#hes going to go permanently red he swears

[roomsofangel]

IN THE ABSENCE OF EVERYTHING, I PROMISE TO KEEP YOU WARM . . jeong yunho

synopsis ateez are on a much needed break after their recent comeback — traveling overseas for a short-term vacation, yunho desires nothing more than just to ease himself and let go of worries.

but with a run in with someone he deems an angel in human skin, yunho learns she doesn’t know who he is and pretends to be someone else.

filled with secrets and a burning romance, yunho learns that no matter what you do or how hard you try, life just isn’t fair.

and he only had himself to blame.

wc 775

chapter warnings none that i can think of!

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated! ♥️

yunho swore if someone asked him, he could describe the day you two encountered again down to every little detail there was, something that deeply burned into his memory and left a permanent scar. this was something perfectly handcrafted and molded into your shape. a personal shrine for you in his mind.

but time was never on yunho’s side, his slender fingers messing with the year old receipts he was dreading to throw away, the list of charges lining up before he shoved them back into the shoebox, a huff of air leaving his lungs as he closed his eyes, your silhouette on display. he swears he can reach you if he just shuts them tighter. with a sigh, he grabbed the shoebox cover and closed the lid, heart faltering for a second each time he read the handwriting

yunho and y/n’s memories

i’ll love you forever, yuyu! - yn

but time was never on yunho’s side, and he only had himself to blame for always being five seconds too late.

yunho remembers the first time he asked you out, the same day you two reconnected and you swore he was following you for a moment and he had let out a belly laugh — but now when he recalls the memory, it tastes bittersweet and he wants to purge it out like bad liquor. his regrets stain it all, knowing that was the day he chose not to tell you the truth.

“i’m just coming to pick up something from a friend,” he had voiced and you scoffed at first, not believing him until his manager had came with a few documents shoved into an envelope, resting in a tote bag that yunho accepted happily, “see? my good friend,” he teased

and technically he wasn’t lying about the friend, his manager was a decent guy who he got along with, maybe he wouldn’t go out for drinks and sunday brunch with the guy but he liked to think that they were decent enough — professionalism was a line he didn’t cross however, his manager was his manager.

but that day, he wasn’t.

that day, yunho was someone else. someone that he wished he could be again, and he knew that was selfish.

it wasn’t fair on you that you fell in love with someone you were now convinced you didn’t know at at all

but yunho doesn’t blame you, he never really knew himself either.

“do you wanna go to this cat cafe?” yunho asked you, the first place he ever took you to and you were hesitant at first — an intrigued expression, but tone laced with venom when you had eventually spoke

you hummed, not bothering to lift your head to meet his gaze or act as if you were genuinely acknowledging him, hell, you could have convinced yunho you didn’t even hear a thing he said, but you stopped flipping through the magazine you were assessing before your answer followed, “a cat cafe?” you parroted back to him, finally meeting his gaze with brows lifting in question, “why would i go with you?”

yunho shrugged, “so i can apologize better,” he responded to your glare with a smile, showing a bit of teeth and he felt accomplished watching the red run across your cheeks more and more, you rolled your eyes but yunho saw the smile you were fighting back

“just do it here.” you motioned to the building the two of you were in and he shook his head

“no, i wanna be surrounded by cute cats and hot chocolate,” wiggling his eyebrows to tease you, he let out another laugh when you playfully shoved his shoulder, your expression not matching but with the way your eyes glistened when they met his, even you couldn’t stop the small smile from forming

your eyes flickered to the clock then back towards the taller male in front of you who fixed the strap of the bag on his shoulder, “do you mind waiting a bit? my shift ends in ten minutes, i just have to sort out these,” your hand lifted the magazine you were going through earlier to shimmy it a little, and yunho smiled wide

“i don’t mind!” he beamed, walking towards one of the sofas that were in the lobby the two of you resided in, plopping himself down and getting comfortable, “i’ll be here.”

if only the two of you had known what was going to be awaiting you, because maybe it would have hurt less — but time was never on yunho’s side

no matter how desperately he wanted it to be now that you were gone.

masterlist . . next

[mae-gi-writes]

Finders Keepers | Gally [TMR] - Part 5

In which Gally gets soft for one of the boys in the Glade, only…is it a boy? alternatively; In which Mai disguises herself into a boy to fit in the Glade, only to be suspected by the keen eyes of the Builder's Keeper.

taglist: @edynmeyer1 @ss28 @kurowvie @vaugarkel

A/N: omg omg things are starting to roll and I'm so down for all of it. What do you think so far of Gally and Mai?

Also available on Wattpad.

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"The shuck you lookin' at?"

"I'm not looking at anything," says Mai as she plops another spoonful of mashed potatoes in Gally's plate, all while keeping a watchful eye on Frypan. The latter is currently grilling sausages and whistling to himself. She pushes the already-filled plate towards Gally and hisses, "just take it."

"You like him," Gally says it like a statement, not even a question. The idea has Mai's ears burn red, "no I don't. Now stop talking to me so I can go back to work."

A few days have passed since the incident and apart from a few weird looks from Jeff and Clint, Mai has escaped their tirade of questions for this month. For now, she's safe and back out of the radar.

Safe from everyone, except for Gally, who seems to have other ideas.

Like right now currently, when he's adamant that Mai has a crush on Minho. It doesn't help that Minho is cute and does make her blush from time to time. But hey, who can blame her? The Runner is a hugger and enjoys physical touch. He does it with everyone, so it's not like she can just ask him to back off without reason. That'll make him even more suspicious.

Gally doesn't think so, "what d'you like about him anyway? He's an asshole and he's full of himself."

"You are the asshole, Gally," Mai flicks her fork at him with a scowl, "now get lost."

She's not one to daydream of such things but she swears that something has changed between them within the past week. Gally somehow feels less aggressive. Oh, don't get her wrong, he still bullies her to death when no one's looking, but Mai likes to think that his actions speak louder than words.

And it feels as though he doesn't really mind having her around him.

But being friends with Gally also means to be bullied by others because of it. The first time it happened, she'd been busy unloading some meat from her cart when one of the Gladers pushed her over when she wasn't looking. She fell to the ground, eyes narrowed into slits as the Gladers around her laughed, but decidedly ignored them in favour of keeping the peace.

That doesn't stop them from trying to get something out of her.

It happens on an evening where all Keepers had been called to a meeting. Mai had been busy tasked with collecting some firewood for the Kitchens as Frypan needed more for the fires, and had been so engrossed in the task that she is surprised to find that night had fallen before she'd known it.

It's dark out now and with no light to guide her, she grips the sack of branches close to her chest as she treads carefully, squinting to follow the light of the Homestead.

"Oh look what we have here."

She freezes, turns over her shoulder slowly until she comes face to face with one of the Gladers that's been annoying her ever since she can remember; Henry.

He's one of the Builders, just as buff as Gally but short and squat, making him look rounder than he appears. His face makes Mai want to run for it and as he grins, she swears she feels her feet tremble. The desire to run prickles the back of her neck.

"Give it a rest Henry," Mai says flatly. It's been a while and she's not in the mood for this games.

"You know, we're in a Glade full of boys." He advances towards her and from the trees come out more Gladers, ones that she's unfamiliar with. Her stomach clenches with apprehension and she takes a shaky step back, "so we have needs, and sometimes, we need someone to fullfill those needs."

"That's pathetic," she snaps. Fear is pounding at her heart, causing a permanent ringing to thrum through her ears.

"Is it?" His grin widens, "let's find out."

Mai doesn't wait. She turns to break into a run—

But arms grab at her before she can, throwing her to the ground as a cry leaves her lips. Someone swivels her around roughly before she's forced to kneel at the knees.

"Stop it!" She yells out, tears starting to gather in her eyes at the thought that maybe there's no way out of this. Shit. And it's dark, nobody wanders to the forest in the dark.

The other gladers laugh like she's burst out a joke, "he's cute. I like him." One of them says.

"Let's see if he's got more spike than this," and to her horror, Henry starts to unzip his pants right before her eyes.

Mai's head jerks away, "stop it! Help!" She tries to shout as loud as her lungs would go, to no avail. The gladers swarm around her like a pack of Hyenas and she can't help but look at Henry's girth. It's red and throbbing and makes her want to throw up.

No. She begs silently, tears streaming down her face as she tries to push and shove and bite and kick-- anything, anything--

A hand clamps down on her skull, stopping her from moving altogether.

"Let's see what you're made of Greenie," Henry cackles as he advances forward, holding his girth in his hand. He grabs hold of her hair and pulls, roughly, until she's face to face with it. Her eyes squeeze shut as she hears him laugh out like a maniac. It sends chills down her spine, even more so when he squeezed her head--

"Everything all right here?"

The hand freezes. As does everyone.

Mai's throat bobs. A sob breaks out of it.

Through tear-rimmed eyes, she can barely make out two figures at the far end of the forest.

But she feels like she knows this voice. It's one that she hears everyday.

"Gally," Henry is quick to let go, zipping up his pants in the process though still keeping his hold on her hair, "what are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that," a new voice. Newt's, speaks up as the slim figure advances forward. There's a dangerous tone to it, the kind that's like a warning bell and the other Gladers seem to sense it too, moving back slowly and away from Henry, letting go of her arms in the process.

"Just having a little fun here with the Greenie," he tries to sound confident, but it's clear he fears his Keeper. But his mistake is asking, "what do you say? Wanna—"

His words barely make it out of his mouth before a fist swings out in his direction.

Henry goes down with a cry. A series of footsteps thump along the ground, and there stands Gally, breathless and looking absolutely terrifying. Furious.

"You disgusting shank," he grabs Henry's collar, jerks him up before delivering another blow. And another, and another—

"Gally!" Newt shouts. The said Builder stops in mid-action, looking down at Henry's bloodied face with his jaw still clenched. Newt continues, "that's enough, man. Let him go."

Gally's still glaring, hold tightening even further.

"Gally," Newt repeats more firmly and this time the Builder lets him go, Henry falling to the ground in a heap, "I'll bring them back to Homestead. Let Alby deal with them."

Newt then jerks his head towards the lights, "come on then. Right now."

The gladers have no other choice but to obey the second-in-command with their eyes cast down and away from Gally's furious glare. Not that he notices. He's looking down at Henry, shoving him to the ground with one last threatening curse as the latter yelps and runs as far away as he possibly can.

It is then that Mai's knees give out and she crumples up like a broken doll, chest tight and breaths coming out in small gasps.

Gally turns to her and in his voice she hears a tinge of softness, "hey Greenie."

He closes the distance between them before leaning down so that they're face to face, "are you alright?"

The girl opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it once more, to realize that nothing can come out. Her limbs are frozen in place, her heart still racing like a horse against her chest. She can feel the tear stains on her cheeks, carving paths down her skin and maybe it's just the shock of it all that causes a sob to echo out of her throat.

She starts crying, and Gally's hand lands on her shoulder.

"Hey hey, it's fine. They're gone," his gentleness surprises her, for he's never been like this. He's not usually, not in their every day life. But sitting here with her as she cries her heart out makes her chest warm despite the earlier events, like a beacon of security, a barrier of protection against the world. That's how Gally feels to her.

Before she knows it, she's thrown herself at him, not caring that he still believes she's a guy. Grabbing a hold of his shirt with both hands, the girl doesn't hesitate to bury her face in his chest as she feels the Builder freeze.

It's only for a moment though, a tiny fraction of a second, before his arms go around her — they're hesitant, unsure — and settle on her back.

He gives her a few awkward pats. She can feel the tension along his neck.

"Right greenie. No need to cry," he says gruffly against her hair, but not pulling away when she nuzzles even closer still. His warmth and scent are addictive, they feel like home in a foreign place. Mai realizes she kind of likes it, "these shanks aren't gonna touch you again, not after Alby's punishment."

But Mai is in her own world, clinging to Gally's comfort like it's the only thing holding her in place, the only stability she has as the emotions tremble through her, courses through her chest and knots in her stomach. It's like a dam finally breaking open and so Gally realizes he has no other choice but to be here for a while, and so decides to pat her on the back, trying not to take note of how slim the Greenie is under his fingertips, how tiny and fragile, almost—

No. No. No. You are not going there.

Mai finally calms down after what seems to be like an eternity, her sobs dying out into sniffles. The Builder's hand has moved up to her head since, smoothing down over her short hair almost absentmindedly. He drops it like he's burnt himself upon realization, pulling a grimace as he does so.

She whispers out his name so softly he barely hears it. He looks down at her with a soft frown, one that's swimming with genuine concern, only to hear the girl say, "thank you for saving me."

He's about to reply when Mai interrupts him by pressing a kiss.

Right onto his cheek.

----

"The shuck you lookin' at?"

"I'm not looking at anything," says Mai as she plops another spoonful of mashed potatoes in Gally's plate, all while keeping a watchful eye on Frypan. The latter is currently grilling sausages and whistling to himself. She pushes the already-filled plate towards Gally and hisses, "just take it."

"You like him," Gally says it like a statement, not even a question. The idea has Mai's ears burn red, "no I don't. Now stop talking to me so I can go back to work."

A few days have passed since the incident and apart from a few weird looks from Jeff and Clint, Mai has escaped their tirade of questions for this month. For now, she's safe and back out of the radar.

Safe from everyone, except for Gally, who seems to have other ideas.

Like right now currently, when he's adamant that Mai has a crush on Minho. It doesn't help that Minho is cute and does make her blush from time to time. But hey, who can blame her? The Runner is a hugger and enjoys physical touch. He does it with everyone, so it's not like she can just ask him to back off without reason. That'll make him even more suspicious.

Gally doesn't think so, "what d'you like about him anyway? He's an asshole and he's full of himself."

"You are the asshole, Gally," Mai flicks her fork at him with a scowl, "now get lost."

She's not one to daydream of such things but she swears that something has changed between them within the past week. Gally somehow feels less aggressive. Oh, don't get her wrong, he still bullies her to death when no one's looking, but Mai likes to think that his actions speak louder than words.

And it feels as though he doesn't really mind having her around him.

But being friends with Gally also means to be bullied by others because of it. The first time it happened, she'd been busy unloading some meat from her cart when one of the Gladers pushed her over when she wasn't looking. She fell to the ground, eyes narrowed into slits as the Gladers around her laughed, but decidedly ignored them in favour of keeping the peace.

That doesn't stop them from trying to get something out of her.

It happens on an evening where all Keepers had been called to a meeting. Mai had been busy tasked with collecting some firewood for the Kitchens as Frypan needed more for the fires, and had been so engrossed in the task that she is surprised to find that night had fallen before she'd known it.

It's dark out now and with no light to guide her, she grips the sack of branches close to her chest as she treads carefully, squinting to follow the light of the Homestead.

"Oh look what we have here."

She freezes, turns over her shoulder slowly until she comes face to face with one of the Gladers that's been annoying her ever since she can remember; Henry.

He's one of the Builders, just as buff as Gally but short and squat, making him look rounder than he appears. His face makes Mai want to run for it and as he grins, she swears she feels her feet tremble. The desire to run prickles the back of her neck.

"Give it a rest Henry," Mai says flatly. It's been a while and she's not in the mood for this games.

"You know, we're in a Glade full of boys." He advances towards her and from the trees come out more Gladers, ones that she's unfamiliar with. Her stomach clenches with apprehension and she takes a shaky step back, "so we have needs, and sometimes, we need someone to fullfill those needs."

"That's pathetic," she snaps. Fear is pounding at her heart, causing a permanent ringing to thrum through her ears.

"Is it?" His grin widens, "let's find out."

Mai doesn't wait. She turns to break into a run—

But arms grab at her before she can, throwing her to the ground as a cry leaves her lips. Someone swivels her around roughly before she's forced to kneel at the knees.

"Stop it!" She yells out, tears starting to gather in her eyes at the thought that maybe there's no way out of this. Shit. And it's dark, nobody wanders to the forest in the dark.

The other gladers laugh like she's burst out a joke, "he's cute. I like him." One of them says.

"Let's see if he's got more spike than this," and to her horror, Henry starts to unzip his pants right before her eyes.

Mai's head jerks away, "stop it! Help!" She tries to shout as loud as her lungs would go, to no avail. The gladers swarm around her like a pack of Hyenas and she can't help but look at Henry's girth. It's red and throbbing and makes her want to throw up.

No. She begs silently, tears streaming down her face as she tries to push and shove and bite and kick-- anything, anything--

A hand clamps down on her skull, stopping her from moving altogether.

"Let's see what you're made of Greenie," Henry cackles as he advances forward, holding his girth in his hand. He grabs hold of her hair and pulls, roughly, until she's face to face with it. Her eyes squeeze shut as she hears him laugh out like a maniac. It sends chills down her spine, even more so when he squeezed her head--

"Everything all right here?"

The hand freezes. As does everyone.

Mai's throat bobs. A sob breaks out of it.

Through tear-rimmed eyes, she can barely make out two figures at the far end of the forest.

But she feels like she knows this voice. It's one that she hears everyday.

"Gally," Henry is quick to let go, zipping up his pants in the process though still keeping his hold on her hair, "what are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that," a new voice. Newt's, speaks up as the slim figure advances forward. There's a dangerous tone to it, the kind that's like a warning bell and the other Gladers seem to sense it too, moving back slowly and away from Henry, letting go of her arms in the process.

"Just having a little fun here with the Greenie," he tries to sound confident, but it's clear he fears his Keeper. But his mistake is asking, "what do you say? Wanna—"

His words barely make it out of his mouth before a fist swings out in his direction.

Henry goes down with a cry. A series of footsteps thump along the ground, and there stands Gally, breathless and looking absolutely terrifying. Furious.

"You disgusting shank," he grabs Henry's collar, jerks him up before delivering another blow. And another, and another—

"Gally!" Newt shouts. The said Builder stops in mid-action, looking down at Henry's bloodied face with his jaw still clenched. Newt continues, "that's enough, man. Let him go."

Gally's still glaring, hold tightening even further.

"Gally," Newt repeats more firmly and this time the Builder lets him go, Henry falling to the ground in a heap, "I'll bring them back to Homestead. Let Alby deal with them."

Newt then jerks his head towards the lights, "come on then. Right now."

The gladers have no other choice but to obey the second-in-command with their eyes cast down and away from Gally's furious glare. Not that he notices. He's looking down at Henry, shoving him to the ground with one last threatening curse as the latter yelps and runs as far away as he possibly can.

It is then that Mai's knees give out and she crumples up like a broken doll, chest tight and breaths coming out in small gasps.

Gally turns to her and in his voice she hears a tinge of softness, "hey Greenie."

He closes the distance between them before leaning down so that they're face to face, "are you alright?"

The girl opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it once more, to realize that nothing can come out. Her limbs are frozen in place, her heart still racing like a horse against her chest. She can feel the tear stains on her cheeks, carving paths down her skin and maybe it's just the shock of it all that causes a sob to echo out of her throat.

She starts crying, and Gally's hand lands on her shoulder.

"Hey hey, it's fine. They're gone," his gentleness surprises her, for he's never been like this. He's not usually, not in their every day life. But sitting here with her as she cries her heart out makes her chest warm despite the earlier events, like a beacon of security, a barrier of protection against the world. That's how Gally feels to her.

Before she knows it, she's thrown herself at him, not caring that he still believes she's a guy. Grabbing a hold of his shirt with both hands, the girl doesn't hesitate to bury her face in his chest as she feels the Builder freeze.

It's only for a moment though, a tiny fraction of a second, before his arms go around her — they're hesitant, unsure — and settle on her back.

He gives her a few awkward pats. She can feel the tension along his neck.

"Right greenie. No need to cry," he says gruffly against her hair, but not pulling away when she nuzzles even closer still. His warmth and scent are addictive, they feel like home in a foreign place. Mai realizes she kind of likes it, "these shanks aren't gonna touch you again, not after Alby's punishment."

But Mai is in her own world, clinging to Gally's comfort like it's the only thing holding her in place, the only stability she has as the emotions tremble through her, courses through her chest and knots in her stomach. It's like a dam finally breaking open and so Gally realizes he has no other choice but to be here for a while, and so decides to pat her on the back, trying not to take note of how slim the Greenie is under his fingertips, how tiny and fragile, almost—

No. No. No. You are not going there.

Mai finally calms down after what seems to be like an eternity, her sobs dying out into sniffles. The Builder's hand has moved up to her head since, smoothing down over her short hair almost absentmindedly. He drops it like he's burnt himself upon realization, pulling a grimace as he does so.

She whispers out his name so softly he barely hears it. He looks down at her with a soft frown, one that's swimming with genuine concern, only to hear the girl say, "thank you for saving me."

He's about to reply when Mai interrupts him by pressing a kiss.

Right onto his cheek.

---

Mai realizes a bit too late what she's doing.

She jerks away at the same time that Gally's mouth drops open. The girl scrambles back in surprise, eyes wide as she holds up her hands in a defensive stance.

"I—I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me I—" her squeak dies out as she watches the said young man rub at his cheek, where her lips had been a few seconds prior. He's not looking at her, glaring down at the ground and a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

"Gally I—"

"Forget it."

He's already walking away so fast that Mai has to scramble to catch up to him. Her heart is galloping like a wild horse against her chest, but not for the same reason this time. She feels the permanent blush taking over her face as she tries to stutter through a bunch of excuses, "I'm so sorry Gally, I—It won't happen again it's just— you know, I was scared in the moment and I—"

"I said forget it Greenie," he snaps as he keeps walking.

Mai's shoulders slump. Great, she thinks to herself, way to get him disgusted with me.

The rest of the walk back to Homestead is quiet and Mai decides it's better not to interrupt the peace until they reach the Council room. The gladers responsible are already inside, Henry included. Mai can't help but wince and hide behind Gally's broad back when she feels his dirty eyes on her frame.

Alby is in the middle of giving them their punishment, "—three days in the Slammer, no food, and when you get back from there, you're all gonna be Slicers until you apologize to Mai. Sincerely." He adds coldly, "consider this a merciful punishment. I could've have you banished if I wanted."

The Gladers murmur out their thanks. Not Henry, whose beady eyes are still locked on Mai's frame.

"Mai's lying to us," he suddenly calls out. The room falls silent as all eyes drag to Henry.

Mai freezes on the spot. Oh no. Has she not been discreet enough? Is this what she thinks it is?

Will she be going into the Slammer too?

"What do you mean?" Asks Alby.

Newt is also frowning at the said glader, eyebrows kissing at the center as his gaze trails over to Mai.

"This—" Henry jabs a shaky finger into Mai's direction, "This is a girl! She's been lying to us this whole time!"

"What in the bloody world are you talking about?" Newt asks but it's too late. Everyone has already spun around to look at Mai and each passing second that goes by causes Mai's reality to shatter because the truth is coming out, and the truth— no matter how hard she tries to hide — is real.

Her eyes move from the disbelief in Newt's, to the confusion in Alby's, before finally landing on Gally's blue gaze. His are a stormy aquamarine, something like realization causing the color in his eyes to shift and widen.

She can't deal with it. Not with them all looking at her like she's a sick secret.

So she does what she knows best.

She runs.

———

The Council room erupts into chaos as soon as Mai sprints away like her life depends on it.

Gally's first, already striding to the door with purpose only to be stopped by a pair of arms.

"Wait," Alby holds onto him with his jaw clenched and tight, "Gally, stop."

