hakeem’s hands found your bare waist, and you began to sway to the current song. The look in his eyes melted away any apprehension you had about the party, his touch once again providing you with security.

When he spun you, he hooked his chin over your shoulder. A giggle climbed your throat at the feeling of his wet lips on your neck. You pushed your ass back against him, knowing it would drive him insane. The low growl he breathed out was a confirmation and a cry for you to continue. You obliged, bending over and grinding into him hard. The liquid in your cup was strong as you down the last of it, tugging on a cough and you breathed out.

Unrest melted away the longer you two danced, confidence taking its place, no doubt brought on by the alcohol swirling in your system. Hakeem’s chest pressed tightly against your back and he allowed his fingers to graze your butt. Now that was something you liked, the sensation of his hand there, the way he touched you with care. He was asking for permission to go further and you granted it with a roll of your hips. An action that contrasted Riri’s earlier one entirely.

The icy sweep of his gold chain along your naked back sent a thrill through you. You smirked, reaching your hand up to wrap around his neck and he chuckled. “Damn girl, you better relax.”

His words barely audible, weighed down by the booming music. Hakeem’s cologne was strong and heady, and it made you all the more tipsy as you threw your ass back against him.

“Or what?”

He shot you a knowing look, making you blush. It was all calculated, he wanted a reaction out of you.

All the while, Riri watched the two of you from her corner. You were aware of it, her stare was a thing you were well acquainted with now. You looked up catching her angry eyes. Her expressions were usually the same: Irritation. Disgust. But anger was not at all common. What reason did she have to be angry at you? The look puzzled you as you held her gaze. There was a cup in her hand and the bottom of her shoe indented the wall. She seethed with each hip switch, eyes skimming Hakeem’s possessive grip on you.

You watched her lips wrap around the cup, watched her throat bob with each gulp. Something was off with her and you found yourself desiring to know what.

“Hey Keem, I’m gonna–”

“Yo, Keem that you?” A tall man you’d never seen before approached the two of you and your boyfriend let you go to greet him.

Hakeem patted the guy's shoulder and then hugged him, bearing that smile everyone loved. “Kyle? Whatchu doing here? I thought you moved.”

“I did, but I'm back for my sister’s wedding, the whole family up here. Dre back too.”

You watched the exchange, feeling forgotten as your boyfriend caught up with an apparent old friend. The conversation stretched on and he made no move to introduce you, causing you to grow irritated.

“Hakeem.” A stern call of his name caught his attention and he cursed under his breath, now aware of his mistake.

He grabbed your waist, sliding your stiff body closer to him. “Oh shit, this your girl?”

He nodded proudly and Kyle stuck his hand out for you to shake. You did not shake Kyle’s hand, glancing over to Riri instead. Her demeanor showcased less tension in her body and she was smirking a bit.

“Alright, my bad. I ain't mean to interrupt.” Kyle took your rejection seemingly well. The longer the two of them spoke, you began to realize he carried the same happy-go-lucky attitude as Hakeem. You learned that they were childhood friends, but Kyle moved down south when his father got a job offer there. He seemed nice enough, immensely different from the loser-y frat guys your boyfriend hung out with on campus.

He turned to you and the glint in his pupils told you he was preparing to beg for something you weren't likely to grant. “You mind if I go catch up with my friend Dre? I ain't seen him in years. Please baby? I won't stay too long, he just outside.”

You rolled your eyes, but allowed him to go. Your mind was still set on Riri anyway, and you made your way over to where she stood after he dipped out the door.

Approaching her with caution seemed like the best bet. You never knew what you would get with her. She saw you coming and scooted over a little so you could slip in next to her.

“You okay?” You yelled over the noise. Drunk students were now sliding down the steep staircase in laundry baskets and cheering. The act looked dangerous, and this was someone’s home, but no one seemed to care. Nothing mattered when you were bathing in booze.

She nodded, sipping from her cup again.

“You having fun?” Of course, you knew the answer already, and Riri’s look of annoyance confirmed that you were correct.

She chuckled into her drink before speaking, “Are you having fun? I mean your boyfriend just ditched you so…”

“He didn't ditch me.”

She laughed again as if she knew something you didn't and brought the cup up to her lips for the final time. “Oh, he didn't?”

You wanted to turn away, but everything about the way she sipped the liquid called to you. It was a thing you could not understand.

“Are you mad at me about something?” You didn't mean to blurt the question, but letting it out lightened the weight on your shoulders for some reason. You were glad it was out. Her anger from moments ago seemed to be quelled now, but you still sought a direct answer.

She turned to face you, leaning her shoulder on the wall. The outline of her face still looked good under the low light. There was a smirk there, on her lips, and it made you fidget.

“You do something to make me mad?” Riri raised her eyebrow.