"I—" but Gally's thoughts are scattered and nonsensical, the memories of the Greenie, all the shower nights and the suspicious behavior, that one time Mai claimed he had a stomach ache because he was hungover... everything is starting to make sense and he has no idea how to deal with it.

"Gally," Alby's voice brings him back and the Builder allows himself to be pushed into a vacant bench. His fists tighten at his sides as he glares into the ground, one hand unconsciously going up to rub at his face in growing exasperation.

Shit. He's already feeling a headache coming in.

Henry, on the other hand, seems to be delighted at the unfolding of events, "see?! i told you she was a girl! And now she's shuckin' scared for her life because she lied to all of us—"

"Shut up Henry," Newt interrupts, his voice shaking with so much restrained anger that it takes everyone by surprise, "you're still an asshole for what you did to her. So slim it or I'm throwing you headfirst into the maze."

That, coming from Newt, instantly causes the said boy to close his mouth. Alby advances towards him slowly, a certain kind of darkness in his eyes that wasn't there before. He feels like a predator ready to pounce on his prey and all too soon Henry starts squirming.

"What you said about Mai," Alby starts off slow, though the venom in his voice is unmistakable, "that's a very serious accusation, shank. Do you even know what you're saying?"

"I saw her!I swear I did and--"

"So you spied on her?" Gally's rage increased tenfold. He wants nothing more than to wring his petty neck. He feels Newt's hand on his shoulder, a reminder to stay composed, and tries to relax.

It doesn't work.

"Well--I--I mean I had to, to prove my point--" Henry's eyes dart back and forth between the Glade Leader and the Builder that looks like he's going to kill him and place his head on a pike, "listen, the point is, she's not who she says she is. She's a shuckin' liar, a traitor! She's the one that should be thrown into the Maze because she broke the rules!"

"We'll be the judge of that," Alby cuts him off sternly. He turns to Newt, "get these slintheads into the Slammer. And him--" he points at Henry, "he doesn't get out of there until we know what we're gonna do with him."

"What?!" Henry tries to flail away from the other Gladers circling around him to grab at his arms, "I've protected the Glade from this chick. We don't even know what she can do! If she's the only girl maybe she's hiding something--"

But Gally's had enough. His hand jerks out, grabbing a fistful of Henry's shirt before wrenching him close so that they're face to face with each other. And when he speaks, his voice is merely above a growl.

"Listen here, you slinthead," Henry can't help but let out a whimper when Gally tugs him even closer, teeth baring dangerously and eyes so narrow and cold they look merciless, "maybe she did have her reasons for lying to us. And even if she did, that doesn't give you the right to spy on her, or to take advantage of her like that," Gally snarls, "do you understand me?"

"Y--Yes," Henry stutters before a few other Gladers pull him away from the Builder's trembling, raging gaze that speaks volumes.

It is only when Alby's hand drops onto his shoulder that Gally realizes he's gone back into his thoughts without realizing that the Council room is now void of people.

"I think you should go and find Mai," Alby says gently, totally unlike how he'd been a few minutes earlier, "we can't seem to find him -- her."

Truth to be told, Gally wouldn't blame Mai for trying to get away from all this shit show when she's had enough to deal with in one evening. But it's still night and Gally's starting to worry about whether the guy -- girl -- will freeze to death. The Glade is known for being relentlessly cold at night time and if he remembered correctly, Mai had been wearing nothing but a loose t-shirt.

He searches everywhere. The showers, under the kitchen tables, amidst the hammocks. He even goes out of his way to light a torch as he ploughs through the forest with Newt and a sleepy Minho who'd been woken up for the occasion, to no avail. It seems that Mai has just disappeared into thin air and despite the fact that Gally tries to brush it off, he can't quite help the way his stomach knots itself into two at the thought of Mai being all alone in the dark.

That is, until he decides to prowl through the trees.

He finds her then, cooped up amidst a few branches a few feet above ground, high enough that no one would've normally noticed her presence. He catches sight of her tensing as he approaches, the black outline of her figure moving back slowly as if fearing the worst. So he calls out, just in case:

"Hey Greenie," he pauses, waiting. The figure stays immobile, "it's just me."

Nothing. Silence that tears through the open space with the only interruption being the whistle of trees and the groaning of metal from the maze in the distance. It feels like forever and Gally has half a mind to climb up there himself when she finally speaks.

"I'm sorry."

He squints up at her, "don't be stupid. Just get down."

"I've lied. Henry's right," she blurts out, "I am a girl, I just didn't know how to tell you all without you freaking out about it."

"So what?" Gally responds, "Now we know. Big deal. Now get down so we can go back to Homestead to get some sleep."

He inclines his lamp towards hers so that he catches a glimpse of her face, and sure enough, the fear etched into her features is one that is reminiscent of a doe caught in broad daylight, causing something in the pits of Gally's stomach to soften.

She's so fragile. How in the world had he not noticed it then?

No. He had noticed.

He just hadn't wanted it to be true.

"Come on Greenie," Gally murmurs out, extending a hand in the process, "are you gonna keep making me wait?"

"I never asked you to wait for me, or to look for me, for that matter," She shoots back, "you can go back to sleep there and I'll stay here."

"Greenie."

"Gally."

He lets out a puff of air, "don't make me come and get you myself."

A ghost of a goosebump shivers up her spine at his words before Mai finally lets out a sigh of her own, "alright fine. On one condition."

"What?"

"I--" she bites onto her lower lip, chews it for a few seconds before looking back at him shyly. When she speaks next, her voice has dropped to a soft murmur, "can I stay with you? I--I don't feel safe. Not tonight."

Gally's heart almost explodes. Here she is, looking like a pretty thing stranded up in those trees with those big brown eyes looking down with glistening tears, and she's asking if she can stay with him for the night. He wonders whether people die from heart attacks as a result of personal interactions because he swears he can feel his heart almost jumping out of his chest. His skin feels warm to the touch and he wouldn't be surprised if someone were to point out that he's blushing.

Nevertheless, he keeps his voice steady and tender when he answers, "yeah alright."

[gimmeurtmi]

Thinking about putting on red lipstick and littering kisses all over Jisung’s tummy while he giggles with a cute little blush on his cheeks 🤭

oh you know i do love marking pretty boys up 🥹

(warnings; swearing, marking, reader wears makeup, kissies, jaist!!🔞)

“what about this one?” jisung asks cutely, holding up one of your lipsticks for you to inspect.

you’ve been trying to get your makeup look finished before going out to see your friends and jisung, your perfectly clingy boyfriend, insisted on helping. his idea of helping was asking “and what’s that for?” every five minutes and occasionally telling you which colour he thought would look nice.

now, he’s insistent you pick the lipstick he selected for you.

“no, that’s no good,” you shake your head, looking around your drawer for your favourite nude one.

“why not?” jisung frowns, uncapping the lipstick and twisting it out. he makes a loud woah sound as he takes in the bright red of it.

“it gets everywhere, that’s no good for going out to a restaurant!” you try and explain.

“what does that mean, gets everywhere?” his lips form into a small and curious circle and you roll your eyes at him. jisung isn’t clueless, you know he isn’t, so he’s either playing dumb or he’s not actually paying any attention.

you snatch the lipstick out of his hand, quickly applying a thin layer to your lips. you don’t pay too much thought to the precision or technique of the application, simply smack your lips together when you’re done and turn to your boyfriend.

“i love this colour on you,” he smiles, words soft and gentle.

you smile at him, thanking him softly before grabbing his chin and pulling him towards you. you plant a noisy kiss on his cheek, an audible mwwahh! leaving your lips before you turn his head towards the mirror.

“see? it gets everywhere!” you explained.

jisung smiles brightly at you. “that’s just the excess layer or something, i’m sure now it’ll stay put.”

now you know he’s doing it on purpose but you indulge him either way. you lowly tell him to stand up, and he quickly does, and you’re pushing his hoodie up while you rub your fingers all over his stomach.

you want to squeeze his tiny waist until he can’t even breathe but you stop yourself, instead just grazing your nails up and down his stomach again and again and again while jisung does everything in his power to stay standing on both feet.

you move closer to his tan skin, softly pressing your lips above his belly button. a beautiful red stain is left behind once you pull away.

jisung giggles, actually giggles, and you start planting more kisses around his skin. his neck is redder than it was before and his eyes are tightly shut and his smile is so wide and his puffy cheek has a perfect pair of lips on it in bright red. you dare suck on the skin next, pulling it between your teeth as you mark him with something more permanent than your lipstick.

“do you see what i meant now?” you ask, running your nails over your masterpiece, careful to not smudge any of your work.

“need you to prove it more,” jisung rushes, discarding his hoodie and quickly undoing his belt.

“ji,” it’s your turn to giggle as he quickly grabs the lipstick and asks you to put on another layer.

“wanna see how long it takes for my dick to be covered in it,” he mumbles, already pushing his boxers to the floor.

“i’ll be late—“

“—trust me, it won’t take long.”

[nonexistent-introvert]

Bad mood

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Content: fluff, jealous Miguel, the getting injured trope AGAIN, swearing. hobie and the gang messing around, lyla playing matchmaker

A/N: i got carried away oops. He may be off character im sorry but i really think this man needs some fluff.

   “What’s up with her?” Gwen asked, watching as you stomped through headquarters with a frown. “Everyone got their bad days,” Pavitr stated, chomping on his Spiderman 2099-themed burger. “Remind me not to get on her bad side.” Gwen watched as the other Spidermen scurried out of your way. “She could match up to Miguel's bad temper..”Peter stood with an amused smile with Mayday napping in the baby carrier he had on his front. 

=========================. 

   You were not having it at all the entire week. You were busy enough with the missions you had and now, you still had to babysit a man-child. Now, you stood in said man-child’s office, watching his platform slowly descend while he kept his back facing towards you like he was in some cliche spy movie and was trying to hide his identity from you. You could almost picture him saying the iconic “I’ve been expecting you” and turned around. You rolled your eyes at the sight of him, your patience thinning with every passing second.

   “Hey! Perfect timing!” Lyla waved frantically from her side beside Miguel. Miguel grunted and groaned, waving Lyla away. Lyla popped up in front of your face and you instinctively took two steps back at how close she was to you. “Miguel’s not getting help- again.” Lyla rolled her eyes at the last word. Lyla popped up next to Miguel again, pointing at his side and the blood that was slowly dripping down from the gash. You could hear Miguel curse in Spanish and grunt before turning away from you further in an attempt to hide his injury. You simply closed your eyes, taking a few calming breaths. 

   “O’Hara. Go to the med-bay.” You stated in a low voice. “I’m fine, Lyla’s exaggerating-” Miguel stopped talking when his eyes met your figure. There was a menacing aura around you, one that Miguel will not admit scared him. “O’Hara” You warned and he shuddered slightly at the mention of his last name. You only used his last name when you were mad at him or trying to annoy him and he doubted it was the latter. You slammed the files you were holding onto the floor. “Lyla, make sure he doesn’t injure himself further. I’ll be back.” You simply said before waltzing right out of his office again. “Will do!” Lyla shouted after you. “Great! You pissed her off. Way to go Lyla!” Miguel said sarcastically as he sat down on the chair while his platform was still in the midst of descending. “Don’t push the blame, Miguel. It’s you she is mad at. I can’t believe you even managed to piss her off! She used to be all smiley and stuff and now she’s acting like you with the permanent scowl on her face.” Lyla nagged. 

   Miguel’s jaw dropped at your request when you returned. He stared at the wheelchair that you had just pushed into his office. “I can walk perfectly fine.” He insisted, trying his best to stand as straight as possible while holding the cloth to his side. “It was already a fucking miracle you didn’t bleed out while you waited for the stupid platform to descend. You still wanna tempt fate?” You asked, staring at the white cloth that you had brought him slowly turn into a crimson-red cloth. “I don’t- can’t you bring the supplies needed to treat me here? Or?” Miguel trailed off, noticing the glare on your face. 

   He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat before he sat down begrudgingly onto the wheelchair. 

  =====

   Miguel’s face burned in embarrassment while he sat in the wheelchair. His face was almost as red as the bloodied cloth that he was still holding to his side. Judgemental glances were passed around any of the rooms that he passed while you pushed him in the wheelchair. He did try to gauge your reaction but all he noticed was your very tight grip on his wheelchair and scowl on your face. Maybe Lyla was right, you were turning out to be a grump like him. 

   “Everyone saw that right?” Pavitr’s choked on the fries he was eating, as he watched you push an injured Miguel on a wheelchair. “I- I don’t think I can take him seriously again.” Gwen found it hilarious to see Miguel in a wheelchair acting like a pouty child that had just been scolded but it was also combined with the shock and disbelief of seeing the usual stoic leader sitting in a wheelchair. “Heh, I knew he was scared of her,” Peter remarked. Pavitr and Gwen turned to look at Peter, “Hey, when she’s angry, she’s a force to be reckoned with.” He spoke in experience although Peter will never tell anyone what he did to piss you off. For now, he could only pray that Miguel doesn’t get burned in the flames of your anger.     “I’ll help!” A medic immediately came forward when you entered the med bay. Miguel stared intently at you, you sighed, he had only came on one condition. That you were the one to patch him up, you couldn’t even wash your hands off Miguel O’Hara if you wanted to. “No.” You simply said before pushing him off to a private ward. 

   “Lie down.” You instructed. Miguel did as you told, turning his head so he can watch you put on the gloves and your usual white lab coat you wore when you helped out in the med-bay. 

“Dizziness, anything yet?” You asked, the anger in your tone has simmered but is not fully gone. He recognized the tone, it was a professional tone of a doctor. “Um no-?” He frowned, “I already told you- I’m fine-” Miguel stopped again when you took the bloodied cloth from him and his suit immediately covered his skin back up. “Remove the fucking projection O’hara.” You cursed, taking the resources you needed. “You know I’m-” “Just the top.” You answered, pinching the bridge of your nose. Miguel’s suit slowly revealed his skin to you and you had to take a breath. You always forgot that he literally had muscles that seemed to be sculpted by a skilled clay artist. 

  You heartlessly sprayed the alcohol into his wound to sanitize it. Miguel’s muscles tightened as he groaned, arching his back ever so slightly at the burn. “You weren’t gonna give me a heads up?” He gritted out through clenched teeth. “I thought you would prefer to get it over with.” You stated plainly, hiding the intention that you wanted to get back at him for acting like a child.”Can’t you be more gentle?” He complained when you did your work. You gave him an annoyed look, “I could knock you out.” You suggested. “That may help.” He looked over to you, trying his best to hold back his pained grunts. “I will actually knock you out with my hands to get a few moments of silence.” Miguel remained silent as his fists clenched by his side. 

   Your fingers traced against one of his old injuries, staring at the abomination of messily done stitches you were sure Miguel stubbornly did on himself. “Fucking hell.” You cursed out loud. “I ran out of drugs” He replied sheepishly, the drug he relied on to help him close the wound instead of stitching a would hold traditionally. “You didn’t think to- I don’t know, visit the Med-bay? In the very headquarters, you set up?” You asked sarcastically.

  “It turned out fine,” Miguel argued. “Yeah? And you’re already on the verge of ripping the stitches out yourself.” You snarked. “I don’t even want to know how you managed to angle yourself to stitch this up” Your head pounded with a headache while you redid his stitches. 

  Miguel O’Hara was a constant headache you couldn’t get rid of. 

 ========

   When Miguel finally got back to the comfort of his office. He sighed in relief having argued with you about resting in his office instead of the Medbay. “Lyla!” You called out, Miguel still in the wheelchair in front of you. “Yes!” She appeared before you, chuckling at the sight of Miguel. “No missions for two weeks. And make sure he’s in bed by 10pm” you instructed. Miguel clicked his tongue in annoyance as he climbed back into his office chair while Lyla reassured you that she will keep a close eye on Miguel and will inform you if he misbehaved. 

   When you turned to leave, he held onto your wrist. His grip was firm but not tight enough to hurt you. He suddenly soothed the crease in between your eyebrows when you frowned. You looked at him in disbelief. What the hell is he up to now? “You look prettier without the frown.” He simply said with a soft look. “Are the drugs kicking in?” You asked, still taken aback at his sudden actions. Miguel cursed internally at himself, did he just attempt to flirt? He was way too rusty when it came to this.  

   “Are you mad at me?” He asked with a soft tone. You closed your eyes, “Just-rest, and leave me alone.” You sighed. “Are you mad at me?” He repeated again, this time with the usual authority in his voice. The tone he used with the other Spidermen. You looked up at him, he didn’t scare you anymore. 

   “Are you blushing?” You pointed out the pink tint on his cheeks. His eyes widened, “Vasodilation is common when you’re injured no?” He made up an excuse. Miguel smirked lightly when he saw the ends of your lips quirk up slightly. “Sure…” you said, not pushing him further. Even if he wished you did. 

   “Big boss!” Miguel groaned at Hobie’s voice. 

   You naturally smiled at Hobie as you returned the two-finger sauté he gave to you in greeting. Miguel noticed it of course, how easily your frown went away when you saw Hobie. “Oh, you left your jumper at my place dear.” Hobie reminded while you walked out. “Shit man, I’ll swing around soon for it. It’s my favorite.” You laughed. Hobie grinned, “I know it is. Even took the liberty to wash it for ya.” 

   When you left, let’s just say Hobie got the brunt of Miguel’s temper. 

======

   “Miguel!” You called out to him upon entering his office. “Yes, I am not moving around Lyla,” Miguel replied mindlessly. You laughed, in a much better mood than last week. “I’m glad to hear that Miguel!” Miguel’s head turned at record speed, his eyes widening at the sight of you, and how the usual smile you always had seemed to have made its way back onto your face, replacing the frown that you wore last week. 

   Miguel, he missed hearing his name fall from your lips. Miguel turned in his seat, “Are you feeling better?” You furrowed your eyebrows at him, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He chuckled lightly, pressing on the screens before him. “I’m fine. Like I have always told you.” He replied, his eyes scanning your frame.

   Miguel noticed the jumper you wore over your spider suit. He also knew that it was the jumper you always wore, and it may just be the jumper that Hobie mentioned last week. “Why the long face?Mad that you’re stuck indoors?” You asked with a teasing grin. Miguel let out a huff, “You need to focus on the missions.” He stated sternly. “Am I not?” You frowned, you were pretty sure you were on track on your missions. Miguel simply shot you a glance over his broad shoulders, “I don’t think any of the missions require you to go to Hobie’s dimension does it?” He questioned with his eyebrows raised in suspicion. “What I do in between missions is none of your business Miguel.” You folded your arms over your chest in defense. Miguel tried his best to pretend that those words didn’t bruise him by busying himself with the orange screens in front of him. 

  “Is that jealousy I sense?” Lyla popped out of thin air, teasing Miguel.

 “There’s no rule stating that a Spiderman aren’t allowed to go over to other spidermen dimensions right?” 

   “I thought it was an unspoken rule,” Miguel replied, he knew about how many of the spidermen tend to travel to other dimensions for the fun of it. He understood that his headquarters served as a place of social hangout for the Spidermen and that many of them have formed friendships with each other, meaning that they spent time together in different dimensions outside of missions. He couldn’t bring himself to make it a strict rule that traveling to different dimensions was prohibited. However, it was known to be heavily discouraged and that spidermen would take responsibility for any consequences. 

   “I’m sorry.” you apologized, pushing yourself off the wall you were leaning on. Miguel closed his eyes, trying to erase the guilt he felt upon seeing the look on your face. You approached him upon seeing that his platform has finally descended. A smirk tugged on your lips as you pulled the wheelchair that was on the platform in front of his chair. 

   “I made sure he will only move around in that wheelchair and that was enough to keep him in here.” Lyla proudly announced. You bit back a smile at the pink tint across Miguel's cheeks. “I don’t think they will ever get over it.” You laughed, the cafeteria still buzzed with the news upon seeing their boss in a wheelchair. 

   Miguel was wearing a black t-shirt instead of his usual suit. Miguel naturally lifted up his black shirt for you. “It looks good.” You simply commented, trying your best to not blush at the sight of his body. “It better be.” Miguel snarled. “Then I guess I’m off work early today!” You celebrated, grinning as you pulled his shirt down, your fingertips gracing his muscles ever so slightly. 

   A look of disappointment flashed across Miguel’s face. You didn’t notice but Lyla did. “Just ask her already.” Lyla rolled her eyes. “Ask me what?” You immediately asked, A curious glint in your eye. Miguel waved his hands frantically trying to shoo Lyla away. “Nothing.” He says. 

  Lyla groans as she appears on the other side of Miguel. “He’s been dying to find out “ Miguel swatted her hologram away, “Are you and Hobie a thing?” Lyla finally forced out. Miguel’s shoulders slumped in defeat while silence filled the office. 

   The silence only filled the office for a few moments that lasted way too long in Miguel’s opinion before you burst into laughter. “Me and Hobie?-” Miguel has never felt more embarrassed than now as you kept on laughing at the fact that Miguel thought that Hobie and you were dating. “It’s none of my business.” Miguel cleared his throat. “Why did you even think that?” You questioned, trying your best to hold back your laughter. “Well, he makes you smile and laugh.” 

  “Miguel, I laugh and smile at anything.” You deadpanned. “He just seems to be able to make you happy even when you’re down,” Miguel stated plainly. “You know? Because you smiled at Hobie despite being grumpy the whole of last week?” Lyla reminded, getting impatient with the pace of the conversation. Your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as you realised what Miguel meant. “Oh, that’s because I was mad at you and not him.” You said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So I was right, you were mad at me.” You nodded. “Can I finally know why?” Miguel’s eyes were boring into yours. You leaned back against the wheelchair, turning your head as you sighed. 

   “Because I was fucking worried Miguel.” You rubbed your nose with your knuckles. It was a nervous habit of yours. “You were getting injured left and right and then you work non-stop to finish up on the reports. To make matters worse, you even head out for more missions afterward and refuse to let anyone help you. You’re not a fucking machine Miguel, you need the rest.” Miguel’s eyes widened, he never knew that his unhealthy work habits were noticed by you. He kept quiet until you finally met his eyes. “I’m sorry cariño.” Miguel muttered, “I didn’t mean to make you worried.” He says while his hand gently caresses your knee. 

   A mischievous glint lit up in his eyes. “No, no. I don’t know what you’re thinking but no.” You immediately recognized that look in his eyes. He chuckled lightly, glancing over to Lyla for moral support. Lyla jumped with poms-poms in her hands, egging him on like a cheerleader. “I’ll rest even better and for a longer period of time. Under one condition.” He proposed. You raised your eyebrows at him in question. 

   “You go out on a date with me.” There, he finally asked you out. 

    Your eyes widened and your hand immediately went to cover your face in an attempt to hide the blush that was creeping onto your cheeks. The wheelchair you were sitting on slowly rolled backward in your shock. Miguel chuckled, stopping the wheelchair right before it rolls away from him. “You can’t leave me hanging like this cariño.” 

   “Stop with the cariño, I can’t think properly when you call me that.” You answered flusteredly. Miguel smirked, “And why is that?” You wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face so badly. 

    “Fine, Ok! I’ll go out with you!” You shouted, standing up abruptly from the wheelchair. Your ears were turning red from how flustered you were. The sound of fireworks filled the office thanks to Lyla while you walked out. Miguel trying his best to not laugh at how flustered you were. “See you at 8pm this evening!” He shouted after you just as you walked out in utter embarrassment. 