You shook your head, “No.”

“Well there's your answer,” She waited a beat before speaking again. “And Keem ain't coming back by the way.”

“Yes he is.”

Your optimism made her chuckle again and she shook her head.

•••

Riri was correct. An hour had passed and Hakeem had not returned. You were beyond enraged as you scrolled through the dozens of texts you’d sent yelling at him. He left you on delivered, meaning he had to be actively ignoring you. Red blurred your vision as you seethed. It hadn't even dawned on you that you’d wandered away from Riri. There was a new cup of something in your hand and you swallowed it all, reveling in the sting that heated your throat.

Someone in the kitchen shouted shots, and you ran, knocking back four. You didn't care that drinking this much was reckless, nor about having work in the morning. You wanted to forget, you needed to forget. About Hakeem coaxing you into attending a party you wanted nothing to do with, and his grumpy best friend who congested your brain. You blinked, seeing only images of her: her lips, her smirk, her eyes on your boobs. It was all too much and you wanted to scream.

The group of girls you'd infiltrated were now dragging you back to the dance floor and you let them. They held your hands and they were nice, complementing your outfit and nails.

The upbeat song reverberated in your sternum, mixing with the liquor permeating your whooshing bloodstream. You felt light, like you were dainty and floating. Intoxication consumed your mind and reality was lost on you. Unknown hands made you jump when they looped around your middle, pulling you into them. The person wanted to dance and you were in no state to say no.

“You fine as hell shawty.” Mint and beer hit your nostrils, inebriating you beyond reason as you giggled. Their voice was husky and low, you liked husky and low.

Before you could grind into them, you were yanked away harshly. This time by hands you did know, hands you'd just learned. Riri's hands. “Yeah, Ima need you to get the fuck up off her.”

Her tone came out dark, dangerous, and it scared you sober. Wild eyes scanned the stranger. Riri, as short as she was, knew just how to intimidate because the person left jarred, and without a word. She scolded you with her glower, tugging you through the crowd and out the door. Nippy fresh air hit your feverish skin and you shivered, making you more annoyed. Hakeem was supposed to be there with a hoodie for you. He wasn't supposed to leave you.

You tried wiggling out of Riri’s grasp as tears began to sting your eyes. “Let me go! Get the fuck off me!”

“Yo what the fuck is your problem?” Her voice still housed that darkness, but it was less heavy now.

She scanned your teary face and rolled her eyes, obviously not moved by your emotions. She never was. “The fuck are you touching me for? I said let me go!” You weren't even sure why you were crying, but you were drunk enough to not care.

“Oh, now you got a problem with somebody touching you? Cause it ain't seem that way a minute ago. Letting random niggas rub up on you and shit like you don't got a boyfriend.”

You quieted. She was right, but you also wanted to get back at Hakeem for ditching you. The back of your hand swatted away streams and you sniffled. “Why do you even care?”

“I don't.”

You tried walking away, but you stumbled. Riri watched you, unmoved and unimpressed by your determination to leave. “Girl if you don't get your drunk ass in the car. I'm taking you home.”

“Don't need you to do that.”

She pulled you anyway, ushering you to her car skillfully. She opened the door for you and helped you sit, hot hands warming your chilled skin. You let Riri buckle you in and she groaned when you giggled at the contact. Your skin was sensitive and when she touched you it tickled.

“This is exactly why I didn't wanna come. I knew Hakeem fast ass would do this, leave me to deal with you.” You heeded her complaint as she climbed behind the wheel. So this was something he did often you’d gathered. Noted. He would definitely be getting yelled at and ignored simultaneously for the next few days. You relaxed into the seat as Riri drove off, kicking your feet up onto the dashboard before you lazily.

“Get your damn feet off my dash.” She reached her arm over to smack your ankle and you whined.

You really did not understand her problem with you.

“Why d’you hate me smuch?” Slurred words danced tipsily off your tongue. Everything was spinning and the city lights made your head split. Riri’s eyes darted from the road to your intoxicated form in the passenger seat for a few seconds, taking you in as well as your question. She said nothing and the car sped up a little, the motion shaking your stomach contents.

“Is it because I’m with Hakeem?” Silence again as she pulled up to your apartment building. She parked the car, sitting behind the wheel as still as one could, but it did nothing to stop you from seeing two of her. The alcohol in your body distorted her image and you narrowed your eyes to get a better look at her face. Riri’s face. She had a nice face, you thought. Pretty. No, not just pretty, gorgeous. Stunning.

“You like him or something? Is that it? You secretly in love with your best friend Riri?”

Her eyes rolled, “You're drunk and you should shut up.”

“That wasn't a no! Why you not answering my questions, huh?”

She was annoyed, you were annoying her and she spoke through gritted teeth. “Can you get out on your own?”