----

Bonus: "Miguel will kill you." Gwen stated. The group was gathered around a picture that Hobie was holding, a picture of Miguel O'hara himself pouting while sitting in a wheelchair. "He won't" Hobie shrugged confidently. "Not when the photo is taken by" Hobie gestures to you, bouncing on your feet nervously while you waited for your coffee to be served. "They went on a date?" Peter exclaimed in surprise, Hobie gave him a confirming nod.

"Who on earth started this," Miguel sighed, getting more and more irritated by the second while staring at the noticeboard that was in the cafeteria. You simply laughed at the title. "What is big boss up to this week?" Below it was pictures of Miguel in a wheelchair, him sitting in his office in comfortable clothes and the last picture was a picture of him in a formal western suit with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. The same bouquet that was in a flower pot in your house now.

[neonovember]

Oh my GOD oh my for okay though that new fic you wrote with Carmy? 12/10 chefs kiss mwah mwah MWAH!! 💕💕💕 That part with Carmy going ballistic and beating the shit out of that asshole customer I LOVED it!! Now it’s got me thinking of Carmen going absolutely feral, just insane if he’s in the kitchen cooking and calling orders, while you’re out front taking orders from customers. He and the rest of the kitchen just go silent and stop in their tracks when they hear a guy just screaming at the top of his lungs at you, using the absolute most vile words against you and Carmen just sees red, especially if whoever it is ups and yells something along the lines of “You stupid fucking whore-“ and Carmen’s just a blur as he POUNCES on this guy. (Richie’s either cheering him on or trying with all his strength to claw Carmen off before he straight up kills the guy)

Office Doors

Oooh you guys are spoiling me rotten with these requests…I love a good feral fic every once in a while and this one was..well you'll know what i'm talking about once you've read it ;) I haven't written Carmen in a day and I miss him already, school has been up my ass so if you have sent me a request, don't worry it's being written, and re-written and-. Thank you anon for getting my gears going and your lovely messages 🥰🥺 ur support means the world

warnings: swearing, objectification and misogyny, angst, oral (f recieving), smut, thigh riding (?), porn with plot, feral!carmen

carmen berzatto x reader!

(This is totally and completely canon btw)

You stretch your body across the diner tables, dipping a dirty cloth into lukewarm soapy water before rinsing it out. The lunch rush had just slowed to a even pace, the sound of Carmen yelling out dishes from his line finally quieting down.

You have just a little time to spare, and you spent that time quickly wiping down the Beef’s tables that had begun to accumulate a few too many stains and unfinished crumbs of bread.

You had grown up in a home that was always messy, all the time. And no matter how much times you had asked, and no matter how much times you had just done the chores themselves, the clutter of dirty dishes and old wet clothes in the laundry had permanently been embedded into your family home.

It’s partially why you had loved the sterile laboratory of you culinary kitchens. Clutter caused your skin to itch with anxiety, it made you feel dirty, and with the way you scrub the diner tables a little too hard you wonder if it's another one of the many joy’s your family had given you.

And whilst the Beef was so different from your environment back in culinary school, it wasn’t necessarily worse. In fact, you had grown to fall in love with the quirks of the kitchen, the ‘fuck you carmen’ napkin holder, the too small walkway, the framed pictures of beloved regulars and the staff’s families. Most of all, however, was the family you had built here, the kind you couldn't find working under a domineering CDC.

The kind that had always been waiting for you, been planted deep into the earth like roots.

Besides, you and Carmen had bonded together during the late nights after most of the family had gone home. Were you both were left, scrubbing the floor together in a rhythmic silence that seemed to be more therapeutic than work.

You’ve nearly finished wiping down the last of the stools perched against the counter top of the front when a loud guffawing causes you to break your trance-like state.

Jovial yelling breaks into the rarely quiet restaurant as the door swings open, and a stream of rowdy men dressed in pullovers and fleece jackets, with scarves and basketball hats of distinct sport team colours wrapped around their necks.

One man is fully decked out, sporting the jersey and beanie of what seemed to be a hockey team. The boom of his voice indicates he was the loudest too, unaware of the grumble of patrons around the restaurant that had grown annoyed at the man's violent rambling.

You breath out a sigh, finishing off wiping down the bar stools and putting the bucket of dirty water under the front counter. Before ironing out any creases in your apron and preparing yourself for the absolute headache this would cause.

They were a familiar bunch, usually coming in after games late after the dinner rush. It seemed there was a game during the early morning, as they grumble about not having anything to eat the entire day.

Their loud and annoying and swear too much and Carmen hates the way one of them looks at you but they order a shit ton of food and fuck if the bear needs money, what can you say.

Your eyes glance at a cup of coffee Richie had accidently left under the register, and you suddenly crave your afternoon pick me up well after the afternoon. The men begin walking up to the register, ignoring your polite greeting and going straight into listing off items from the menu as if you were a machine. You nod along all the words they were saying, and soon enough you give up on writing it down as they’ve practically ordered the entire menu safe for a few appetiser's. 

“Make it quick, yeah? We’re bloody starving '' One of the men calls out from his seated position in one of the booths and you give them a tight lipped smile, resisting the urge to throw that coffee mug at him. 

Carmen peeks his head from the entryway leading to the kitchen, his unruly ashy blonde curls falling to the sides as he shares a look with you,  as if to say ‘you alright? And you nod in that unspoken way the two of you have and tell him that you can handle it. Working in a kitchen didn't have to teach you how to deal with assholes, you had your family to thank for that one again.

You hear the familiar sound of Carmen shouting out orders, and the sizzle of pans and boiling pots increase in order to push out the lengthy order before more foot traffic would pour in. 

You’re trying to fix the register when it happens, something gets caught in the old janky machine, causing the cash drawer to get stuck as you have to hit its sides at a certain angle to get it to open up again. Years and Carmen refuses to get it fixed, or buy a new one all together, resorting to having it taped up and banged every couple hours to get it working again.

You almost don’t see him, until he is leaning against the counter, into the space between the cash register and you, a greasy smile pulling at his features and he watches you. You bite back a grimace at the way his eyes trail down your apron, fixated on the dip of skin that peeks from the top of your shirt.

“Something you need Sir?” You ask politely, taking a tentative step back, your hand gripping the edge of the counter.

The man smiles strangely at your comment, cocking his head to the side before replying suggestively

“I definitely want something”

You cough, biting back your knee-jerk response to hurl at him, you can feel the burn of embarrassment against your cheeks and you swallow as you try to reply with a steady response.

“You’re food will be out in a short-while-” 

“You know, I think I’ve seen you around here, are you new to town?” The man tries to strike up a conversation

“Came here a few years ago and haven’t left since” You reply with a tight smile

“Ah! I know where you're from exactly now” The man replies with a grin that pulls his face upwards, it's eerie, his smile, like he knows something he shouldn't.

“There’s this porn star online, looks exactly like you, it’s kind of insane” The man replies with a smile that deepens as you stammer

You feel humiliated as you stare back at him, you don’t know what to say, and his eyes continue trailing down your body in a way that makes you feel disgustingly objectified. He’s reduced you to an object for him to gawk at, and you see the way the men behind him jeer and laugh that this is all a play to intimidate you.

You want to run straight home and scrub yourself clean, wash away the feeling of his imprinted gaze down the drain.

“You think we can recreate one of her videos when you get off work here?” The man replies, a glint in his eyes.

“What? You- you” You stammer and he breaks out into a laugh

“Awh, look at her, fucking shaking. Don’t tell me this is your first time?” The man eggs on to his friends, who have begun laughing and cheering him on.

You grit your teeth, trying to get the words out as you glance towards the kitchen, where was he? He leg twitches in want, wanting to get Carmen, wanting to run from the restaurants, wanting to run from the embarrassment and disgust you felt.

The flashes of Richie and Syd passing by is all you can see, the booming voice of Carmen being too wrapped up in the orders to notice what was happening.

“C'mon, just give me your number” The man presses on, leaning in so that only you can hear “It isn't like I don't know where you work” Before he leans back, muttering a halfhearted kidding under his breath

“You are disgusting” You spit out, trying to sound as confident as you can, and the mans eyebrow twitches, and he cocks his head like he was confused.

“What? I’m doing you a favour here, I'm actually a nice guy you know? Not one of those assholes on the street” The man scoffs, moving closer towards you and you have a feeling the man is waiting for a reason to lunge at you.

“Just, just take your food and your buddies and go alright? There doesn’t have to be a fight or-or” You continue, trying to de-escalate the situation and get him to just leave you the fuck alone.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m doing you a fucking favour and now your kicking me out?” The man begins to get heated, and his friends behind him watch on in silence, you can notice other customers begin to look your way, sensing the rising anger filling the room. You slowly step back, looking for something to shield yourself in case he comes at you.

“What, you think because you work you have some- some what, control? I don't think you know how this works doll, you give me your number, and I dump my load in you because your nothing but a stupid fucking whore” The man bellow, it’s so loud that it echoes through the Beef, that it reaches even the kitchen sinks where Manny is washing up. 

The man’s face grows red as the veins near his neck begin to pop out, he emphasises the last word, spitting it out like that was all you were.

The restaurant goes silent as the man heaves in exertion, the sound of Carmen shooting out orders is mute now, the slice of steel against bamboo stops, and the bear is fucking quite for the first time since it opened. 

Your body is pushed against the wall, near the swinging doors into the Kitchen, and you can see Carmen back to you, he has stopped cutting at his station, and the outline of muscle contracts under his white shirt.

Carmen turns, slowly, he turns to the family, as they all momentarily stop their tasks in shock at what they had just heard. He begins to chuckle a little to himself, as he replies in a quiet voice you and the man can still hear.

“What did he just say?” 

“Did he really say that? Did he really?” Carmen laughs to himself, nodding and gripping his hands into tight fists as the restaurant air gets thin. The man who had been screaming at you looks towards Carmen in confused fear, not knowing why this man was laughing and yet understanding he had completely fucked up.

The rest of the patrons can hear Carmen’s words, eyes widening, as they realise they were about to be collateral to a very one sided beat down. The crew looked at Carmen in silence, they had been used to Carmen's hot-headed temper, his bursts of anger that was more passion than rage. But this? This quiet silence of Carmen’s words, the way his chest heaves as you glances at your frightened position against the wall? They genuinely feared what he would do next, a silent rage like no other begins to envelop the restaurant, the air thin and suffocating as Carmen begins to walk through the kitchen and into the front counter.

“Don’t call an ambulance this time” Carmen mutters to Richie as he passes him by, Carmen’s eyes are fixed on you, trailing down your body before fixating on the shake of your hands. Carmen knows you well, and it’s the clench of your throat, like you're suffocating, like you can’t breath that snaps something in Carmen.

A malevolence Carmen has never felt spills into his gut, the burn of anger spreading against his chest until hes practically shaking with it, he is filled with this heart ache, like his heart is split in two and gushing as he realises his been cutting fucking chives whilst you nearly died. 

And something predatory fills Carmen, like he must prove to himself he can protect you, and in one swift move, like muscle memory etched into his bones, Carmen jumps over the front counter and swings his fist in one clean motion, knocking the man across the room.

The man’s body crumbles as he slams into the hardwood floor of the Beef, the immediate groan of twisted pain and pleads leave the man's mouth and Carmen is just so sick of his goddamn voice. 

It all went quiet then, the noise of Sydney yelling, of his friends, of the man’s heaving wet coughs, the air conditioner, all white noise. Carmen’s hand reaches for his ankle, dragging him back from his crawling escape.

“Oh, no no no, we’re not escaping now are we?” Carmen grunts, his voice lower than it usually is.

Carmen  wraps an arm around his throat, holding him there as he brings down his fist across his face. The wet sound of bones crunching into muscle and skin go on forever, bouncing across the room until the throaty heave of the man is all that is left of him. Carmen cannot stop the swing of his fists, something possesses him and as one of the men in hockey colours tries to grab Carmen arm he throws him back into the stack of barstool's piled near the tables. He is facing his back to you again, and you state, fixated on how his body moves to support him, the contracts and outline of his strong back, his large forearms that break bone with a mere swing.

His face swollen beyond recognition, piss and blood leaking from him, eyes bloodshot and awry. 

Carmen picks him up by his collar, the smudge of blood dripping down and staining his vest, whispering into his ear as the man’s eyes widen in harrowed fear.

“Apologise”

“..Whatnhn?” The man mumbles, the feel of his tongue swelling up and going numb, Carmen presses a hand against the man's bruised stomach, pushing  against the broken bone of his ribs until the Man wails in agony. 

“Apologise to her or I swear to god I’m breaking your fucking legs” 

The man spits out an apology, but you’re not looking at him, staring transfixed at Carmen,  at the way he’s golden curls fall across his eyebrows, at the way his muscles flex against his white shirt, at the way droplets of blood are splattered across the skin of his jaw. Carmen looks towards you, and something dark takes over his cerulean blues, blowing them out.

“Do you accept? Huh honey?”

You nod, letting an exhale out and Carmen tosses the man to a pile on the floor, reaching for your hand and dragging you to the office, you can hear the scatter of shoes as the men drag their friend out of the beef, and the crew looks towards each other in satisfaction, but also in knowing, in knowing they wouldn't dare open those office doors.

The soft glow of the office is a stark difference to the bright light of the front counter, and you have to blink a couple times for your eyes to adjust, and when you do Carmen’s face is inches from you, leaning you against the office doors, his arm above your head.

The soft glow of the office is a stark difference to the bright light of the front counter, and you have to blink a couple times for your eyes to adjust, and when you do Carmen’s face is inches from you, leaning you against the office doors, his arm above your head.

“You didn't- didn’t have to” You mumble, your voice caught in your throat for a different reason.

Carmen looks down at you, shaking his head in amusement

“Don’t lie to me, you enjoyed that more than I did” Carmen whispers, leaning down near your ear, pressing his nose against the curve of your neck.

You let out a breathless sigh, and Carmen groans as he smells that familiar  vanilla always hinted on your skin Carmen could smell when you passed by you. Now, now, he can practically taste it right on his tongue.

The truth was, you did enjoy it, despite being non confrontational and cringing every time Richie would show you a fight where the crunch of bone on gravel makes you shudder, you were transfixed by Carmen. 

By the way he broke the man to a heaving mess with just his fuckinf fists, those same arms that are edging closer and closer to you, how would they feel between your thighs? The thought wraps itself tight in your belly, and you have to squeeze your thighs for friction.

No one had done that to you, no one had done that for you, and in a strange way it felt nice to be protected. To be wanted, and it causes a need to start building deep within you. 

Carmen's eyes fall to you, and his eyebrow twitches as a look of guilt washes over his features.

“I should’ve been there, I- fuck, did he do anything? Let me get a look at you” Carmen replies softly, grabbing your wrists to look for any bruises he feared you had.

“I’m fine, just a little, uhm, shaken up you know? Said some pretty horrible things” You reply, scratching at your neck as your mind replays the way he had reduced you to a thing.

Carmen shakes his head, his teeth grinding as he grips his fists, his biceps flexing. 

“You shouldn’t have to deal with that, deal with people like fucking him, I swear to god if I find him on the street I’m gonna-“

“Gonna what? Finish off the job? There is always going to be guys like him, that isn’t going to change, and it’s something I have to deal with. But what I can’t deal with is if you get yourself thrown into a jail cell because of-of me” You reply, shaking your head and Carmen looks at you like he’s in love.

Gripping a hand to your chin, Carmen raises it so that you catch the burn of his cerulean blues as you can see.

“And That would be an honourable death for me” Carmen mutters, and you can’t take your eyes off him, until you're gripping his blood stain shirt tight against your chest until the suppression groans leaving his mouth are kissed into your neck.

You want him, want to taste him on your tongue, want to feel his weight against it. 

“Fuckin come here” Carmen groans out, reaching to wrap his hand around your jaw as he presses his lips against your own. The muffled of your moans escape your lips and Carmen slips his tongue between them. 

His pillowy soft lips wrap around your own, his nose bumping into your cheek as he wraps an arm around your back, pushing you against the office doors. It’s all teeth and tongue, the clash of teeth and muffled groans leaving the both of you. 

The suppression of both your desires falling between you two until you don’t stop to come up for air. 

It’s addicting the way he kisses you, and you have to grip his shoulder as an anchor as he begins to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and nibbling at the skin there before dipping down to your clavicle. 

You let out a moan as he blows cold air against the dip of your breasts, and Carmen looks down at you, his eyes heavy as he watches the way you shiver, waiting for him to give you what you want.

Carmen rips open your shirt, his eyes trailing across the curve and dip of your breasts, he mutters something under his breath, something like “beautiful” as his finger trailing the lace before unclipping it and tossing it behind him. 

Carmen cups one of your breasts, circling your nipple before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, you arch your back to him, and he follows it until he rests and your hip, squeezing the skin there as his eyes roll back at the taste of you.

“Please..” You groan out, your eyes watching the way Carmen pressing soft circles into your skin, he looks up at you in confusion, the hint of a smile curving at his lips.

“Please what?” Carmen replies, sucking bruises beneath your tits, drawing it out on purpose, having too much fun watching you suffer.

“Nmfha” You mumble incoherently when Carmen flicks his tongue around your nipple, whilst squeezing the other in his cold hands.

“I can’t hear you, what do you want?” Carmen replies with a hint of a moan, he’s having trouble himself, bucking his hips up into you as he watches the way you shake from his lips

“Wanna feel you Carm, wanna taste you” You groan out with a moan, Carmen grunts at your response, his eyes growing dark and heavy, and in one swift move, he hoist you up and swipes the coffee mugs and papers left scattered across his desk before placing you on the edge.

You spread your thighs, making room for him and he steps between them. 

“You wanna feel me sweet girl? You want me to take care of you? Please let me take care of you” Carmen pleads, rutting up against you as he tries to suppress the want pressing tight against his jeans.

“Carm” you groan out as Carmen tugs your jeans down leaving you in your lace underwear that Carmen grinds his jaw at, you don’t realise it but Carmen blue apron is discarded somewhere in the room, and as he carries you towards the coach you tug at his white shirt. 

He rips it off him in one move, and you drag your fingers across the deep of defined muscle that flexes under your touch.

Carmen moves your thighs so that you're pushed towards the edge of the couch, and he kneels between you, pressing a soft kiss to your knee, before trailing up your thighs. Carmen had been teasing you before but now there is a frantic eagerness in the way he touches you, like if he doesn’t taste you on his tongue he might combust.

Carmen hooks a finger into your underwear,pulling them down until you were bare for him. Carmen’s eyes glisten as he states at you, naked under him and sweating. God the image imprints in his mind and he wishes he can stay here forever.

Carmen presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, and your thighs shake in need, Carmen flicks his eyes up to you, and keeps eye contact, as he licks one long strip across your folds, closing his eyes and he groans at the taste of you. You contort you back at the pleasure the waves through you, eyes rolling back at the pressure of his tongue sucking your clit.

“Fucking- taste so” Carmen mumbles, before dipping his tongue between your folds, dragging it up and down, the sound of your heightened moans ripping through him. 

Dipping his tongue in your hole, Carmen pushes a finger between your thighs, presses soft circles around your clit as his tongue works your folds. Your thighs shake around the curls of his head and he pushes a hand down at your stomach to stop you from moving, making you take every wave of pleasure he pulls from you.

“Carm, please, they’re going to hear us” You groan out, and Carmen shakes his head, causing his tongue to drive deeper into you, before looking up at you, 

“Let them” 

Carmen stretches you out with his tongue, pushing it into you and out until your heaving, his thumb is pressed against your clit, and he pushes a finger into you before sucking onto your bud. 

You begin to see flashes of stars, as he thrusts a finger into your hole whilst sucking you, he scissors you open, curving his finger in a way that hits a particular spot that has you raising your hips, trying to pull yourself off of him, the white hot burn of pleasure getting too much.

“There baby? Right there?” Carmen groans out, thrusting his finger to hit that spot over and over

Carmen grips your hips, pushing you down, deeper, harder onto his mouth and fingers, pressing a second digit into you as he curves it to pull that sweet moan from your lips.

Carmen had many names, but his favourite was the broken syllabus of his own between your lips when you fell apart on his tongue.

“S’ close, so close Carmy, please” You babble out, before resigning yourself to the burn of pleasure the feels like fucking nirvana, it’s all around you, Carmen, this pleasure, it’s all you can taste.

“I know baby, I know, I’m going to take care of you okay, sweet girl?” Carmen groans, thrusting his hips into the floor, searching for friction as he watches the way your eyes roll back.

Carmen laps at your core, pushing the digits deeper, curving them upwards until you were screaming, he pushes your face down to look at him, he wants to see your face as you fall apart, and the coil that has begun to wrap itself tight snaps when he nibbles at your over sensitive clit and you see the way his dark eyes watch you, his eyebrows furrowed and your slick coats his chin.

You can’t feel anything but the white hot pleasure that rocks through you, you aren’t in your body, floating away in the pure saccharine pleasure of Carmen’s tongue and he laps at the pleasure dripping between your folds. 

You mumble incoherent words, the only thing leaving your lips is Carmen’s name as you babble, spit dripping from your open mouth as you're left in a heap, Carmen leaving you dumb.

Carmen works you through your release, licking and sucking at your sweet slick that he gathers on his tongue. You see the way he thrusts into the carpet, trying to find friction as the scene in front of him becomes too much.

The thought splits something within you, seeing how Carmen got off to getting you off was out of this world, causing the pleasure to start building in your core again. 

You drag Carmen up to meet your lips, and then push his tongue between your lips, causing you to taste him on your tongue. Carmen pushes his finger between his lips, sucking on the shine of slick coated there, his eyes heavy as he watches the way you grind your hips against him. 

He pushes his digits into your mouth, groaning at the way you suck on them eagerly. You push him to lean his back against the coach, before manoeuvring your hips to straddle him.

You rock your hips against his jeans, feeling the way the indent pushes and bumps against your core, Carmen throws his head back, his curls falling over his forehead and he grabs your hips, pushing you deeper, down down down until he is thrusting up into you.

You grip his shoulders raising your hips before pulling his jeans and boxers down in one swift motion. Carmen forces himself to look down at you, his gaze watching the way you tug at his length, swiping a thumb across the red tip, dragging pre cum down the thick girth of him.

Carmen groans out, gripping your hips tight, and you raise up, lining yourself perfectly before sinking down on him.

Carmen’s groans are beautiful, rumbling from his chests as he squeezes his eyes shut, you fit so perfectly around him, the heat and warmth and slick of you wrapped tight around his cock. His length is thick and girth, and you have to adjust to his size, moaning at the way he fills you up just right.

As you begin to move, Carmen presses a hand, begging for you to wait

“Just, one second, fuck you feel so good I might cum from one thrust” 

“Who says this is a one time thing?” You reply with a wicked smile, and Carmen groans loud at that.

You raise your hips, dragging your self on him before sliding down, your grind against him and he heaves in the pleasure of your tightness around him. 

It had been so long, and the feeling of you is almost too much. 

You struggle to raise your hips high enough, and Carmen wraps his hands tight around your hips before raising you himself, driving himself up into you and thrusting hard.

This new angle allows him to go deeper, and you meet his upward thrusts, groaning out as he fucks you dumb. You look gorgeous above him, the way your tits bounce with every thrust up has him hard all over again.

“Just like that baby girl, keep going, doing so fucking well, my baby” Carmen groans out, and you begin to shake at the combination of his praise the the feeling of his cock driving into you impossibly deep.

You want to make him feel good and you say this to him, causing his eyes to roll back when you squeeze yourself around him, hard, until his thrusts have to drive into you even harder.

The coach freaks loudly from Carmen’s pace, and he slams you down, positioning his cock deep into you, causing you to press half circles into your shoulder, scratching at his biceps and gripping the nape of his hair that causes him to rumble out your moaned name.

You can feel him getting close, his thrust growing sloppy and deep, you tighten around him, and his eyes are in a trance, watching the way you fit around him so perfectly.

Carmen moves to fold himself upright against you, and your eyes roll back to your head as you feel yourself climb up a familiar peak.

Carmen presses a hard kiss against your lips as you groan out, and as he slips a hand into your conjoined bodies, circling your clit you have to shove your fist into your hand to stop from screaming.

The feel of Carmen’s length driving into you and the sound of his ragged moans, mixed with the over stimulation against your clit, you can’t help but fall apart around his cock.

You squeeze yourself tight around Carmen, and he cries out, his thrusts growing slow as he joins you over the cliff, his cock thrusting up into you with spasms. His cheeks are a blush red, his tongue poking out as he follows both of your orgasms.

You fall against his chest, exhausted, pressing your cheek so that it rested against the hard muscle of his pecs. You swallow back a breath, gripping your hand around Carmen’s, as he brings it up to place a soft kiss. 

Your thighs are still shaking from stimulation, and Carmen caresses a hand across them, rubbing soft circles and you lay across his chest.

You stay like this for a moment, basking in the bliss of pleasure and sex and the soft curves and dips of your bodies.

After a bit, Carmen has to slip his out cock from your thighs, eyes fixated on the way your ecstasy mixed with his one drips down your thighs.

“Fucking gorgeous” Carmen replies, and you look up at him in surprise

“What? You don’t think I'll find you gorgeous after this?” Carmen smiles down at your flustered state, he brushes back the sweat and tears dripping down your cheeks.

“That was..you are. Well fuck, Carmen, why didn’t this happen sooner?” You reply, he manoeuvres you so that your legs lay across his thighs.

“Yeah, uh, we’ll I’ve got a whole bucket of shit you don’t want dragging you down” Carmen replies scratching his neck, suddenly more shy as he lay his heart bare to you.

“Yeah, we’ll you gave me no choice when you practically murdered that man” You reply, biting back a smile, as you press soft circles around his thumb.

“Should’ve fucking murdered him…”

“What happens now?” Carmen replies, looking at you nervous that this was you just scratching an itch, because he was head over heels in love with you and he would never recover

“God Carmen, you didn’t realise I’m in love with you already?” You reply with a smile, “Practically the entire restaurant does” 

Carmen looks up at you in wonder, his eyebrows furrowing as your words hit him hard. You loved him? You loved him. He wants you to repeat it a hundred times, he wants to hear your tongue say those words to him again.

“You are incomparable” Carmen mutters under his breath, before wrapping you tight against his chest, pressing a kiss that feels different now, less crazed and rushed and fueled by heated passion. It was new, it felt like a start of something.

“You think they’re okay out there?” You reply with a start.

“Hell no” Carmen replies, and you can’t help but laugh as you push your head through a shirt Carmen had passed to you.

You and Carm may have just confessed your love to one another, but you still had a goddamn restaurant to run.

[star-girl69]

Apocalypse

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

synopsis: a day of capture the flag, and clarisse finds out you’re ashamed of your scars.

a/n: love love love love love also from this ask

Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex

warnings: shitty ending but IDC!!!!!!!, hurt/comfort, more hurt/comfort, god i need to be put down, insecure y/n, scars and all that stuff, possessive clarisse, protective clarisse, soft clarisse, probs ooc clarisse, yeah, swearing, mentions of food, mac n’ cheese is y/n’s fav but you can just pretend if you’re a weirdo and don’t like mac n’ cheese, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

“I don’t get it,” he laughs. “How can you be a daughter of Aphrodite and still have those ugly scars all over you?”

You pretend like you don’t hear him, leaning your head back against the tree, staring up at the blue sky through the gaps.

Him and his two friends have been teasing you the entire 20 minutes you’ve been tied up to this tree, captured by the blue team.

That was horribly embarrassing, but you were doing your best to ignore it- instead doing your best to pray to whatever God would listen that Clarisse would win for the red team.

It’s just plain stupid. He’s been saying the same thing over and over again for 20 minutes- can he at least come up with something original?

Besides, you don’t see where he gets off from this. It’s not like you give any reaction, or even look at him. The most you give him is the occasional squeeze of your hands- imagining his neck under them.

“Maybe she’s forsaken you,” he hums, kicking at your limp leg.

You finally look up at him. You’re sitting on the ground, arms at your sides, back pressed to the tree and rope digging tightly into your chest.

“Maybe your mother gave up on you after the second scar,” he says, staring straight into your eyes. “And then you’ve just gotten uglier and uglier ever since.”

You have scars all over your body. Clarisse has them too, and she shows them off proudly, a dramatic story for each one. You have a horrible memory, so you don’t remember all of them- but the tiny one on your jawline is from you accidentally tripping with scissors in your hand as a kid.

Clarisse had laughed hysterically when you told her about that one, pulling you closer when you pouted, saying something about how she was going to carry all scissors for you in the future.

The one on your collarbone is from sparring gone awry. Clarisse likes to kiss that one- it’s silvery smooth, she says some bullshit about how it feels like your lips.

The big one on your arm is from some clawed monster getting a bit too close to you- slashing at your arm and leaving a permanent tattoo of your failure to kill the monster. Or at least successfully run away.

Then, there’s all the tiny ones you can’t remember.

The boy, you seriously don’t even know his name, looks at you. There’s fire in his eyes, he wants a fight, but you won’t give him one. Especially not when your stomach squeezes inside of you in a way that makes you feel like you might throw up.

The conch mercifully blows, even as you feel sick- you don’t want to let his words effect you. But you just can’t help it.

He gives you an odd look, like he’s contemplating just leaving you out there- but eventually releases you. You stand up, dusting yourself off, grabbing your sword from where it was discarded on the ground.

“Good game!” you say, smiling brightly, but you can’t even pretend to be nice to him, so it tapers off into a laugh. He glares at you, but you’re already jogging through the woods, eager to see Clarisse again.

—-

The blue flag waves proudly above a sea of orange camp t-shirts and red helmets, so you smile widely and skip down to the beach. Your team has formed this huge pit of people, everyone congratulating each other, shouting and celebrating. You stick your sword in the sand as you head into it- one person on your mind.

“Clarisse!” you shout, heading straight towards the middle. “Clarisse!”

She actually rips apart two people hugging to meet you.

“Baby!” she says, even when the two people give her dirty looks, pushing past them and into your arms. “We won!” she giggles, kissing your cheek.

“I know,” you smile, digging your face into her neck. She holds you there for just a moment, hand on the back of your head, relishing in the feeling of her girlfriend running to her after a long day.

“Are you tired?” she fusses, squeezing your waist. “What happened? Did you get hurt? I knew I should have made you stay with me-”

“No, Clar,” you laugh, taking your face out of the hiding spot that is her neck and pressing your noses together. “I got captured,” you sigh.

Her fingers wind through your hair.

She scans the crowd, like she might just beat up any random member of the blue team.

“If they don’t learn to not fucking touch you I am going to make them learn.”

“Guard dog,” you tease her.

“And?” she says, leaning down to kiss the scar she loves kissing, right at the beginning of your collarbone. It makes you freeze. “You love it,” she mumbles against your skin.

You can’t think of an answer.

When you stay silent, she looks up at you, confusion in her face.

“What? You look… sad. Did something happen? What aren’t you telling me?”

“N-nothing,” you breathe, because it’s just embarrassing to know you let his words get to you like this.

“You can tell me anything,” she says, searching your eyes.

“I know.”

The conch blows, making you jump at the sudden loud noise. “Lunch!” someone shouts, and Clarisse settles for just grabbing your hand, walking with you back to camp.

—-

You stop by your cabins first, taking off your armor and switching into clean camp shirts. You hesitate for a second, but eventually put on a thin long-sleeved shirt under the orange.

You take extra care in reapplying your makeup, making sure to cover the scar on your collarbone and your jaw, and once everything is as covered as it’s gonna get you set out.

Clarisse is waiting for you outside the Aphrodite cabin, smiling as you open the door, applying lipstick with one hand. She grabs your hand and helps you down the steps, admiring the way you’re so intensely focused on getting the perfect lip, even without a mirror.

It’s not like you have to try very hard, but still.

“I don’t mind waiting a second longer,” she says, bringing you closer by the waist as you tube the lipstick and stick it in your pocket.

“You’re a hungry demon after capture the flag.”

“Yeah,” she says, not really trying to deny it.

You smile and lean against her, pressing a short kiss to your lips.

“Oh, do I look pretty now?” she asks, rubbing in the lipstick that came off onto her lips.

“Always,” you smile.

Her eyes focus in on the green sleeves pulled up to your wrists.

“It’s, like, 100 degrees, baby. You’re gonna boil.”

You frown and shake your head. “No, it’s not that bad. I’m cold.”

She looks at you oddly, but seems to begrudgingly accept it, hand against your forehead as she brushes your hair back. You make it into the buffet style line for lunch, grabbing plates, Clarisse quickly piling hers with a cheeseburger and a hot dog, making you laugh.

“You’re so hungry, all the time,” you mutter when she gives you a dirty look.

“I work out all the time,” she glares. She flexes her arm. “All of this takes a lot of work.”

You stare at her muscles peeking out from just under her sleeves, biting your lip as you quickly look away. She smiles brightly.

“Uh huh, that’s what I thought. You love these muscles, don’t judge me.”

You make your way down the line, scanning the trays of food.

“Ooh,” Clarisse coos, “They have your fave, pretty thing.”

She scoops probably the biggest portion of mac n’ cheese you’ve ever seen in your life, slapping it onto your plate with a smile.

You gape at the now almost empty tray, remembering the still long line behind you. Hopefully there’s another one somewhere.

“Clarisse, we should save some for everyone else.”

She seems actually confused by that statement.

“Uh, yeah, no. My girl gets the best.”

“Clarisse-” but you’ve reached the end of the line and she heads off to a table. You follow her, begrudgingly, because you really do covet this mac n’ cheese like it’s ambrosia.

—-

By the time the night rolls around, you’ve retreated into the blankets of your bed, feeling much safer completely covered up. You’re supposed to be going to the bonfire- all of your siblings have come over and bugged you at least once about going, but you’ve refused them all.

Finally, all of your siblings leave in their pretty but revealing outfits- after today, you don’t think you could ever wear something like that again.

The door to your cabin creaks open.

“Y/N?”

You make a mumbled sound in the back of your throat that’s supposed to resemble “I’m here” but Clarisse is already walking over to you and pulling the blanket off of you.

“Silena told me you were staying back. Why?”

You pull the blanket back up over yourself.

“I’m jus’ tired.”

“Okay…” she says, sitting down on the bed. She puts her warm hand to your forehead. “Are you sick? Do you have a headache?”

“No, Clar, I’m fine.”

“I’m confused,” she huffs. “You love the bonfires. Something is obviously wrong, why won’t you tell me?”

“I’m just tired, Clarisse, that’s all.”

“Fine,” she says. “I can be tired too.”

She kicks off her shoes and climbs into bed with you, under the blankets, chest pressed against your back.

“I’m not good at this. You know that,” she sighs after a second. “And I wish I was. But I do know something’s wrong. And I really don’t know for the life of me what it is, but I really want to know. I really want to help you.”

She traces her fingertips up and down your arms, tracing over the silvery scar from the monster- and you involuntarily jerk away.

“Oh,” she says. She’s painfully observant. She notices everything. She notices you pulling away when she touches your scars. “Your scars.”

Tears well in your eyes before you can stop them.

“W-when I got captured, this boy kept teasing me. And I tried not to let it bother me, I tried not to give him a reaction… but I just- what if I’m not worthy of my mother anymore? It’s embarrassing. I know. But I…”

“Who the fuck said that to you?”

She sits up, eyes blazing, like she can just imagine it and whoever hurt you will suddenly feel her wrath.

You turn around so you’re facing her, laughing.

“I don’t even know his stupid name,” you mutter.

She looks down at you, at the tears spilling from your pretty eyes.

“I’ll kill him later,” she mumbles, settling back down and kissing the corner of your cheek. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, baby. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I’ve never met your mother, of course, so I can say that without getting us both struck down by doves, or something.”

You swat her chest.

“I’ll kill you with doves, watch me.”

She hums. “Probably. Okay, stop. You’re getting me off topic.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not good with my words,” she whispers. “But I hope I show you everyday that you are the only woman I have eyes for. This is, like, really embarrassing… but I’ve planned out our entire lives together. We’re gonna go to to college in Arizona by my mom, we’ll have an apartment off-campus, and after we graduate we’ll get married. I really wanna be married to you. And I don’t care if that’s cheesy, I just really want you to look at the ring I’ll give you and be able to feel all my love. Besides, if you ever want to get away from me, it’ll be a hell of a lot harder.”

“I would never wanna get away from you, Clar,” you smile. “It’s not embarrassing. I wanna go to college in Arizona. I wanna marry you.”

“Good, because you didn’t really have a choice,” she smiles.

“And you’re plenty good with your words.”

“Yeah… okay, I guess. But let me show you, too.”

“What does that even-”

She shuts you up by kissing your lips.

“I love your lips. I love how soft they are, and how they feel so perfect against me.”

She kisses your cheek.

“I like your cheeks for the same reasons.”

Your temple, your forehead, your nose.

“Same reasons,” she smiles.

Finally she ends up at your jawline. She rubs over the scar, taking concealer and foundation with the pad of her thumb.

“And I love this scar. It looks kind of like a C, so everyone knows you’re mine.”

“Freak,” you huff, and she doesn’t have to say it. You both know you love it.

She kisses your neck and talks about how she loves the way you get mad at her for leaving hickeys, the dedication you pour into covering them up before you eventually decide it’s too much effort and let them show.

She kisses the scar on your collarbone.

“I like putting my head here, right under your chin. I can feel your pulse. I can hear you swallow, too, which is weird but also soothing.”

She kisses from your shoulder and down to your arm, skimming past the scar. She kisses the back of your hand and your fingertips.

“I love it when you braid my hair, or just put your hands in my hair for… other reasons.”

“Freak,” you mumble again. “You’re just obsessed with kissing me.”

“True,” she hums, kissing back up to your scar. “I don’t have anything poetic to say about this one. It’s just fucking badass. I mean, you got it when you were 12- you survived what most have been something truly monstrous to leave a scar like this, and that’s all you get? Most of the kids here would have died. Even the ones our age. And you escaped when you were only 12.”

You smile like a lovesick fool. The apocalypse could be going on outside, and you would just be here with Clarisse.

“In conclusion, your beauty is actually life changing. I mean, have you seen me? I become a total softie, just for you. And it’s all because I like seeing that pretty smile on your gorgeous face. But you frown pretty, too, which I didn’t even know was possible- so I win either way.”

You smile and put your hand on her face, kissing her softly.

“Thank you, Clar. For always taking care of me, and reassuring me…”

“It’s quite literally my job,” she smiles. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it.”

“You don’t even trust me, Little Miss Makes-My-Plate-For-Me.”

She laughs and presses her head under your chin, her hair tickling your skin, pressing a kiss to your scar.

“It’s my job,” she smiles. “As your girlfriend and future wife.”

“I love you, Clarisse,” you whisper, a secret just for the two of you. Nothing can have you here. No pain, no suffering.

“I love you too,” she says. “I love you so much, my beautiful, beautiful girl.”

—-

the kid who bullied you walking around with a big ass scar on his cheek the next day 😍😍😍😍😍 no….. no clarisse did not cut him with her spear….. ofc not….

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

[mayaree-darling]

Hi i've been binging some of your fics recently and im in love! I saw that you had requests open so I was wondering if you could do scaramouche x fem reader but where reader dresses in jojifuku or other known as cutecore and scaramouche dresses in a baggy 'cool' way and reader gets made fun of for dressing differently?

of scary dog privileges & matcha lattes // scaramouche (modern au)

pairing: Scaramouche x Cutecore!Reader

synopsis: look, you may be a cute ball of pastels that can test scaramouche's patience, but you're HIS cute pastel lover. but if anyone messes with you, it's okay - his hands were made to be thrown.

from aree: for @amia-69: thanks for requesting and i hope this was satisfactory. i had too much fun with this so i hope you don't mind if it's a tad long with more scenes than you requested. i also made this a bit more feel-good by being a little silly but it’s still mostly serious, i hope you don't mind!

content: slight stalking and bullying scenario (be warned if triggering); very annoyed Scara means swearing; i'm in silly writer mode rn so this is a mix of crack and serious writing; slightly unhinged reader but hey so is scaramouche; praying this ain't OOC; fully accepted this is cringe; fem reader

fic length: 4k~ (unedited)

Scaramouche isn't dumb. He can tell anyone who sees him is asking it in their head.

How the fuck did you two end up together?

There was nothing soft looking about him besides the hair he inherited from his mother. He was his mother but with sharper lines, edges, and words. His eyes were almost a permanent glare if he didn't look bored or annoyed at everyone and everything. He always seemed to wear dark clothing, accompanied by the right amount of chains or belts here and there to complete the look, but they suited him nicely. If anything, he wore them best than most. If he wore anything less than clothes that didn't hang off his body  he looked uncomfortable. Didn't mean he didn't hear enough older people talking about his choice of clothes though.

So when he first stood next to you on the fruits and vegetables aisle at the grocery store, he realized how you two stood at different ends of the fashion spectrum. He was there with his mother for their weekly food restock and ended up getting left behind when he went to check something on his phone (typical. How may times had this happened?) When he blinked, gone was his mom, and there beside him stood you, looking at a bunch of melons.

"This shit's overpriced, the hell." you grumble it under your breath, but Scaramouche heard it loud and clear. The snort he lets out isn't unnoticed by you and you turn to him, eyebrows raised. You look at him up and down before your eyes land back to his, and he frowns.

Goddamn it, here we go. He's heard his mom talk his ear off about the clothes this morning and he wasn't gonna hear it from anyone else. He opens his mouth, ready to cuss you to next Tuesday, but you beat him to it.

"I like the eyeliner," Scaramouche stares at you incredulously, and almost as a final nail into the coffin that he heard you right, you nod in approval. You tilt your head to the side. "I gotta say though. I think eyeshadow would look a lot better. Maybe... red? Just a bit at the corners. It would look a lot nice with your eye color and would make them pop considering you wear a lot of dark shades."

Scaramouche gapes at you. He's used to getting cussed out or getting the occasional talking to about his choices in life, but fashion advice was the last thing he expected to get from some stranger in the fruits aisle.

"Thanks..." he eventually lets out. He finally takes a moment to look you up and down and wonders how the hell did he not notice you sooner when you stood out from everything like a sore thumb.

Scaramouche didn't know there were so many shades of pink in the world. Or maybe he never noticed since he never wore clothes like that, and if he was honest, he spent time with people who didn't wear that color at all. Seeing it now was like a jumpscare, just a lot softer considering it's not like you posed any actual threat but slightly still as surprising considering people randomly approaching him first was so rare. If you weren't wearing a shade of pink, you were wearing some pastel shade of another color. Pastel blue, pastel purple, white lace here and there. The skirt you wore was so frilly you looked like you were walking around with a pink cloud. You looked... soft. That was the best summary Scaramouche could put together in the amount of time he gave you a once over.

You looked like everything he was not.

"I like... the frills," he inwardly cringed the moment he said it, but he ended up just frowning at you. It was your damn fault for putting him in this position in the first place so why the hell was he the one suffering. It's not his fault he wasn't good at giving other people compliments.

You laugh, and Scaramouche wasn't sure whether he should be glad you didn't take it to heart or be offended that he actually tried his best to give you a compliment only to be shot down. "It's okay. You don't have to force yourself."

Scaramouche just frowned deeper. Now it feels like you're saying he can't give out a compliment at all. He looks you up and down again and just says what comes to his head on the spot. "You look like the cotton candy sold at the fair across the street. Actually, I think you're a lot more pink than that stuff, but still lighter? Can't tell accurately with how many shades you got going on."

He must've said something good enough for you because you're grinning at him the next second. "That's one of the nicer ones people have said to me."

Scaramouche looks at you in disbelief. "How is that even remotely nice?"

"Well, for one, I know you mean that sincerely. Second, I'll have you know I worked hard to get pretty vibrant pinks that weren't too hard on the eyes, so thanks for confirming that!"

"You made that?" You nod, and Scaramouche nods back slowly in approval, actually impressed. "Not bad."

Your eyes land on his watch and you jolt, looking at the time on your phone. You pick a random melon even when he sees you scowl at the price tag and put it into your basket. Nodding once more to him, you turn around and leave. But as he watches you round the corner, you're running back to his side once more before he can even turn away. The sudden look of alarm on your face, so different from the grin and laughter you had on earlier, immediately has him on edge.

"Please help me," you whisper, but there was no one else in the aisle besides a mother and her baby at the far end. He frowns and looks to the side.

"Do I look like I help people." it came out harsher than he intended, but didn't he give you more than he was already willing to give any other stranger? Now you were just taking advantage of him.

"I need a scary dog right now," you said it so casually and seriously he wasn't sure he heard you right. But your voice echoed correctly in his head and he actually takes a step away from you, face incredulous.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" he scoffs, not sure if he was supposed to be offended or it was a compliment from you in some weird way. "The pet shop is right next door. Go get a dog there."

"Please. You know what I mean." you look at him pleadingly and he looks away. No, no, he was not gonna break first. This wasn't his business to deal with. He's done enough for people for the day. Nope.

"Again, go look for that somewhere else. Don't you have a boyfriend to help with this kinda thing?"

You roll your eyes and Scaramouche has half a mind to smack you silly. "If I did, you think I'd be going up to strangers for help?"

"So this is a regular thing, huh?" he takes a step back and you take a step towards him.

"Of course not, you expect this kinda thing to happen sometimes. But I don't want to hide away just ‘cause some people couldn't stay away and mind their own damn business," you shuffle from one foot to another. You cast a hesitant look behind you. His eyes follow.

"What are you even-" he stops. In the corner where he last saw you turn, a hooded man hovered over the bread aisle. For a shelf that only had five pieces of loaves left he was taking his time picking, so that only meant one thing. Scaramouche watched as the man glanced over once in your direction before seemingly turning back to the bread with fake focus.

"I thought I was imagining it. But he’s giving me the evil eyes," your voice is a whisper again.

That's unpleasant. Scaramouche straightened his posture and looked at you directly. If it's a scary dog you needed then so be it.

"What are you waiting for, then?" his voice was loud, not enough to be too distracting, but enough to carry over to the asshole who decided to be a creep for the day. Scaramouche kept his eyes on you. "You need anything else? I got the car running. Let's go if you're ready."

You look up at him like he was a fucking hero and Scaramouche all but does his best to not look as pompous as he felt. He sees the guy step back a little from his view, most likely thinking twice about following you when you're suddenly with company. He all but stares the fucker down until he leaves his line of sight.