“I can do anything on my own, m’strong. Really strong. I'm like that iron girl from youtube.”

This made her chuckle and it bothered you for some reason. She didn't believe you were strong, that's probably why she picked on you as often as she did. Riri thought you were weak.

You moved to step out of the car, to show her just how strong and capable you were, but your still-buckled seat belt choked you and pulled you right back down. Riri opened her door, face baring utter frustration, and stepped out. She was at your side seconds later. Her arm reached over your body, brushing your exposed waist as she moved to unbuckle you. It jolted you, the touch. It made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Your senses were already at their peak, and that brush of contact teetered on the thin line between bliss and sheer overstimulation. But one could argue they were one and the same.

She felt it too, despite her unwillingness to acknowledge it, her eyes spoke it all as she looked at you. Riri didn't move, instead, she squeezed herself onto the edge of the seat just to watch you, just to take you in entirely. There was a sensation brewing, bubbling inside you. It was not unfamiliar; you knew it well. The feeling awoke every time she glimpsed at you. It was intense as hell. You’d never seen her use that stare on anyone apart from yourself. Riri was a girl who had trouble controlling her facial expressions, even when she bit her tongue. Riri’s face betrayed her, laying all her inner thoughts out for the world to read and learn.

It was easy to discern when she was irritated or elated. But this look, this one was difficult to deconstruct. It was a look reserved for you, that much you knew. But its meaning was lost on you.

You knew she disliked you, she made it exceedingly obvious. You were aware she hated being around you for too long. She hated your relationship with Hakeem, or rather she didn't respect it, she didn't respect you. But each time she looked at you this way, each time her eyes studied and stripped you bare, confusion bustled inside you. This glare, it spoke something foreign. It contrasted her actions.

Riri’s eyes were on your mouth. They stayed locked on your lips and it made your already intoxicated mind sizzle with uncertainty. “Can you make it upstairs on your own?”

“I-”

She sighed, standing up and sticking her hand out, presumably for you to grab onto. When you hesitated, she seized your fingers instead, making you flinch. Riri pulled your drunken form out of her car, holding your palm firmly in hers. You wobbled, and she placed a hot palm on your back. A touch meant to steady, you’re sure, but it did the opposite.

Riri’s fingers being that low on your back heated your skin and sent your entire body cascading to the pavement. She caught you though, seconds before your knees hit the ground and she pulled you in close.

“S’okay Riri, I got it. Thanks for the ride, but I think I'm good n-now.” Your attempt to loosen her hold on you was proven to be useless. She held you tight. Strong. Really strong. She was smaller than you, but her grip was sturdy.

She pulled you, and your back collided with her front. “No. You're not good now. And I ain't letting you go nowhere by yourself.”

“O-okay.”

She guided you through the door and onto the elevator up to your apartment hand in hand without words. You stumbled a little bit on the journey, but her gentle touch kept you upright. When you reached your door, she politely asked for your key and you placed it into her other palm. The door opened and you stepped under the threshold, turning to face her.

“I got it from here.” You said, leaning your shoulder against the frame and her head dipped in a nod, but she made no effort to leave. She was watching you again and you held your breath. Riri took note of your inhale, smirking slightly.

You cleared your throat, “Why can't you be this nice to me all the time? I'm sure it takes less energy than constantly hating me.”

This instance was the longest she’d tolerated your presence without scoffing or gagging. This was a lengthy stretch of kindness, much more flattering than her tying the straps of your top. You appreciated it, much more than you should, you're sure because it was all you’d wanted, for her to be nice to you. And here she was, offering it up without malice. So of course you took it, and of course you ignored the batting shame in your chest.

“You really think I hate you?” She bit her lip, eyes flickering to your fingers that were still interlocked. You hadn't noticed she was still holding your hand, but Riri sure did. The thought made you blush, releasing a gust of unidentified emotions inside you. They trampled and toppled your growing shame, making you crave confinement.

You slipped your hand from hers, folding your arms across your chest as you breathed out. “Don't you?”

“Hmm.”

Your eyes turned curious, narrowing into an accusing glare.

“I’ll text Keem, let him know I got you home safe.”

She sauntered off, hitting the corner to get back on the elevator. You listened closely for the ding. Once you were certain she was no longer on your floor, you huffed a long exhale, willing your heart to stop thumping, begging your blood to stop rushing. Everything felt off, you were exposed to the air, and it judged you profusely.

You shut the door hurriedly and pressed your back against it, rubbing the heels of your palms in your eyes. That entire encounter, as mundane as it would seem to any prying eyes, was anything but. Or maybe you were just drunk and your insane overthinking skills were wide awake and at play.

“Hmm.”

‘Hmm’ was not an answer. ‘Hmm’ only bred more confusion.

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