Scaramouche breathes a short sigh of relief and he sees you do the same. He wanted to leave it at that, but if the guy was planning to follow you around the mall, he'd probably stick around a bit more. So fucking annoying. Not you, though. Although you were a bit annoying, you've probably been through more today than he had. He takes your wrist lightly.

"Where to next? I have family waiting outside."

You smile, relaxed and familiar. He holds your wrist, but you guide him around the store for a few other things before heading to the counter. When you leave the shop, plastic bags in hand, he motions for you to head to the parking lot and you follow albeit hesitantly, only visibly relaxing when you see a woman standing by a car who looks eerily similar to your rescuer.

"Oh? You have a friend." Scaramouche bites back the retort that almost slips past his lips. What did she mean by that? Of course he had friends. He'd never introduce them to her and her to them but he preferred keeping those two sides of his life away from each other.

"She had a bit of a problem and needed some help," she looks at you once and back to him. She gives him a knowing look but Scaramouche could swear on his grave that what she was thinking was vastly different from what was really going on.

"I see. Will your friend be joining us for dinner?" she looks at you with a soft smile and you return it. Scaramouche has half a mind to facepalm himself, he thanks what shred of patience he has left that he doesn't because you give him a glance.

"Thank you for the offer, but I should really be heading home," you turn to him fully and take the plastic bags from him. "Thanks for... helping me."

He opens his mouth but before he can say anything, you give him a knowing nod before quickly walking away. He watches you walk a few paces before he hears his mom clear her throat. He looks to her, already scowling.

"Don't tell me you're just gonna let her go like that?"

"What do you want me to do?"

Ei sighs. "At least make sure she gets a ride? If you walked her all the way over here, I can guess you wanted to give her a ride home. But that's out of the question now."

"Why are you so invested in this anyway? I just met her today."

"Oh, really? I thought you already knew each other." Ei hums as she rummages her purse for the keys. "You look like a pair. Not quite sure what kind, but definitely a pair of something. I think she’s rather cute."

He curses silently before jogging to catch up to you. He finds you standing by the bus stop. When you turn to him, you smile.

"Thanks for helping me again."

"You know I was planning on dropping you off at your place, right? Thought that was kinda clear with what I said at the grocery."

"Nah. I'd bothered you enough. Don't wanna bother your sister either." you grin at him, shuffling from foot to foot again, now with a pep in your step.

"First off, that was my mom, not my sister." you repeat the word 'mom' silently before looking at him with barely suppressed admiration, and Scaramouche barely holds himself back from groaning. "Second, it's fine. You're not scared that guy's gonna follow you home?"

"I'll be in a bus full of people. If he tries anything I'll scream my head off." you laugh. Scaramouche can hear a shred of doubt in your voice, but he doesn't say anything else. There's a pause of silence before you look at him from the corner of your eye and hum. "Y'know. I don't know how to properly thank you."

He waves you off. "Forget about it."

"How about I treat you?" you turn to him fully, like he just didn't brush you off. "I know a cafe by the train station that makes really good matcha lattes."

"What makes you think I even like matcha?" he sighs, but he thinks about it for a second. And then another second. Scaramouche blinks before he turns to you with a deadpan face. "You're just trying to take advantage of my scary dog privilege or whatever you call it."

"Maybe? Who knows?"you grin mischievously. "I'm serious about treating you to a meal, though. I owe you one. If you want you can just take the meal and forget about ever seeing me again."

Scaramouche sighs. Surely, it wouldn't hurt...?

"Alright then. When's our date?" You blink at him in surprise before laughing.

When people ask him how you two got together, he says you treated him to matcha for saving your life and you just hit it off. When they ask you to confirm, you excitedly show a picture of the two of you in the cafe of your first date. Should anyone try to mention the foam of milk from the matcha latte gathered around the top of his lips or the cat ears you had graciously edited onto the top of his head, Scaramouche is quick to silence them with a murderous look, almost the very same one he has on in the picture.

Some might think why doesn’t he just ask you to stop showing the photo to people? It’s enough for you to confirm that you got together over drinks, end of story. But as he watches and listens to you recount how you met again, the smile on your lips and the laughter that slips past and the grin as you show all the pictures - he can’t imagine saying no.

Why would he make you stop when you’re so happy?

That’s what he thinks now, as he sees the frown on your face.

He thought people already understood. He let you tell the story over and over even though it got on his nerves time and time again because it made you happy, yes, but also so people saw who they were messing with if they ever even thought of messing with you. This city was a small one - if people didn’t know him from his mother, they surely have heard of him and his friends. This city was the kind where word travelled fast if you were even in any social circle. If not for that, they would have surely seen him walking around with you with all the places you wanted to see.

He underestimated how dumb people could be.

matcha | are you close? Scary Dog <3 | give me a couple of minutes. Just got out the bus matcha | ok | um not to pressure u | can you hurry | just a bit | sorry

Scaramouche rolled his eyes before frowning. He pocketed his phone and all but jogged to the park. From a distance, he could see two guys in front of the bench he was sure was where you were supposed to meet. It was the bench he and you stopped at to exchange numbers, so it became a place that meant a lot to you. When he was close, the group of guys looked at his direction, snickering, before heading to the next bench over. Finally, he has a perfect view of you, your head down, holding on to your drink and phone like a lifeline. His drink almost lay forgotten beside you.

He quickly grabbed the drink from your side and sat beside you. From the corner of his eye, he can see the group of guys stealing glances at the both of you, not even trying to hide their laughter and sneers. He’s gripping his drink almost as hard as you were.

“You’re here,” you smile at him, but as quickly as it’s on your face it drops back to a wobbly frown and you look away. “Sorry if I made you hurry, I-”

“What happened? Did they do anything to you?” his voice comes out in a rush but it’s soft, as comforting as he can muster with the situation at hand. He can feel his blood boiling, his senses on high alert.

“No, no, they were just being mean and annoying and I-” you shakily pocket your phone and hold on to his hand. He can feel you shaking and he grit his teeth.

“What did they do? What the fuck did they say?” he was gripping onto the cup so tight he would’ve been surprised that it hadn’t broken yet if he wasn’t so focused on you.

“Nothing important.” he squeezes your hand, not enough to hurt, but to make sure you know that he’s here now. You didn’t need to hide anything from him. You just need to tell him. You look up at him and purse your lips. “They just said-”

He hears laughter and immediately whips his head towards the two guys, feeling absolutely feral. The closest one sitting on the edge of the bench flinches for a second, before he meets his glare with a sneer.

“I was wondering what kind of parents would leave their little princess walking around alone like that,” the guy smirks and Scaramouche can feel you flinch under his touch. “But another kid just showed up to pick them up. Where are your parents, kiddies?”

The two guys laugh and Scaramouche can feel his teeth crack with how hard he was biting down. He stands up but you hold on to his hand.

“Just let it go. Let’s just get out of here.” you mumble to him, but the guys heard perfectly.

“Let’s just get out of here~” the other guy copies your voice, all high pitched and mocking and everything that Scaramouche knew you were very much not. “She dresses like a little princess and sounds like one. Aren’t you too old for that?”

They howl with laughter and slowly, Scaramouche feels you let go of him. He looks to you, concerned, but you meet his eyes, your face blank but he knows that look.

Go for it.

With quick strides he’s right beside their bench. They stop for a moment to look at him.

He looks at the matcha latte in his hand and sighs.

What a waste of a drink. You got it for him, too.

“What are you- ARGH!” Scaramouche shakes the cup empty of all it’s content, making sure that each of the guys’ heads had at least a bit of the matcha drink. But Scaramouche was sure he got them both - it was a large drink, after all.

“Pick on someone your own size, you lil’-” the man closest to him goes to stand, but just as he does, Scaramouche raises his own leg and drives a kick right on his knees.

*CRACK*

The man screams in pain, forced to his knees and tending to his newly acquired wound. The other guy stands to try and help, but his form quickly falters as Scaramouche takes one step towards him, eyes blazing. The man doesn’t move, too frightened, as Scaramouche leans down to the man on the ground.

“There you go. Now we’re the same height.”

Scaramouche feels a pull on the back of his shirt and he’s ready to throw his arm back to punch when he sees you. He lets you pull him and you make a break for it as he hears the man crying in pain behind him.

Trees turn to buildings around you both as you leave the park and head to the city center, stopping only when you’re sure the coast is clear. You both take in large breaths of air after running for so long, but even the silence does nothing to make him realize the gravity of what just happened. That’s not the case for you, though.

“Oh, God, I didn’t think you’d do that. The drink, yeah, but...” you say between breaths. You take a shaky laugh and rub the back of your neck. “Was the kick really necessary, though?”

Was that necessary? Scaramouche knew the answer for himself. He walks closer to you.

Why would he let anyone destroy whatever you two had going on? You came as a pair.

"Scara, what are you-" he stops in his tracks and looks you in the eyes. There's a pause before he lifts his hand and flicks your forehead.

"Talk smack, get whacked."

"I didn't even say anything! And why are you hitting me?!"

There’s a pause as he runs his teeth over his lower lip.

“Hey… you.”

“Wow, I thought by now you knew my name,” you sneer at him. “You telling me you still don’t know it?”

He inhales before he says your name softly. You gape at him, suddenly aware of how serious he’s gotten. “You’re happy with… yourself, right…?”

“Of course I am. That’s not even worth asking about,” there’s a doubtful look on your face, but not because of your answer. Your apprehension stems from where this conversation was going.

“Keep being happy, then.” Scaramouche rubs the knuckles of your hand with his thumb before pressing a kiss to your palm. He smirks at you. “If anyone else says otherwise, a drink over their head and broken kneecaps are the least of their concerns.”

“Now, come on,” he doesn’t let go of your hand and you make no mention of it. “We still gotta stop by Nahida’s, right?”

＝＝✿＝＝｜✧••❀••✧｜＝＝✿＝＝  

❀BONUS❀

“Your mom’s gonna kill us when she finds out what you did.”

“Nah. She’d be fine with it.” Scaramouche scoffs.

“Find out what?” Ei appears by the kitchen doorway and looks at you both expectantly. You turn to Scaramouche, eyes wide with fear, but he doesn’t flinch or even stop chopping the melon.

“I poured a drink over some guy who said Matcha was acting too much like a kid,” Scaramouche answers easily, passing you a melon slice. “Also might have broken their knee, but we didn’t get to see.”

“I’m really sorry, Ms. Ei-”

“That’s it?” Ei leans on the kitchen counter and to your surprise, looks at Scaramouche with disappointment. “You should’ve broken a bone or two more.”

You blink as they continue talking about how best to have handled the situation; all their solutions involved hurting someone.

Well, you guess Scaramouche must have had to got it from someone in the family.

✨ Masterlist ✨

Taglist: 💛@wonpielle 💜@shikanosn

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

[riaki]

thrifted romance | megumi fushiguro x reader

synopsis: you’ve never really spoken with megumi before, so when your friends leave the two of you behind on a snowy night, you take the opportunity to get to know him.

wc: 6.2k... SO SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY cw: swearing, college au, noncurse au, i don’t thjnk there’s anything else ??

this got way longer than i intended it to be and i rushed to grind it out so it may not be coherent.. if so i apologize :’3 and this one’s late but i hope the content makes up for it ! enjoy meemow barely proofread!

it's a late winter evening when you meet up with megumi and your friends on the side of the street— cozied up in puffy layers and a long blazer stained with coffee splashes and a few hot chocolate smudges here and there.

fall had melted away with the slow gradient of leaves from the trees, sinking into fluffy piles on the sidewalk that soon became coated and replaced with light snowfall; the first of many problematic inches. midterms were just around the corner, and with it meant late hours spent pulling all-nighters that left you exhausted, eyes dark around the edges with a lack of sleep; breaths of minty hot chocolate and coffee from the amalgamation you'd concocted to at least pretend to get into the holiday spirit.

(a fruitless effort, though— if not for your failure that warned you to stay out of mixology, but the way your roommate's cat had knocked over your mug and ruined the flashcards you'd been wrestling with and looked completely smug with itself.)

really, though, there was absolutely nothing jolly about school, or exams. so when your favorite inefficient, sidetracking study buddy had offered to spend the weekend out, who were you to say no? nobara had offered to go find a club, but it was far too cold out to frolic around in skimpy clothing and your expensive winter coats were much too valuable to risk being stolen in the haze of drunken students and sweaty bodies. so, you'd decided to go shopping, because what else is there to do with her? besides the usual karaoke session with the upperclassmen she seems to like so much, of course.

turns out, it'd had been a group endeavor. or, more accurately— a group of four, unlike the duo you had previously thought you'd be going out in. yuji and megumi were there too— friends from separate majors; you'd heard that yuji was involved in the uprising surge of software engineers and computer science majors clambering for a shot in the world of big AI tech companies, even though he supposedly was about as computer-smart as your teetering old grandma ripe with age, permanently stuck in her rocking chair crocheting the days away.

megumi, on the other hand, was a mystery. you'd shared a few classes together; his chipped dark nails that shone the same blue as his esoteric eyes beneath the warmth of the glowing sun, and his inky black hair that spilled over the collars of his simple gray sweatshirts like effortlessly graceful calligraphy on paper had captured your attention as smooth and seamless as the daylight turned to darkness, days cut short by the onslaught of cold. even so, you'd never brought yourself to interact much— he seemed like he'd prefer to keep to himself, if the way he'd disdainfully scoot away from anyone who tried to approach him and turn up the volume of his headphones indicated anything. you had laughed to your friend and called it introversion to its finest, only to promptly shut up when his unmoving gaze landed on you, leaving you feeling like a clown on the stage, rimmed by rich dark red curtains and a wooden floorboard as the beaming spotlight shines upon you imaginary button nose, hot and glaring under his gaze. 

even though you'd approved of his music taste once you snagged a few notes by the ear, you'd really thought his taste in fashion was too bland to be the type of person to shop with nobara— her meticulous style and image were much brighter and more flamboyant than megumi's jaded attempts at a splash of color through the occasional blue argyle or layered turtleneck. still, those were better than yuji's paltry attempts at fashion; at least the myriads of color on nobara's figure were coordinated. the pink-haired boy with funny scars on his face would probably have been better off learning graphic design or art, with the disasters of clashing colors on his person.

and he'd gotten the opportunity to demonstrate his questionable tastes on the chilly evening, when black ice had begun to form on the roads and the soft light of boutiques with slow jazz flowing from the speakers filled your frost-bitten red ears as you walked up to the shade of a nearby lamppost. once you'd all met up, nobara had hooked an arm around your elbow and dragged you off, leaving the boys to follow along like it was walking dogs.

honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you were— at least, with yuji. he carried nobara's bags like she was the next princess in line, without complaint and with the little fearful quivers that dogs get in their legs whenever their owners scold them for barking or misbehaving, much like how nobara would yell at yuji if he dropped a single cream linen sweater or ruffled pink cami.

megumi, on the other hand, was far too lethargic and quiet to be considered any kind of canine. although the weaved bracelet on his left wrist with a cute little puppy charm you caught sight of when he'd rolled his sleeve up implied otherwise. the only reason he'd even had to do that was to rub the sickeningly sweet orange blossom hand sanitizer nobara had spritzed on each of your palms after you took turns petting a stray cat, one that seemed to take a great liking to you and megumi in particular.

the night seemed to drag on forever; pale yellow lights and holiday decorations blurred into swathes and bubbles of color in your vision as the hours passed and the caffeine from the cute little coffeeshop you'd stopped at earlier began to wear off.

but there had just been something magical about that evening; spending time with friends (albeit, more like acquaintances) had granted you a much-needed break from cramming your mind with an overflow of information that was sure to spill out the moment you answered the last exam question. so, when it was almost midnight and it was time to retire to your bed, you'd insisted on staying out for just a little longer while nobara and the rest returned to their dorms to catch some sleep. yuji had complained something about his legs cramping, but you were feeling giddy, and the stars were twinkling just as bright as the light in nobara's eyes were when you told her you had to soak in the fresh air for as long as you could before being locked in to study again as she laughed and headed home with her pink dog-boy escort in tow.

megumi had mumbled something about staying with you since it was late and he wanted to make sure you were safe. you didn't think too much about it, because if you did, you were sure you'd end up with a faced even more flushed than it was frostbitten from the cold.

so, here you were, strolling down the quieter side of town, a brooding boy with inky dark hair and hands pale with blue veins shoved into the pockets of his jacket trailing behind you. he had one airpod tucked into his pierced ear; you assumed he hadn't brought his headphones because yuji would be there to prattle and babble. even so, you were content not to say anything, so there was plenty of opportunity for him to wear both. but he wasn't. you decided not to linger on it.

you'd just finished writing a silly little note out of the crisp snow gathered on the windshield of some stranger's car; the flakes were cold and biting on your skin, leaving it feeling numb with little droplets of icy water when you pulled away to admire your handiwork.

"actually, maybe i shouldn't be doing that." you decided after a moment, mumbling under your breath. it was just a little message with a whiskered smiley face, but the headlights on the car and the bumper seemed to form a frown at you when you stepped back, shaking its motorized head at your vandalism.

"you think?"

megumi's voice sounded from behind you, a little weighed down by the cold with a wisp of warmth leaving his lips like a powdery exhale, curling into the prickly night air. he was standing on the sidewalk, observing you all prickly-like as if you were some flagrant toddler he was babysitting. you still had to get used to the way his voice sounded after rarely hearing it; the few crumbs you got when your professors forced obligatory presentations onto struggling students had sent this warm, fuzzy feeling collecting in your stomach at the rich tone of velvet it held. not rough or overly deep, but smooth and reassuring. the kind you could fall asleep to; like there was a lullaby just waiting to be poured from his tongue with little scratches in the indent of his tone.

of course, you hadn't heard enough of it to make such an assumption, so when you heard the little quip framed with irritation at the edges, it wasn't all sugary sweetness like you imagined.

"yeah, well, sorry i like to live a little," you huffed, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to resuscitate some warmth back into them with a small little sigh.

"you call that living?" he scoffs a little, cocking an eyebrow at the vandalized toyota behind you. now, it just looked a little sad; imaginary eyebrows over the red lights droopy in disappointment. you followed his gaze, before looking back at him and making a sour face as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

"maybe we just have different tastes, y'know? doesn't mean we don't have to get along like this," you mumbled, shaking your hands out a little to get the remaining snow droplets off before stuffing them back in your blazer pockets. "just like itadori and nobara. one has terrible taste in fashion and the other doesn't, but they both like their bright colors." you feel satisfied with yourself for that one, but clearly, megumi doesn't feel the same. but the corner of his pink lips seem to quirk up just a tiny bit, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

there's just something about the way it looks— an almost implausible smile coaxed onto his lips by something particularly amusing, reaching his dull blue eyes in a way that made their usual tedious apathy morph into something like fondness, or appreciation. adding a shine to his navy irises the lamp light overhead could only hope to mimic. then again, you didn't let your mind linger on it for too long like usual— so instead you chalked it up to the one other thing that had caught your eye besides the sharpness of his jaw and the handsome slimness of his face: his jacket.

you take back what you said about his style and its blandness before— it would be unfair to what he was wearing right now. just a simple black turtleneck (one that you were sure he'd worn to the early morning wednesday lecture you had a few days ago, when the sun was still bright enough to catch on the condensation of the cup of lemonade your white-haired, oddly sweet-toothed professor had), and black jeans, but the vintage racing windbreaker hanging from his shoulders brought it together in a way that was unfairly seamless; all dark blues and stripes of checker; a neutral grayblue that reminded you of the sky on rainy afternoons, trudging about the shopping districts in tokyo. there were a few brand patches here and there, some red bubble lettering of names you didn't recognize in patches of color that brought out the shade of his eyes. maybe the labels of those energy drink brands you often caught him running on when the shadows beneath his long dark lashes seemed heavier than usual.

all that to say he looked good. like, seriously good. you didn't know how you hadn't noticed all night— but now that you had, it was hard to keep your eyes from his slim and tall silhouette (not that he minded). the jacket really complimented it.

"that's a neat jacket. where'd you get it?" you asked after a moment of chilling silence; he'd probably noticed you looking, and you prayed he didn't think you were checking him out. although, if that meant getting your hands on one of those windbreakers, you wouldn't really mind. he glanced up at you, tearing his attention from the sad snowy toyota camry that seemed worn past its years at the newfound attention on megumi's racing jacket. he blinked a little, and you didn't miss the little flake of frost on his eyelash; probably caught from brushing past a windowsill earlier. by now, most shops were closed; even so, the street still felt warm and safe. well, maybe it was to be credited to a person rather than the concrete— but like you had been all night, you ignored it.

"oh, this?" as if he was wearing more than one jacket (it was cute), "i thrifted it." and for some reason, you didn't expect to be surprised, but you were. him? thrifting? the few western-fashion tailored thrift stores you'd been to with nobara had been lacking— not like you'd been able to stay in them long; the artificial ginger had this... beef with reused clothes. she liked her clothes clean and fresh from the press, even if you reminded her they could just be fresh from someone else's press. megumi must be familiar with the antiquated racks of varied worn graphic tees and frayed pants if he could fish something that classy from a thrift store.

then again, it's not like you had any experience to go off of at all.

"really? y'know, i've always wanted to go thrifting," you sighed, stretching your arms out, watching the fabric of your blazer wrinkle and curve to follow the movement of your muscles. a light dusting of snow coated the surface, like powdered sugar on tiramisu. that makes the coffee stains fitting. "but i feel like i'm bad at it." you said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, the rubber bottom of your sneakers brushing against a little clump of pine green weeds.

"bad at it?" megumi echoes, following you with a faint ruffle of smooth fabric, like the sound of a zipper sliding down. before, the world had been a cool shade of gray, like smoke rising from a cigarette or the blurry blue of the sky from the window of a speeding bullet train. but now, you let yourself soak in the sound of his voice, like grinded coffee beans and a smooth, soothing honey medicine for your throat on a sick day when you get to cozy up in your bunk bed and watch the clouds drift by.

it's nice.

"yeah. like, i wouldn't know where to go, or what to find, or what to look for..." you trailed off, rubbing your cold fingers together again as your breaths leave in little exhales of coagulating mist in the cold night air. now that it was late, it the temperature would only continue to drop.

you walked in silence for a little longer, listening to the scuffles of shoes against concrete, glassy with ice that had begun to creep up on the roads like a steady stream of seafoam from the tides.

"why don't we go thrifting now, then?" he asks out of the snowy blue.

you paused, and you almost smacked straight into a pole. "now?" you spluttered, turning around to face him. the look on his face was unreadable; a mix between exasperation, amusement, an attempt at stoicism, and something like affection in the corner of his lips as they curved upward. it was like a CPR compression; the smile that sent fuzzy electricity through your veins and reinvigorated your heart.

"yes, now." he said it like you were stupid, which you might just be, the way you stared dumbly at his face. "the place i got this jacket from is just over there," he said, jutting a ring-adorned thumb behind him. you had to lean up and peek around his shoulder to see it; you wouldn't've noticed if he didn't point it out. it was tucked between two buildings, a stairway downward into the store. the only thing indicating its status as a retail and thrifting store was the broken neon sign and painted red arrow that gestured towards the staircase.

"looks really shady. and it's late." you grumbled after you got over yourself, and he shot you an irritated look. that was all he really seemed to be doing tonight; that downward knit of his dark eyebrows and the slight pout weighing his lips down. not very suave, you think.

he swallows hard, and you aimlessly watch the bob of his adam's apple. "well?" he prompts, a hard edge to his voice despite the situation. you stand there for a little while, marinating in the growing cold until you cant feel the tips of your fingers.

"fine."

one accidental slip on the crosswalk and a few minutes later, you're stepping down the last wooden stair of the thrift store and into the building's basement; it's much bigger than you would've thought, with an expanse of layered clothing racks that obscure your vision, the corners of the walls clogged with cobwebs and years of dust build up. there's a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne; something vanilla that you've caught clinging to megumi's wrists and neck on the rare occasion you brush past him. faint jazz spills from the speakers, something in a swing rhythm with the signature lilt of saxophone that makes you think you should be out enjoying a romantic fancy dinner instead of being cooped up between old wrinkly moth-bitten clothes. but you're here with megumi, so you convince yourself you don't mind either way.

"you sure this is the right place?" you asked, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious distain from your voice as you kick a folded 'floor-is-wet' sign from your path and step into the store. you can't even see the cash register from where you're standing.

"yes, i'm sure. can you stop complaining?" you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and you're sure you could see it too if you just turned around. "trust me. it's not all shit." his voice softens, and you freeze up a little as he brushes past you; the corridors and margins are tight, so he has to turn sideways to fit. even so, a tag on your coat manages to snag on his jacket, and you hasten to unhook it before he can notice. he almost disappears into the racks, and you have to follow him, pushing your way through thick coats and worn graphic tees that have cracked logos and balls of lints clinging to them.

you're no thrifting expert, but you're pretty sure the store's supposed to be in better condition than this.

"hey." megumi's voice soon snaps you back into reality, and you look up from the mustard yellow top you were eyeing warily to meet his sedate gaze. "the good stuff's in the back. c'mon." he doesn't give you much room to argue even though it sounds like you're here to do drugs rather than find clothing, and before you can react he's reached forward to grab your wrist and tug you along. a yelp of protest almost spills from your lips, but you bite your tongue and let him drag you along, trying to extinguish the hue of cherry you know is making a home on the tips of your ears.

you brush past patchwork coats and a few leather belts that've tangled with the lace from the silk shirts next to them, but nothing really catches your eye, until you realize that he's let go of you only because of the lack of warmth around your skin and you focus yourself on the current again. you glance up at him, but he already has his back turned to you, sifting through a rack of black shirts that all look the exact same. maybe you have an untrained eye, though.

still, you can't help it when your gaze lingers over the back of his neck; one strand of dark hair has caught itself beneath the collar of his turtleneck, and it irks you. and you decide to do something about it because you'll know it'll bother you if you don't.

time seems to move in a liquid slow; things are blurring and there's no mothballs or ugly recycled coats to get in your way as you reach over and swipe your hand across his neck, hooking a finger beneath the strand and pulling it out of his collar. it takes you a moment to realize what you just did, and when you do, it's like there's a permanent mark seared into your index finger just from the touch of his skin against your own. you think he might have whiplash because he turns his head around so fast to catch your gaze before you can slink away, eyes wide and eyebrows knit, and you notice his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

he raises an eyebrow, but before he can utter a shaming word that'll only make you feel more embarrassed you shake your head vigorously, apologetically.

"sorry— it was bothering me. i hope you don't mind." you managed to say, the words spilling out in a rush before you turned away and slipped past him, disappearing into an aisle of dresses. you can feel his gaze burning cold holes into your back as you distract yourself.

you don't let yourself linger on what you just did— you seem to be doing a lot of that, lately, especially with him as you go through a few batches of clothing. by now, it's far past midnight, and you're feeling much more sluggish than you'd like to admit. you haven't seen megumi in a good twenty minutes save for the few times you picked up a few shirts and a cute diner jacket you thought would look good on him. he just thanked you bluntly, taking the bundle of clothing from your arms before walking away to the fitting rooms. you wished he'd stay to let you see the jacket.

you'd tried on a few things, discarding your blazer in favor of a cute knitted cardigan you grabbed, but nothing seemed to stick the way you'd like them to. it would be a great help if you had nobara to assist, but you were sure she was snoring away at home right now, and at the thought of your warm, inviting bed, your knees wobbled a little and you balanced yourself on the wall.

"hey— oh, you alright?" it's an unfamiliar voice; you lift your head up, looking for the source. it's a young boy— he looks to be about your age, maybe a little younger. there's a blue lanyard around his neck, and he's got a spattering of freckles on his hands, which are curled around the collar of a white linen shirt. he must be the one who's tending to the store.

"yeah, i'm okay. sorry," you said hastily, pushing away and rubbing the back of your neck. how embarrassing— he didn't seem to mind, though. he just smiled, big and bright and toothy. cute. reminded you of how toddlers would grin up at parents with those huge red lollipops in hand.

"no worries. i just thought i'd let you know that we're closing soon, since it's almost 2am." he said, shifting his weight on his sneakers. you nodded, about to give a hum of confirmation before another voice cuts through the slow jazz filling the stifling air above, all familiar in its smoothness.

before you could respond, though— "[name]?" megumi's voice rang out in the quaint little store, calling for you, and so you give the employee an apologetic nod before you turn and start toward the noise. you pass a mirror with a coat draped over the top, peeking your head around a tall rack of long skirts to catch sight of the raven head, in all of his glory. you notice that he's taken off his windbreaker.

"what’s up? we have to go soon," you reminded him, yawning a little and rubbing your eyes as you straightened up and stepped over to his side. there was another mirror in front of him, you noticed, with fading stickers pale in the dim yellow light stuck to the wooden rim. even so, with the smudges and the bare sheen of the silver, he looked good. that black turtleneck really suits him.

"i know. i just wanted to ask for your opinion." he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. you tilted your head curiously, and he held up a deep mauve sweatshirt, with some varsity logo branded on the fabric. it had a nice touch to it; a warm color that reminded you of red wine and slow evenings. you were sure it had been one of the pieces you'd picked out for him, but you were too sleepy to recall. "you should try it on. i think it'd look good," you said, gesturing toward the mirror.

you think you must've said something wrong, because he looks at you for a moment too long before he seems to catch himself staring and he nods, a choked little sound leaving his throat which he hides by ducking his head down and covering his face with his long bangs. you think you're hallucinating the pink on his cheeks.

after a moment, he glances at you. "hold this," he shoves his jacket towards you, and you have no choice but to take it. doesn't seem like he's used to taking no for an answer, but you're certainly not the one complaining when he tugs the sweater over his head, ruffling his soft black hair as he steps a little closer to you, observing himself in the mirror while straightening out the folds and fixing his turtleneck. you were right— it does look good on him. almost unfairly so— you don't know how he manages to rock granny clothes so well, like he was born a retirement home's runway model.

unlike him, you're not a reticent shut in— and although you'd like to say you have no problem telling him how good he looks, it's still a little difficult when the words feel like they're lodged in your throat in order to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again. but you ignore it and push on.

"you look great. i think it really suits you," you breathed, shaking your head as your hands tighten around his jacket in your arms. he blinks, adjusting the collar before glancing down at you. you take a moment to really appreciate the sight— him, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the chipped lights overhead. despite the dilapidated store and the antiquated, worn clothing surrounding him, he still manages to look like some ethereal angel boy you'd stumble upon in a bookstore on a dreary winter's afternoon and never be able to get out of your mind again.

ink black eyelashes flutter when he blinks, framing his eyes like the bangs falling over his face when he turns around again to observe himself in the mirror once more before he takes the sweatshirt off. it catches on his turtleneck, which rides up when he slips the mauve sweater over his head, tussling his hair and exposing the dip of his pale hips, all muscle and flesh and bone, and you pray he chalks up the red on your face to the cold. the end of his belt dangles from the buckle as you hand his jacket back to him, fingers almost brushing— just barely out of reach.

a meager conversation flows between the two of you; you follow him through the endless maze of used clothing until you somehow stumble upon the cash register and he buys his sweater; the only thing he manages to buy after all this time spent milling about in a dusty, dinky little retail store. the boy from earlier helps check him out, and the icy glare he receives from megumi when he glances at you seems to fly straight past your head as you pick at your cuticles. the tips of your fingers are still red from messing with the frosty snow earlier. you wonder when the car owner will find your message.

it's almost freezing when you get out of the dusty shop, emerging from the smoke-stained alleyway stairs and into the cold night air. your breaths almost seem to form a precipitate, and the thought reminds you of the chemistry conversions waiting for you on your desk beneath the lamp, and you cringe internally. staying out for a few hours longer seems way better than succumbing to the never ending stream of worksheets and documents calling your name. you wonder if your charismatic professor will let you get away with a few assignments if you call in sick. are papercuts excuse enough?

the click of a lock behind you signifies the store's closing— the employee left through a back exit, it seems. and you realize too late that you left your blazer in the dressing room when you turn around and a sigh falls from your lips. megumi, paper bag in hand, glances over at you.

"you okay?"

you almost forgot he was there, in his brooding vintage racing jacket glory. you shake your head, before sighing forlornly again. he notices this, making a little face; his lips press together and his pretty eyes narrow. he thinks you sigh far too much. you'd look prettier if you smiled some more. he likes it when you do.

"i left my blazer in there, but he just closed it and it's so fucking cold out," you whined, bringing your hands to your face and rubbing your eyes tiredly. you're cold and your fingers are going numb again, and there's light snowfall. so much for not losing your coat at a club. you can't tell which one's worse. "sorry to complain so much, but do you mind if we—"

you're promptly cut off; the words on your tongue left unsaid, burning with the taste of bitter black coffee. your gaze trails from megumi's hand, the clink of his silver ring against the zipper rail of his jacket as his fingers curl around the fabric, up his arm to the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, rounding the curve of his shoulders and up his neck to his face. he's not looking at you.

the words that leave his wet lips are so small and hurried that you think you're hallucinating them; when you inevitably looked back at this moment later, you'd realize that he was being shy. he mumbles something under his sweet breath, and you ask him to speak up.

"i said, you can use mine." he repeats, louder than necessary as he finally brings himself to look down at you from under his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. his voice is a little strained, and a soft breeze carrying the smell of cinnamon and fresh ice rustles his hair. you blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights over a layer of thin ice, ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

"oh— okay. um, do you have anywhere else you need to go..?" you said tentatively, reaching forward to take his jacket again. it was exactly like how you'd done back in the thrift store, but the vague sense of deja vu you get is accompanied by an endless fluttering of warmth in your stomach that melts away the winters and tiring exams, and the night seems to become a soft warm orange, as if someone's drained the cool hues from the landscape.

megumi just shook his head, reaching into his bag and taking out the sweater he'd bought earlier. he slips it on again, adjusting it over his shoulders and refusing to meet your eyes as he crumples the paper bag in his hands. you notice they're slightly trembling as he does it, fingers digging into the material with much more force than is really needed. his hair follows each movement of his head; the strain of the muscles in his neck when he swallows again and gestures for you to follow him back down the empty street, past cars coated in melting snow and jaunty yellow lights twinkling over the awnings of closed store windows, shut down for the night. the sweater suits him really well, you think; not too loose, but tight enough in the right places to send your heart racing a mile a minute.

you pull his jacket over your arms, tucking your sleeves in and zipping it up. it's big on you— that's no surprise, and you can almost taste the vanilla on your tongue, his cologne lingering on every fold of the insulated fabric. it's warm, and it feels like being enveloped in a tight hug. in megumi's head, he hopes— prays its him you think of if you ever feel that way again.

you walk in a stiff silence; both of you want to say something, but you're dancing around it, letting your words linger unsaid until the other breaks the ice first. it's only ever cracked once you reach the dorms, where you part ways. there's light snowfall, and a thin layer of white has coated his hair when you turn to face him. you reach forward, learning onto the tips of your toes to brush off the ice. his hair feels unimaginably soft beneath your fingers, slightly damp from the snow. but he's the furthest from cold when you pull away; his face is burning up.

by now, you can't bring yourself to mind.

"thank you," you said softly, sighing contentedly. you move to take his jacket off your shoulders and return it, but he stops you, holding a hand up. the expression on his face is unreadable, but his lips are pursed together in a way that makes you think he's pouting.

"don't worry—" a pause. " you can, uh. keep it. i know you wanted one. just... give it back when you want, yeah?" he says, curt. almost prude, if it weren't for the way he was avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment. it was like trying to play the world's most difficult game of whack-a'mole, attempting to catch his eyes and see the iceberg that's melted into pools of warm glittering affection in his blue irises. at the thought, you wonder if he likes arcades, and you make a mental note to suggest an activity to nobara the next time she has the urge for an escapade.

you don't bother asking him whether he's sure, because you don't want him to take his words back. so you linger there in a moment of silence, letting it hang over your heads like a warm throw blanket, cozied in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. maybe a coffee mix like you'd attempted before.

angel boy clears his throat first to speak, all honey that links the syllables together like christmas ribbon; rich like orange flavored dark chocolate. "i'll see you later, then." it's short and sweet, but your heart is already flying so high on euphoria you can barely bring yourself to care, or suppress the giddy grin that's spreading across your lips.

yeah, you're tired. yeah, you're still a little cold and you think you need to thaw at your desk for a week until exams, but at least you've got his jacket to accompany you when your study buddy passes out first and you're alone on all nighters. frankly, you can't bring yourself to care— your head is spinning with the events of the chilly night, from crude messages in the snow to thrift store mothballs and lanyards, to one checkered racing jacket. but you don’t think it’s so bad when it threatens to stick to your memory, like chewed up gum under your professor’s desk. whether it’s from the students or the professor, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve.

"yeah. see you around, fushiguro." you can’t say the same about the mystery that megumi is, though. in fact, you think you’re already one step closer when you turn around and part ways, catching sight of him in the reflection of a frosted window. he’s slipping both of his airpods back into his ears, crimson at the tips.

the sound of your shoes against the rug stairway fills your ears as you clamber back up to your dorm, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and face flushed a pleasant warmth. even when you finally get to bed, you can't stop your eyes from drifting over to the bundle of lapis blue fabric sitting on your desk, and your mind from the soft spoken boy with eyes like the night sky and inky hair like calligraphy.

you decide you don't think his style is too bad, after all. and when you tell him that the next morning when he's still sleepy and his lashes fall slow when he blinks the weariness from his eyes, you get to enjoy the steady flush that stains his cheeks and prompts a hoarse cough from his throat when he ducks his head away and grumbles something under his breath, probably about being offended you even thought he was boring in the first place.

and if you ever ask, the only reason he lent you his windbreaker that night was to replace the scent of mothballs and dust with your sweet-smelling perfume.

so, as it turns out, you're able to get your hands on one of those pretty vintage racing jackets— except, it wasn't a new one; it was his. nobara hasn't stopped pestering you with questions since you showed up to class the next day; the only thing you hear for the next week is how much she regrets leaving early.

apparently, it's all yuji's fault.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[etherealinowrites]

HELLO THAT PERV PROF MINHO THING WAS SO GOOD PLS CAN WE GET MORE ?!

i’m so sorry for taking so long again, but here you go <3

perv professor leeknow x female reader

smut. filthy smut. dirty talk, use of pet names and nicknames: princess, kitten, baby, angel, slut, whore etc, erotic humiliation, dacryphilia, degradation, man handling, unprotected sex, sex in a public place (minho’s office), swearing, cream pie (i really hope i got everything 🫣)

—————

professor minho who cannot help but assign low marks to you all because he wants to have you in his office, begging for an increase in the grades.

professor minho who would do anything in his power to catch faults in whatever you do so he could easily provide you with detention and force you to stay back after hours, when its just you and him on the entire floor while the sun sets.

"but- but sir you wanted a comparative analysis for the final theories-" you stuttered, going red in the face as he gives you another shrug. "and its still not a comparative analysis i want to grade miss y/n" he sighed, putting on the most defeated look ever to make himself seem helpless.

"i cannot help it, if i submit this ahead the HOD will call it out herself and you'll be fucked over twice." he would lie, oh please, he had connections that ran way over the position of the HOD but he was not going to ruin it by telling you.

"i am so sorry doll" he would coo, walking over to where you sat in front of himat his desk. his hand would come up to your shoulder, he would stand behind you and squeeze it, offering comfort. "if only you had a way to convince me to pull better strings for you." he sighed, hands now massaging your tense shoulders, this view giving him a clear view down your bra, and boy did his eyes stared at your full breasts.

“isn’t there a way though? there must be something i can do for you right sir?” you would whine, making his cock twitch at the sheer innocence in your tone.

“well, there’s definitely ways of convincing me. you know very well don’t you angel?” he would mumble in your ear, hands on your shoulder as he leaned down to smell you better.

the next thing you know he’s got you on his lap, your legs being spread open on top of his thick thighs with his warm hands. “look at that, isn’t this so nice?” he would coo, pulling your skirt up till it was bunched at your waist. “such a pretty angel for me” he mumbled, leaving wet kisses down your neck.

“s-sir, i don’t know if this is the best way-.” you would try to say, but your words die down as his hands began to grope your breast, turning your words into a moan instead.

“shh princess, sir knows best yeah? just turn that dumb little brain off and let me think for you” he grunted, pushing his fingers inside your sloppy cunt, eliciting a loud cry from you.

the next thing you know is him holding your hair tightly as your back arches, your hand holding the edge of his table while he’s fucking you from behind. “my perfect little slut, oh don’t worry at all now baby, you know how to pass all your exams now don’t you?” he would pant in your ear, making your toes curl from the intense pleasure shooting through you.

“that’s another A+ for you doll” he would mumble breathless, patting your ass as he would cum inside you yet again, maybe fifth time that week.

—-

🏷️ ✨permanent taglist- @dreamescapeswriting @cocainee-queen @lix-ables @eastleighsblog @mwitsmejk @charliesfanficlibrary @downbadfor2dmen @bluechans @janvibutbetter @bearseungmin @mal-lunar-28 8 @endzii23 3 @cypher-net @djeniryuu @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @sheraall @manuosorioh @linos-kitten

[scribbledghost]

Do Me A Favor

A drabble based on this ask for Neighbor!Simon, as promised. Mentions of injury, but other than that, just fluff. This is after y'all are an established couple. Hope you enjoy!

It’s mid-afternoon when Simon’s phone pings and your contact appears on his screen. 

Hey, uh… can you do me a favor?

He puts down the book he’d been reading - a new historical fiction novel he’d grabbed the week prior - and looks out his window towards your house. 

Odd. Your car isn’t in your drive, and from what he can see, there are no packages on your doorstep. But, just like always, he is helpless to resist your call to him.

whats up

The three dots appear for a bit in response, then disappear, then reappear. 

Can you come pick me up?

Already, Simon is out of his chair and looping a face mask around his ears as he sends you a quick reply.

where are you

His first instinct is that you’ve had car trouble, so he double-checks the bed of his pickup to make sure his small toolkit is still there before he climbs into the cab.

Another ping from his phone.

So… funny story about that.

His heart rate ticks up. 

what

The three dots in the corner of the screen seem to mock him as he waits.

First off, I’m fine. I swear. But here’s the thing.

A photo flashes across his screen, and his heart drops. 

Your leg is in a brace, one extending from almost ankle-height up to your thigh.

I’m at the hospital.

He doesn’t even think to reply before he’s peeling out of the driveway and down the street. He breaks several traffic laws on the way to you, though he couldn’t care less at the moment. His brain won’t even let him register anything other than what happened to you.

You said you were fine. But nearly your entire leg is in a brace. So clearly, something happened. Clearly you’ve been hurt somehow. 

He’s too distracted to notice his phone continuing to receive notifications.

He makes it to the hospital in record time, barging into the emergency department and marching up to the main desk. Simon quickly tells them your name, then takes a breath before telling the staff you requested he come by to pick you up. 

You’re not dead. You’re coherent enough to text. And right now, that’s what he’s clinging to as the medical personnel lead him back to you.

You’re wearing a sheepish look as he walks up. 

“Hey, I’ve uh… I’ve been texting you.”

“Been drivin’.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” you say. “So how many laws did you break to get here that fast?”

He shrugs.

“‘Least three. Give or take.”

He then nods towards your leg.

“What happened?”

“I slipped and fell down a set of stairs at work,” you say with a sigh. “No permanent damage, just messed up my knee so I have to wear this for a while.”

Now that he can see you in the flesh, can see that you’re not critically injured or dying, Simon allows himself to relax. He helps you into a wheelchair, gets you to his truck, and all but hefts you up into the passenger seat himself. 

The drive back to your place is quiet. Simon’s got one hand on the steering wheel, and the other hand rests on the center console holding yours. Every so often, he brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“Scared the hell outta me, love,” he murmurs while stopped at a red light.

“I know,” you say softly. “I’m sorry. Didn’t know how else to tell you what was going on.”

When he pulls back onto your street, he notices you look over at him as he pulls into his own driveway instead of yours.

“Figured y’can make it up to me by hangin’ around here for a bit,” he says as an answer to your unasked question. “Let me make you some dinner. Take care of ya for the evenin’, yeah?”

[drabblesandimagines]

Traditions

Leon Kennedy x reader Established relationship, fluff, one lil' swear

You look forlornly at the box of Christmas decorations you’d brought out of the top of the cupboard in anticipation of tomorrow, sat prominently in the middle of the living room, and back down at the text you’d received a few moments ago from Leon.

LSK, 3:28pm: Been held up, sweetheart. Trying to get this wrapped up ASAP but I’m not going to be back tonight. Forgive me? x

It’s silly to be upset, you know that, especially Leon’ll be frustrated enough as it is that they’re making him stay there longer. You flop back on the sofa, take a breath and type out a reply.

No forgiveness necessary, silly. I know it’s not your fault. Be safe x

It was going to be your first Christmas in the new, shared apartment that you’d picked out together for the next big stage of your relationship. Leon hadn’t come with a huge amount of personal effects – a shoebox of letters and photographs had been the sum of anything sentimental amongst the usual boxes of clothes, shoes, bedsheets and towels. You, on the other hand, had come in with a fair bit more, including one solely filled with Christmas decorations.

You'd been sat on the living room floor nearly ten months ago now, unpacking one of your several boxes, a few of them set aside to be deposited in different rooms to tackle, which Leon had graciously been working his way through.

“Where do you want this one, sweetheart?”

You looked up, deciphering the initials you’d hastily written in permanent marker in the corner. “Oh, can you put that one in the top of the hall cupboard, please?”

He nodded, bending with his back rather than lifting from his knees and grunted, not expecting it to be as heavy as it was.

“What’s in here – weights?”

You smiled, sheepishly, getting up to your feet. “Christmas decorations. We don’t have to use all of them, I thought we could combine, you know? Decorations and traditions.”

He looked down at the sealed box, seeming embarrassed as you walked over to him. “That’s okay. Never really did much for Christmas myself, so I'm happy with whatever you wanna do for both, sweetpea."

You stood up on your tip-toes, pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Well, we can get some new ones too – together.”

That had been the plan for tomorrow on the rare, overlapping day off for the two of you in a busy December. You had a whole itinerary in mind, jam-packed with your favourite festive activities that you were excited to share with Leon, see which ones he was taken with so you could start making your own joint traditions going forward. You move the box to the place you’d cleared for the tree, before sitting down on the sofa. You check your phone – no response – and lean forward for the remote control instead, switching on a tacky Christmas movie as a distraction.

--

You didn’t hear from Leon again that night, which wasn’t unusual if he was in the thick of things, and there was no text or missed call when you awoke in the morning. You’d showered, dressed and were in the kitchen, making a coffee to warm you up on the chilly morning – a very picturesque dusting of snow had fell overnight - when you heard the jangle of keys in the front door. In walked Leon, his suit crinkled, looking tired but smiling immediately at the surprised look on your face.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“Leon!” You walked over to him as he dropped his duffel bag on the floor with a thud, opening his arms wide to greet you, only for you to yank him forward by his jacket to kiss him.

He slips his arms around your waist, kissing you back in return, though there’s a smirk on his lips when you pull back, “That welcome home makes the red-eye I caught entirely worth it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were on your way back?”

He shrugs, swallowing down a yawn. “Didn’t wanna wake you – knew you’d got the whole day planned." He knew you'd been itching to decorate for Christmas with him, letting it slip that you usually had everything up by the evening of December 1st. "Lemme grab a shower, change out of this suit and then you can tell me what’s first on the agenda, hm?”

“Oh. No,” you shake your head, feeling foolish. “You must be exhausted after everything, as well as travelling through the night. We can just relax today, don’t worry about that stuff – it was a silly idea, really.”

“Uh-uh, I’ve been looking forward to it. Hell, it’s the reason why I got the red-eye.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He presses a kiss against your forehead before picking his bag back up. “Save me some coffee?”

“Okay.” You can’t help the smile that breaks across your face as he heads through to the bedroom. “Oh, be sure to dress warm!”

--

“A Christmas tree farm, huh?” Leon reads the sign with a grin, pulling the Jeep into the parking lot. You’d wanted to drive but he was a little nervous of you behind the wheel on the snowy roads. He’d been a good sport though, following the directions you’d programmed into the sat nav dutifully and not questioned where you were going, as you were adamant it remained a surprise.

“Yeah.” You nod, enthusiastically. Leon swears you’ve been bouncing your leg in excitement the whole drive. “We walk through, choose our perfect tree, cut it down and then we take it home.”

“How do we know which one is our perfect tree?”

“We’ll just know when we see it.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and jump out the Jeep, ready to sprint right down to the entrance when Leon grabs hold of your arm, spinning you around to face him.

“Hold on, sweetpea.” He fussed, tugging your hat further down around your ears with gloved fingers. “There. Don’t want you getting sick for your favourite holiday.”

“Thank you.” You smile, lacing your fingers with his and pulling him down the slope towards the tree farm. There’s a wheelbarrow of saws as you enter which you leave Leon to choose his preference – you know he’ll want to do the grand honours – as you grab a sledge to aid with tree retrieval before heading out the forest itself.

“Okay, so as a total tree novice, what are we looking for in particular?”

“Something that’s not too small but not too big, nice shape to it, isn’t already half-dead, has a good smell to it…” You trail off, stopping in front of one that seemed a good size. This first area is a little sparse, only a handful of trees left in the ground but there’s a good acre to explore.

“Smell?”

“That’s half the fun of having a real one – the smell.” You give the tree a gentle shake to find it loses quite a few needles, and turn away to find Leon watching you, intently, resting the saw on his shoulder.

“Like the car air freshener?”

“Kinda, but ten times better when it’s not artificial.” You loop your arm through his. “Come on, plenty more trees to see.”

You enter the next area where it’s more of a thicket, trees of various heights and widths and Leon feels a little overwhelmed at the choice. He hangs back, watching you in your element – slowly walking past each tree to first check if it meets your height criteria and if it does, then looking at it from various angles, hands on your hips, tilt your head before giving a branch or two an experimental shake.

He begins to take note of ones you linger on, getting an idea of what you’re looking for in particular. It’s part of his job after all – observing targets, memorizing certain details. He walks on a little further, scrutinizing each tree in turn before, shaking the branch to see how many needles cast off. After a half a dozen, he stops in front of one, mimicking your head tilt from before, giving a few of the branches a shake and steps back.

“Sweetheart, whatcha think of this one?”

“Hm?” You turn in the direction of his voice, locating him amidst the green before trudging over, looking at the tree in question. He watches, silently, as you go through the motions before turning back to him with a smile so bright he swears it makes his heart skip a beat.

“It’s perfect! You’re a natural.”

“Had a good teacher.”

--

Tree secured safely to the top of the Jeep, you’d pushed Leon into the tree farm’s shop next, a treasure trove of Christmas decorations both classic and tacky and told him to pick up whatever he liked the look of. He’d been quite taken with the rustic wooden decorations – trees, sleighs, woodland animals – and a tin one of a motorcycle, and you’d chosen a standard box of baubles together in colours you’d liked. From there, it was back to the apartment, thankfully the two of you plus tree fit in the elevator, before Leon nipped back down to the Jeep for the new pot and bag of Christmas decorations.

You’d pulled him into the bedroom upon his return, presenting him with plaid pyjama bottoms, a black t-shirt and a Santa hat.

He’d held it between two fingers. “Seriously, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm.” You nodded, pulling out a pair of reindeer antlers on a headband from behind your back. “Or this.”

He pulled the hat over his head without further complaint.

Between the two of you, now both donned in your pyjamas and festive headgear, and another made-for-TV Christmas film playing in the background on the widescreen, you managed to get the tree situated in its new home for the season before you dived into your box, pulling out a ball of tangled fairy lights and dropping it in his lap.

“Another Christmas tradition you need to experience is untangling the lights.”

He balances it in his palm, looking at you with an eyebrow raised. “How about just putting them away properly?”

“I do – always end up like that.” You shrug, getting to your feet.

“Right, and whilst I’m doing this, what will you be doing?”

You lean over the back of the sofa, press a kiss to his crown. “Making you a hot cocoa with all the trimmings. Good luck!”

--

You watch as Leon stretches up and places the star atop the tree – it’s a smidge crooked, but you love it all the same. You’d spent the last hour wrapping it in lights and tinsel, before nestling new and old decorations upon the branches.

You bend down and switch the lights on, illuminating the tree in all its glory. “Perfect,” you declare, before you close your eyes for a moment, bite your lip in thought as Leon watches on with interest.

“What was that about?” He pulls you into his side, wrapping an arm tight around your waist.

“What was what?”

“Closed your eyes there, looked like you were deep in thought.”

“Oh,” you laugh. “It’s silly – my grandfather said to make a wish after you put the star on top of the tree and switch on the lights and then, with some Christmas magic, it would come true.”

“Really?”

“Mm. Give it a go.” You elbow him in the side, teasingly.

“Nah, it won’t work.” He shakes his head.

“Well, not with that attitude.”

“No,” he twirls you round in front of him then, cups your cheek and kisses you, softly. “It won’t work because my Christmas wish has already come true.”

“Okay, I need to dial back on your exposure to Hallmark Christmas movies cos that was cheesy as heck.”

He shrugs, rubbing his thumb across your cheek with a smug look on his face. “You love it.”

“I love you.” You correct, placing your hands on his chest. “Thank you for indulging me all day.”

“Love you more, sweetheart. However, there is one tradition I do have for this time of year that I’d like to share with you.”

“Really? You said you didn’t have any.”

“Mm.” He pulls you back with him onto the sofa, nestling you into his lap and presses a button on the remote control – the DVD player whirring into action.

“Leon Scott Kennedy,” you start with fake indignation, “are you telling me you have a favourite Christmas movie?”

Leon presses a kiss to your temple before he moves his lips to your ear to whisper with a smirk.

“Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker.”

--

Silly, festive nonsense. Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[teamatsumu]

Please, PLEASE do a Time skip Kuroo x reader where he's like obsessed with chubby girls. And like you're kinda insecure, but he fixes that up by ramming into you? No worries if you can't, but I would owe you my life if you did. Thank youuuu 😚

proof. (kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader)

word count: 1467

warnings: chubby!reader, smut, nsfw, swearing, office sex

taglist: @keiva1000

There wasn’t a lot about Kuroo’s job that he enjoyed. His boss was overbearing, his team didn’t take him seriously very often, and the pay was almost laughable. But if he had to count the positives, you would be high up on the list.

Plenty of women at Kuroo’s job had sizable crushes on him, he was well aware. And he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy their attention a bit, if the signature smirk on his face was anything to go by. He would wink at them when he came to get coffee from the break room, and they would dissolve into obnoxious giggles. He was still just a guy after all. And he liked the attention. But you would roll your eyes and make a gagging motion from your place by the table, which would thankfully go unnoticed by them. What would go unnoticed by you were Kuroo’s catlike eyes, trained on you as you poured coffee for yourself as well.

Kuroo had a vice. And that was women like you.

He felt like his vision was permanently glued to the curve of your ass, waiting for you eagerly during break times, just to watch you stand up from your chair, giving him a full view of your backside in your fitted office skirt. He would bite his lip when you walked past, swerving in his chair to follow your figure all the way to the end of the room, humming in satisfaction as your hips swayed. He wanted to grope you so bad, but that would be crossing a boundary that would most certainly get him fired. Unless you were into it….?

His ruminations would halt abruptly when you would reappear in his line of sight, his eyes fixed to your thighs this time. God, sinful sinful thighs. Thick and full, begging to be gripped until they bruised. Kuroo wanted to spread them apart and shove his face between them, wanting to breathe you in and bury his tongue inside you. He bet you tasted so sweet, and he bet you would let out the prettiest little moans as your thighs crushed his head, trembling and shaking.

Man. He was getting hard again.

He often wondered what it would be like to fuck you. To feel your warm, soft figure against his. To grip every bit of fat on your body as it squished pliant under his touch. He had no idea how quickly his dream would come true, that very Friday actually, after the sun had gone down and everyone had left, leaving you two to finish up a project that was due Monday.

Your whines and moans were ten times better than whatever fantasies lived in his head. Your face burned red, eyes so hesitant, darting around everywhere in fear of being caught, yet your hand was tangled in his hair, encouraging how he lapped at your neck, breathing in your wonderful flowery scent. Kuroo pressed his throbbing erection into your plush thigh, groaning at how good you felt. His hands hadn’t stopped wandering, feeling every bit of you like you were going to disappear, like he was going to wake up and realize this was another wet dream about you to add to the ones he had been having for months. How many times had he dreamt of this? Having you perched on his desk with him standing between your parted legs?

“Tetsu…” Fuck. Yeah, there was no way this was a dream.

Kuroo hooked a hand under your knee, pulling it up and apart, which made you let out a cute little moan. He felt you stiffen up against him, making him pause just enough to look up at you. Your face was flushed, some strands from your normally immaculate hair now pulled loose to stick to your heated, sweaty face. You looked so messy, your well-pressed white button-up now disheveled, almost all the way undone to make your boobs spill out, covered in pretty white lace. You were a vision, and Kuroo struggled to not bust right there on the spot.

Your eyes were tinged with worry, hesitancy, and it made Kuroo pause. He leaned closer, nudging his nose with yours slightly to get your attention and snap you out of your thoughts. You seemed caught off guard at the gesture, blinking up at him in surprise.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head, sweets?”

You bit your lip in contemplation, and Kuroo’s eyes immediately shot down to the movement. Your teeth dug into the pink cushion of your lip, and Kuroo licked his own subconsciously. You didn’t seem to notice.

“Are- are you sure about this?” Your voice was quiet, as if you were fearful. Kuroo raised an eyebrow.

“Are you not?”

You paused and frowned at him. “Don’t answer my question with a question!”

Kuroo stared at you for a few more seconds, long enough to make you squirm under his sharp gaze. He could see now that his mind was clearer, that your hesitation was originating from your insecurity. The thought baffled him, considering he was so, so attracted to you that it made him dizzy. But he could also see where you were coming from. The notion of you doubting yourself annoyed him. It just wouldn’t do. It seemed he would have to show you just how much he wanted this.

Kuroo tugged at the leg he was still holding, pulling you close to the edge of the desk abruptly and causing you to yelp. You immediately dissolved into a moan when he ran his tongue up your neck in a thick stripe, using one hand to free his cock from his pants. It was thick and throbbing, but Kuroo ignored it in favor of pushing a hand under your skirt, bunching it up around your full hips and running his knuckles over the rough lace of your panties. You gasped at the feeling and Kuroo felt his mouth twitch into a smirk, nibbling at your earlobe.

Your pussy was hot under his touch, and so so wet. Kuroo bit back a groan when he pushed the crotch of your panties aside, swiftly sliding a finger knuckle deep into you. You moaned loudly and arched into him at the action. You were tight as fuck, and Kuroo reeled at the thought of how you would feel wrapped so snug around his cock. It hit him like a freight train, sending all his blood rushing down south and breaking his patience. He hurriedly pulled his finger out, leaning forward to plant his lips on yours to muffle your protesting whine. He kept his mouth firmly against yours as he spread your legs more with both hands, one reaching down to grip his cock before steadily bullying it into your hot cunt.

He didn’t stop until his hips pressed flush against yours, eyes rolling up in his head at the feeling of your warm, pulsating core. You felt divine, like nothing he could ever imagine or replicate with his own hand as he masturbated to you in the shower. No, this was a hundred times better. And when he pulled back only to slam his cock into you once more, feeling your soft body arch into his torso, Kuroo was sure he had died and gone to heaven. And he was planning to prolong his stay in this heaven for as long as he could.

He set a fast, rough pace, unable to hold back and chasing the feeling of your tight walls dragging over his dick over and over. You whimpered and cried in his arms as he gripped your love handles, reveling in the feeling of them, nearly cooing when you curled your body into him, as if molding yourself to his frame. He encouraged it, not wanting even an iota of space between the two of you.

“You see?” He moaned into your mouth. “See how bad I wanted this? God, your cunt is so amazing, sweets. Love the way you squeeze around me. So wet and tight. You’re so sexy-”

Kuroo was cut off by your whine, your hands fisting into his shirt to pull him impossibly closer. Encouraged by your actions, Kuroo sped up, ramming into you hot and fast, big hands covering your even bigger thighs until you were sweet and pliant under him, until your pussy clenched hard around him and you came without warning, wetness coating his pelvis and wetting his clothes as well. Kuroo groaned at the feeling, at how slick the sounds got as he continued fucking into you with no signs of stopping, even as you slumped against him, breathless.

He wasn’t done with you. Oh, he hadn’t even properly started yet.

[sashiavi]

•····🍑········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓕𝓲𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓷⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•········🍑····•

𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛

#15•𝙻𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗•#15

𝙰𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒 𝙸𝚝𝚝𝚘 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ².⁸ᵏ

The Arataki Gang was made up of many interesting characters. An intelligent ex-shrine maiden, a hulking descendant of the Red Oni, a young Akaushi bull calf, even the renowned Traveler was an honorary member. The Gang was a group of rowdy misfits, tossed aside from their previous lives, doing their best to make every day count. They welcome people with open arms, including you! A sweet young girl from the outskirts of Inazuma.

You fit in well with the group, adorning your own unique features; You were a hybrid, not too common of a sight within the Nation of Inazuma, a Taurean hybrid to be exact - or a Cow Girl! As Itto says. You sported large, floppy ears and adorned the cutest little horns on your head. You were sweet, soft and loving, ever so compassionate towards all of the members of the group.

Whether you meant to or not, you took on a maternal role for the Gang. You ensured everyone's tummies were full and satisfied. Took up mending clothes and garments whenever they were torn. Regularly, halfheartedly scolding the silly boys when they stayed up far too late considering their plans for the morrow.

Your presence created a new balance, something Itto cherished dearly, he adored having you around. His heart swells when he watches you snuggle into Ushi after a long day, napping with the young calf before supper. He smiles when you return after an outing, bringing sweet treats and chocolates for everyone to enjoy. His chest hurts when he sees you unwell, waving everyone off while you attempt to upkeep your routine.

He notices your permanent downturned frown, the sleepy little blinks you make while trying to concentrate on the meeting. Itto couldn't help but ignore Shinobu's voice, something was wrong and even he could tell. You hug your arms around your body, squeezing tightly, in an attempt to provide some sort of comfort to yourself. Itto watches you rock back and forth with little wobbly movements, he swears he feels his heart crack into two.

If it were him, he thinks, he'd like a hug, that'd make him better so.. Surely it'd help you.. Right? There's something tugging at his chest, an urge, to hold you close.

He wraps his large arm around your frame, squeezing you tight into his side. It seemed to soothe you a little, Itto thinks. You smelt really pretty. He feels your soft body relax into him with a little sigh. He was going to get to the bottom of his, even if it took all day! He would make you feel better. The meeting drags on (no offense to Shinobu) and all Itto could think about was the sweet girl in his arms. He was surprised you eased into him so easily - Not that you had an aversion to his touch! He didn't think - just that most people weren't so easily pliant. Man, you really must not be feeling well.

If anyone noticed Itto's arm around you they didn't mention it. When the meeting lets up, everyone makes their way out, babbling on about who's shouting yakisoba and sake, leaving you and Itto alone in the room. You sit in a comfy silence, Itto was nearly sure you'd fallen asleep until he hears a soft whine. He feels your little horns press into his ribs, it nearly tickles him. He squeezes you again and you startle with a gasp. You suddenly pull away from his form with a small '..'m sorry'. Why were you sorry if he was the one to pull you in?

"You okay? You seem sick" Itto pouts, creasing his eyebrows in concern. You looked flushed, your lips still stuck in that unrelenting frown. Itto waits, let's you take your time in answering.

"Just.. Something with my… biology?" You sounded uncertain, you look anywhere but him. Biology? Science stuff? Man he really should have gone to school.. He scratches the back of his head, he wasn't the smartest tool in the shed but he was willing to learn! - He nearly fist pumps the air in determination.

"Biology..?" He probes, relaxing his body, bringing himself down to your level. You give a nervous laugh, shit, he hoped he wasn't making you uncomfortable.

"This thing.. Happens to my body around this time of the year…" Your voice is impossibly smaller, if it weren't for his keen ears he's sure he wouldn't have heard you.

"Ah, like a rut?" It made sense, Spring was approaching, the air was warming and there was the distinct tickle of pollen in the air. Itto was all too familiar with ruts, the hot achey flashes, the unbearable pains, curling into a pitiful ball until it passed. The only thing that helped him through it was a hot bowl on tonkotsu ramen and a heavy set of weights to push. Maybe you needed something to eat? Itto misses the Owl eyed look you give him.

"Ah.. yes… Something like that.. It's more of a h-heat.. Ah! I- I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable, Mister Arataki.. It was inappropriate of me to say that.." Your voice wavers. Inappropriate? What was inappropriate about a heat? Sounded like a rut and they made his bones chill, made his tummy ache and burn, made his legs restless. He wouldn't wish that upon anyone!

"Nahh it's alright, I get it! I get the feeling - and stop calling me that, just call me Itto" His smile is wide and cheeky, doing his best to ease the mood and bring in a little light.

"You.. You feel it too?" You shift in your spot.

"Yeah! If there's anything I can do to help I'll do it, promise!" He even holds out his pinky in a truce. He hopes that your shared experience will help, make you feel comfortable and safe. No judgement here! It's an Official rule of the Arataki Gang.

"I… I may have a request.." You finally lock eyes, you look unsure and Itto feels something in his belly. Second hand anxiety? He could tell you were nervous and for some reason, his body screamed at him to just.. Hold you close.

Itto nods his head, showing you he's listening.

"It's… really embarrassing.." You squeeze yourself tight again. It's Itto's turn to frown, surely nothing could top his most embarrassing moments you've bared witness to.

"Hey, I won't judge.. Trust me! I gotta look out for my Gang, how can I do that without helping you out?" He thinks he makes sense. He hopes he does, he didn't really have a way with words.

"I…" Your lips purse again, in an attempt to gain some courage.

"I'm a hybrid.. With Taurean features.." He knew that, you were a little cow. Not like Ushi, but you had pretty horns, you were soft like a cow too and sometimes you let out little 'moos' when you got excited. Itto nods in understanding, beckoning you to continue.

"We have.. I inherited a certain... thing.. please keep an open mind?" You nearly beg, little tears well up in your eyes. It must be serious then, Itto straightens up, running his finger over his heart in an 'X' shape. He crosses his heart and hopes to suffer the traumatic consequences of the beans. He was really proud of you for telling him this much.

"I can handle anything!" Itto puffs out his chest with a satisfied grin.

"I… I.. I need to be Milked"

…

Huh?

Something inside of Itto's brain starts ticking, a new feeling, something he'd never, ever felt before in his life. He can't help but notice just how pretty you looked, how sweet you smelt, how clamy his hands were. He swallows thickly.

"Milked..? Like.. a cow?" Did she have utters? Did all girls have utters? No that's stupid. Unless?

"U-uh I- I'm sorry it's weird.. I… it just.. hurts" Your sweet voice cracks and so does Itto's soul.

"Ah- bah- no! Not weird at all! I think it's normal.. cows and milk it- it all goes together yeah.. it makes sense- was that offensive? n-not that you're a cow-" Itto babbles, he does his best to reassure you, flailing his arms around madly. You manage a half smile, he was trying and you appreciated it.

"Usually.." You start. "I sort this out alone but.. I haven't had the time." You look away again, letting out a strained breath. You were still hurting and it was Itto's fault, he should have done something sooner.

"How can I help?" He's serious, he'd never felt so sure of something in his whole life. His eagerness catches you off guard, you're giving him the same, owlish look from before. He sees you bite your lip, pretty.. stop it.. focus.

"You just.." You make a gesture, squeezing your fingers together and pulling your hand down. Seems simple enough.. You stand and beckon Itto to follow you. He's lead to a little corner, covered in plush pillows and blankets, a comfy little quiet spot for Shinobu to read and Ushi to nap. He sits first as you request, propping himself up on the mountain of cushions. You follow after, tentatively sitting in his lap, your back to his broad chest. Your frame is soft on his, smaller than him of course, but soft. He nearly wraps his arms around you to give you a squeeze, but he withholds.

"I'm.. going to take my top off… is that okay?" You turn back to talk to him, your face inches from him, breath on his chin. Itto nods with a 'mhm!' - he didn't trust his voice right now. Your soft skin is revealed, illuminated by a warm hanging lantern in the room. You whine softly, poking at your achey breasts, wincing when you touch your sensitive nipple. Ittos heart pulses in his ears, your warm back leans into his naked chest. His hands hover over your hips, unsure on where he was allowed to put them.

You palm at his fingers, carefully bringing them up to your sore chest. He cups your swollen breasts, his warm palms welcomed on your cold, achey skin. Itto resists the reflex to squish and squeeze the soft flesh in his hands, never had he felt so out of breath. He couldn't describe the feeling, the warm, heat in his lower stomach, the sensation near cramping. His brain felt hyperaware, as if he were in danger, despite him clearly not. His thoughts are cut short when he hears your sweet voice.

"S-So.. you just.. pinch like thi- ah~" Your soft tone is cut with a keen as Itto squeezes at your puffy nipples. A sharp spurt of hot milk sputters from your breast, dribbling down Itto's knuckles. His eyes widened in fascination. Neuron Activated.

He continues to pinch at your nipples, tenderly squeezing the swollen, puffy buds with his fingers, relieving the ouchy pressure in your chest. You keen your head back, nearly knocking him in the chin with your little horns. Itto sighs out, breath laced in a new-found emotion. Something soft, something.. hot. His fingers become sticky, coated in your sweet milk. He's almost tempted to shove his fingers in his mouth, lick up the sweet, sweet cream that leaked from your breast. He finds his nose in your neck, drinking in your pretty scent, something about you was making his body agitated, his brain fogged, his tongue drooling.

He feels as though the sweet milks spilling from your breast was wasting. It dribbles down your tummy and soaks into whatever fabric was pooling at your hip. Your wet fingers come up to caress his face, drenched in your cream. The smell drives him mad, just a taste.. it would be a waste otherwise. Itto kisses at your fingers wetly, savouring your sweet cream. Gods he wanted more. Needed more. He doesn't know what comes over him.

"Can I.. please- can I use my mouth?? It'll be faster.. waste less.." He babbles into your neck, nuzzling his nose hard into your pulse. To his surprise you nod. Nod and nod and nod.

Itto is quick to manhandle your form, effortlessly scooping you up and placing you softly into the plush cushions. He wraps his large arms around you, taking a quick moment to snuggle into your front. You pet his hair, kiss his head, squeeze him back. Itto's chest surges and his tummy aches - in a good way. His breath is hot on your breasts, lips kiss carefully on your puffy nipples. His brain sparks, pupils dilate, he needs a real taste.

He licks a soft stripe up your plushy tits, lapping his tongue over your achey, swollen nipple. He urges your hands to wrap around his horns, lest he poked your eye out with them. Your sweet milk leaks on to his tongue and he nearly groans out loud. He breathes deep, his nose pleasantly assaulted with your pretty scent, soft and floral like sakura, sweet like dango milk. Carefully, he wraps his lips around your nipple, engulfing the achey bud in his mouth, soothing it with his tongue.

Itto sighs and nuzzles into the skin of your breast, lips latched on your puffy nipple, carefully nursing on your creamy milk. You cradle his head, petting at his fluffy hair, tucking it behind his ear as he suckles on your tits. He hears you sigh and relax into the plush pillows behind you. His other hand slowly massages at your other breast, in an attempt to soothe any ache while he's occupied. Your bud dribbles milk down your tummy, pooling prettily in your lap. Your sweet buttery milk coats his tongue, warm and creamy as he swallows it down. Your plush thighs wrap around Itto's middle, hugging him close to your body as he nurses on your tits.

Itto feels an ache in his groin, a pulsing pressure at the head of his untouched cock. Your pretty thighs squeeze at him, your achey, swollen nipples spurt the yummiest, creamiest milk on his tongue.

Itto couldn't remember just how he ended up like this, but he wouldn't have you any other way. Itto's thick cock nestles sweetly into your gushy cunt, wet and creamy from your arousal and the sweet milk dribbling from your tits. Your hands grip at his red horns, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the sensitive surface. Itto's lips never leave your tits, body bent over you, milking the sweet, creamy nectre from your nipples. All for him, just for him.

His hips hump carefully into your pussy, warm and sticky and wet. The soft squeeze of your core feels like Heaven on Tyvet. If this was Itto's last day alive he'd die a happy man. Your sweet little moans tumble from your pretty lips, just as soft as you were. Itto peers his eyes up, lips kissing and suckling at your achey nipples as he looks at you. You smile prettily, carding your fingers through his messy bangs, absolutely blissed out on him. Your breaths are slow, soft in his ears, your voice light and relaxed as you speak.

"..'s good Itto.. thank you~… doing a good job.. such a good job.." You praise him with your heart. Itto all but whimpers into your breast, rutting his hips deliciously into your cunny while he milks you. Anything to help out his sweet girl.

You press your forehead to his hair, knocking your pretty little horns against his own. Itto feels a hot twist in his groin, he swallows hard, nearly choking on the thick, sweet buttery cream on his tongue. He feels something, an aching in his cock, a delicious pressure building up in his lap.

"Itto.. m' gonna… getting close.. doing a good job, such a sweetie… my sweet.. my Itto~" You babble, voice breathy as can be, muffled in his hair. He barely hears you, too caught up in the tight hug of your cunt, the sweet milk thay dribbles down your tummy and on to his cock. He looks down, hyperfocused on the pretty, creamy ring around his cock as he humps his hips against yours. He groans out loud, dribbling spit and milk down his chin, something was happening, he could feel it.

Itto latches hard on your achey nipple as he creams in your pussy, slowly fucking hot ropes of cum up into your tummy. He nurses on your tits as he grinds his pelvis on yours, bumping his groin into your sticky clit. You follow soon after with a keen, squeezing his hips with your plush thighs, pulsing over his thick, aching cock. Neither of you made an effort to stop, still grinding against eachother softly. Itto continues to suckle and lap at your achey tits, massaging your nipple with his thick tongue, swallowing up your sweet milk in little gulps.

Itto could stay like this for hours, and maybe he will. Fucking into your soft, gushy pussy while he worships your tits, nursing out every last drop of your sweet, buttery milk until all of the ouchy feelings go away.

These recent fics have been rotting in my drafts for far to long 😔

they're so tedious to write but I think I really like how this one came out - itto is a sweety dumb dumb <3

Also I have never written in Itto's pov? Lmk if it works or not baha he's kinda an unreliable narrator but only because he's confused </3

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Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always Aplreciated! I'll Kiss You muah ♡

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[feelbokkie]

[8:39 PM]

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: fluff drabble

pov: 2nd person

description: You decided to ask your boyfriend an innocent question. You didn't expect him to answer so honestly.

pairing: bf!Seungmin x gn!reader (reader wears makeup)

warnings: swearing (just one!)

word count: 476

©feelbokkie (2023) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

"Seungmin, when do you think I'm prettiest?"

"I'm not falling for that trick." He answers without wasting a second.

Both of you got home for the day around the same time and have been relaxing on the couch together in silence. You were scrolling through tiktok, showing Seungmin ones you thought were funny, while he hummed quietly and read. You only stopped scrolling because you saw a new trend where people would ask their partners when they thought they were the most attractive, pretties, handsome, etc. It made you curious to see what Seungmin's answer would be.

"There's no trick. I'll even tell you what my answer would be for you. But only after you answer. Please? I wanna know." You get up from his side and face him. He presses his lips together and stares at you. You're not sure if he's considering answering or trying to think of an answer. Maybe he just thinks you're stupid for asking the question in the first place.

"I think you're prettiest the second you take off your makeup." He says after a moment of silence.

"What?" You're taken aback by his answer. You want to laugh but you're not sure if he's actually joking or not. You know that if he's being serious and you laugh it'll hurt his feelings and he'll immediately retract his statement saying something along the lines of, 'I don't find you pretty at all. You're really ugly.'

"You're really pretty when you put your makeup. You do it really well and it suits you the way you do it," He closes his book and turns to face you more directly, "But I think you look best bare faced. It's my favorite version of you. I don't know, it's just my preference maybe. And I like watching you take off your makeup. It's almost like opening up a present on Christmas. Watching you go from one beautiful version of yourself to the most beautiful version makes me really happy-- Hey, why are you crying?"

"B-because, that is the sweetest thing you've ever said to me!" You blubber. You can't help but crying at Seungmin's answer. He had such a soft voice and bright smile while he was talking, it made you realize how much he really loves you. And how much you love him back.

"I'm sure I've said sweeter things," Seungmin brings his left hand to your face and wipes away your tears with his right hand.

"I don't care. This is number one now. I was going to say you look prettiest when you smile but that sounds lame in comparison." You sniffle.

"If you said it, it wouldn't be lame."

"I will cry again,"

"You also look pretty when you cry." He adds, smiling.

"I'm about to become so fucking beautiful in a second if you don't stop being sweet."

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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[toppersjeep]

Time Moves- Daniel Ricciardo X Reader

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: You had a crush on Daniel for years. But you knew your father Christian would never let you be with him. Especially after he left Red Bull. But now he’s back and all those old feelings come back. Daniel is also jealous of your new relationship with a certain driver.

(Warnings: Age gap, swearing)

Your POV

“Y/N did you hear Danny might be coming back” Max said. “Good for him I guess” I said reading over some paper work. “I know you care about him” Max said. “No not like that anymore” I said. “He’s your best friend though” Max said.

“Was Max” I said. “Well when you aren’t grumpy he’s downstairs” Max said walking away. I then followed Max downstairs. To my surprise Daniel was talking to my father about something.

“Ah there she is” Dad said. “What’s up” I said. “Ricciardo is back he’s gonna be our third driver” Dad said. “That’s awesome” I said. “I thought you’d be happier than that” Max said. “Yeah just tired you know” I said. “It’s good to see you it’s been too long” Daniel said hugging me.

“Yeah it has” I said. There it was those feelings again. The butterflies as soon as he hugged me. “I missed you” he whispered in my ear. I stepped out of the hug. “So is he staying permanently” I said. “Yeah I think so at least” Daniel said smiling.

There’s that beautiful smile. God I love that smile.

“He is” Dad said. “Well that’s good news” I said. “Yeah it is” Max said. After catching up I went outside and sat at one of the tables and typed up some reports for Red Bull. Daniel then walked out and sat across from me.

“How long do you plan on being weird around me” Daniel said. “I’m not the one who ended things” I said. “You know why I did” Daniel said. “I don’t wanna hear the silly excuses of an age gap” I said. “It’s not just that.. you know your father” Daniel said.

“Whatever I don’t care do you need something” I said. “I just wanted to talk to you” Daniel said. “I don’t want to talk to you” I said. “I’m sorry I ended things” Daniel said. “I’m only 25 Daniel it’s not that big of a difference” I said.

“But it was to me and how people would’ve looked at it” he said. “You think I give a shit about what people think” I said. “You may not but I do” Daniel said. “Whatever Daniel” I said. Someone then came up behind me and kissed my cheek.

“Hi chéri what are you working on” Charles said. “Boring reports hi” I said kissing him. “You should come hang out with me” Charles said. “How was the meeting” I said he sat beside me. “I think it went well” he said putting a hand on my leg.

“Good” I said. “Hey Daniel heard your back at Red Bull” Charles said. “Yeah I am” Daniel said. “He’s gonna be the reserve driver” I said. “That’s nice welcome back” Charles said smiling. “So how longs this been going on” Daniel said.

“What” I said. “Oh me and Y/N” Charles said. “Yeah so how long have you two been sleeping together” Daniel said. “That’s not right” I said. “Daniel what’s the problem I know you two had a past but” Charles said. “What I do doesn’t concern you” I said.

“So Christian approves of Charles huh” Daniel said. “Daniel things change” I said. “He said before he didn’t want you dating on the grid” Daniel said. “He changed his mind after Charles” I said. “I asked him permission to ask her out” Charles said.

“… of course” Daniel said. “You broke up with me so” I said. “Because I you know what you two enjoy each other” Daniel said leaving. “Well that was lovely” Charles said.

“That’s how he is” I said. “His loss” Charles said kissing my forehead. “Yeah” I said. “What’s wrong” Charles said. “I don’t know.. I just feel awful” I said. “Because he’s upset he broke up with you” Charles said. “Yeah” I said.

“Why don’t you come see me for a bit” Charles said shutting my computer. “Char baby I have work to do” I said. “It’s quiet in my drivers room” he said taking my laptop. “That’s not funny” I said. “Well then if you want your computer come with me” Charles said I followed him.

It was time for the race and I sat by the computers. Daniel was near the wall. But he then came over to sit beside me.

“Nice” he said. “What’s the problem now” I whispered. “You run back over here after hooking up with Charles” Daniel said. “What I do with my boyfriend isn’t your concern” I said. “It is when you run back over here with messy hair.. and marks on your lower neck” Daniel said.

“You aren’t my boyfriend anymore” I said. “Still.. at least I was more sneaky about that” Daniel said. “Please.. don’t start that jealousy shit” I said. “Me jealous I’m not” he said. “Sure you know what I’m just gonna go” I said getting up.

“Where are you going” Dad asked. “Ummm Charles wanted me to watch his race so I’m gonna do that” I said. “Alright.. have fun” Dad said. I started walking over to the Ferrari paddock.

But Daniel followed me.

“This is stalking you know” I said. “So you’re just gonna run away from me huh” Daniel said. I stopped in my tracks. “Me.. run away don’t give me that lecture you ran away” I said. “Because… I got to close” Daniel said.

“Too close” I asked. “Yes… I wasn’t supposed to do that” Daniel said. “But you did you acted like you loved me then threw me away” I said. “And now you can’t stand that I’m in love with Charles can you” I said. He looked at me.

“You’re right I can’t” Daniel said. “I moved on and you are still stuck in the past” I said. “The past that was two years ago” Daniel said. “And you messed it all up by letting me go did you ever even love me” I said. “How can you ask me that” Daniel said.

“Answer the question Daniel” I said. “Yes I loved you god I still love you” Daniel said. “If you loved me then you wouldn’t have hurt me” I said. “And what Charles is gonna give you everything you want” Daniel said.

“Yeah… he is because unlike you he put me before his career” I said. Daniel didn’t look at me. “You can’t say that I did that” he said. “You did.. Daniel .. put everything over me” I said. “I did love you” he said trying to grab my hand.

I didn’t let him.

“Now you know how I feel to be in love with someone who acted like you didn’t exist” I said. “I never meant to hurt you that much” he said. “But you did.. just let me go Daniel” I said. “But I can’t do that” Daniel said.

“Then I’ll make the decision for you” I said walking away. “Y/N please” Daniel said. “Daniel I’m getting married.. let this go” I said. “Married … what do you mean” Daniel said.

“Did you bother to look at my finger or even my instagram oh wait you blocked me remember” I said. “Your… marrying him… you were supposed to” Daniel began to say. “Supposed to what marry you.. guess you can’t have everything you want” I said walking into the Ferrari paddock.

I walked into the garage and Charles ran over and hugged me.

“My girl.. I’m so happy you’re here” Charles said. “Gotta support my favorite driver” I said. “And fiancé” Charles said I smiled. “Of course” I said. “God I can’t wait to marry you” Charles said.

____

Daniel’s POV

I went back to Red Bull and sat down by Max. Sure marrying Charles??? Out of all people

“What’s going on with you mate” Max said. “Y/N is engaged to Charles” I said. It still sounded so weird. “Oh … ha yeah they got engaged a couple months ago” Max said.

“I had no idea” I said. “I mean.. it makes since you know for well” Max said. “For what” I said. “There kid… don’t you know that” Checo said. “You’re telling me they have a child” Daniel said. “Yeah.. Jules you haven’t met him” Max said.

“How old is Jules” I asked. “Like two and a half years old” Checo said. “Yeah look here’s a picture of him with P they are best friends” Max said showing me a picture. “When did this happen” I said. “Two years ago they started dating after.. she broke up with her ex boyfriend then yk Jules came along” Max said.

“He’s Charles son” I asked. “Yeah.. why.. do you ask” Max said.

Because he might be mine….

___

Part 2 coming soon !

[matthewtkachuk]

bad at love

Breaking your brother's only unspoken rule—don't date his teammates—has never been an issue in your adult life. Until now.

pairing: jt compher x reader

warnings: angstttt, smut, a minor car accident with mentions of injury (broken bone/concussion), and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc. etc.)

word count: 4.9k

a/n: hiiiiii @comphy-and-cozy i'm your super secret fic exchange writer! sorry this is a day late and a dollar short. one of these days @wyattjohnston is going to perma-ban me from participating in exchanges. until that date she remains my ever loyal editor. mad thanks to @thomasschabot for reading it first and telling me they loved it even though they're contractually obligated to do so and for physically being there when the fic idea popped into my head <3

It’s not the first time you’ve shown up at your big brother’s house with a face full of tears and a couple bags full of all your worldly possessions. Despite your best efforts and well intentions—if you had to guess—it likely won’t be the last. 

It is the first time you’ve done so with him being a married man, and so it’s your sister-in-law whose comfort you really seek and are expecting to pop up behind the slowly opening door in front of you. 

Unfortunately for you, and for the poor soul you really don’t know that well, it’s not Kenzy who opens the door but the over-the-summer pick-up from Colorado. 

If it had been any of the other, more tenured of your brother's teammates, you might have been waved inside with nothing more than a sympathetic glance and an unspoken ‘again?’. 

Instead, JT’s look of utter confusion has quickly evolved into something more akin to a quiet rage, and you’re reminded that he is a big brother himself. The look is familiar to you, having inspired a similar one on Dylan’s face more times than you can count. 

It’s been a really fucking long day, and you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to have any sort of reckoning with some guy you barely know in your brothers drive way. 

JT’s in the middle of some sort of sentence that begins and also ends with “What—” as you none too gently push past him in order to finally gain entry to the house. 

The mix of sympathy and feigned disinterest that greets you on the faces of your brothers teammates who occupy the large sitting room has your stomach rolling uncomfortably. It seemed like the entirety of the Detroit Red Wings were always around to witness your spectacular failures. What must they think, watching you disappear with the next great love of your life, only to reappear once again with bags packed in a manner of months?

You could hazard a guess at what your brother thinks, the variants of ‘I told you so’ that live and die on his tongue without ever leaving his lips. He wraps you up in an infamous Larkin hug that serves to fix a tiny crack of your broken heart, and so you revel in it like you used to revel in the comfort when the pain you felt was because of falling off the monkey bars when you were a kid. 

But, he has a house full of hockey players to entertain and Kenzy has a glass of wine with your name on it. Dylan returns to the living room and you slide out to the back porch with your sister-in-law, briefly catching the eye of the one who let you in. You don’t see the telltale signs of judgment reflecting back at you, but maybe something else entirely. 

Outside you pour your soul alongside the Malbec. Curled up on the wicker chair under a blanket you tell Kenzy about Owen and the promises he failed to keep. She oohs and ahs at the appropriate times, commiserating without belittling you. 

By the end of the night your heart—and the bottle of wine—feels a little lighter. There’s a little less shame as you make yourself at home in the spare bedroom that might as well permanently be yours. 

Owen visits you in your sleep, breaking your heart again and again until his face morphs into one with a ginger beard and kind eyes. 

-

Those kind eyes become a fixture in your post breakup life. If he’s not hanging around your brother's house, he’s bumping into you at the local coffee shop you frequent when you’re in Detroit. If he’s at neither, he’s obviously at the games you attend in support of Dylan alongside Kenzy. 

At Dylan’s, you barely speak to his teammates and friends beyond simple pleasantries. At your coffee shop, it starts at small talk but grows to be considerable conversations that dip just below surface level. 

It’s at Little Caesars Arena where he really endears himself to you though. Warm ups are arguably your favorite part of the games you attend. You like to look out at the signs, from the heartwarming to the obscene—picking out your favorites and giggling about the latter with your sister in law. 

Dylan’s always been really good about tossing kids pucks, and his big bleeding heart only grew larger when he got the red C strapped to his chest. Some of the other guys, even some of the so-called vets are less good about it. 

JT’s just like Dylan, maybe even a little kinder hearted. He takes the time to read the signs that are meant for him, never turns down a trade for a puck and even gives a stick to a kid whose sign says he came all the way from Denver to watch him, his favorite player, play in Detroit. 

It warms your heart. 

So much so you don’t even notice you’re staring until Dylan’s slamming himself into the boards in front of you to startle his wife. She rolls her eyes and calls him a name not worth repeating while you try to pretend like you weren’t just fixated on his teammate. 

The thing is Dylan has never outright said his teammates are off limits. Not since you were a teenager making eyes at his USNTDP teammates anyway. 

The memory keeps you from looking JT’s way the rest of the warmups, but once the puck drops your eyes can’t help but wander. 

-

Wandering appears to be your specialty, considering you’ve gotten yourself lost in the underbelly of the arena. 

Your first mistake was leaving Ken’s side—she was your ferryman, guiding you down the River Styx, and without her, you were lost in Hell. 

Were you overdramatic? Maybe. Were you lost with no hope of getting out? Still overdramatic, but definitely a possibility. 

The walls begin to look the same, and you’re half worried you’ve accidentally fallen into a back room or something stupid when you stumble upon the one who caught your eye earlier. 

‘Stumble upon’ is a gracious way of saying you absolutely smack into him and fall on your ass. 

He hauls you up effortlessly with one hand and your skin burns beneath his grasp. 

“What are you doing?” you both say in near unison before he laughs. 

“I was getting my shoulder checked out, what are you doing all the way over here? Are you lost?”

Regardless of what he was doing, JT obviously has more of a reason to be found wandering the halls of the arena. And he’s right, you’re most definitely lost but you play it off like he’s crazy. 

“Me? Lost? No, I know exactly where we are,” you bluff. 

JT’s eyebrows raise and he nods slowly. “Which is…?”

Well, he’s called your bluff but he also gave you a key context clue. “Near the athletic trainer, obviously.” 

He laughs again and it has your cheeks feeling hot. 

“Okay fine, maybe I’m a little bit lost and maybe I was contemplating how I’d be trapped down here forever before you knocked me over.”

“I’m sorry, but you ran into me.” You roll your eyes and begin to argue, but he doesn’t let that happen. “Doesn’t matter, I can help you find your way out.”

You swoon dramatically, only half joking as you reply “My hero.”

Now that you’re no longer focused on navigating your way out of Pan’s Labyrinth, you’re free to focus on your close proximity to JT. Based on the way his eyes dart between meeting your own and staring at your lips, you assume he’s just as aware.

Is this not what you’ve been wanting since you knocked on Dylan’s door? But that’s part of the problem, and you’re sure JT is thinking the same. Not only is your brother his teammate—and you’ve always been off limits to your brother's teammates to your chagrin growing up—but he’s JT’s captain, too. There’s a million ways this thing could go wrong and blow up in both of your faces. 

You could get caught, and be forced to sit with Dyl’s disappointment. You could hurt the one person in your life who consistently showed up for you and loved you and cared for you. 

Not to mention you could risk it all for nothing—could crash and burn spectacularly as you were wont to do. Could fuck it all up with not only your brother, but JT too and be left with nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone behind your brother’s back, but you had a sneaking suspicion things would be worse than they were when you were 15 to his 16. 

Ultimately you decide fuck it, because what’s life without a little risk?

Tentatively, you slide your hand over the rough beard covering his jaw. When he doesn’t flinch or move away from you, you lean in closer. 

He’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving closer, letting you make the first move. 

It’s probably a terrible fucking idea, but you’ve never been accused of being someone who makes good decisions when it comes to romantic partners. 

The first press of your lips to his is cautious, barely a brushing of your mouths, just to get a taste. Quickly you become a woman obsessed. Unable to get enough, the kisses turn frenetic, bordering on sloppy. 

He reciprocates in kind, his mouth hot and heavy on yours while his hands grasp and pull and hold. His very essence consumes you, taking over all of your five senses and pulling noises from you that you didn’t know existed. 

If your arm burned from his grasp earlier, your entire body has caught fire. 

You’re unaware or probably more accurately uncaring of your public nature, despite your earlier hesitance. Now you just want more and more and more of JT, as much as he is willing to give and maybe even a little more. 

He seems to be on the same page, entire body wrapping around you and pulling you deeper and deeper. 

Unconsciously your hands begin to pull at the waistband of his pants and it’s then that the two of you finally separate. 

You’re worried you’re going to find regret in his eyes and excuses on his tongue, but he’s just looking at you intently. 

“Not like this,” he says. “Not here.”

“I don’t want to wait,” you protest, but he shushes you with his mouth. 

“It’ll be worth the wait.” 

And worth the wait it is. 

-

It's sexy at first. Clandestine meetings in dark hallways, sneaking in and out of JT’s apartment that’s on the same floor as Jake Walman’s, covert texts and quiet phone calls where you get off on the sound of each other's voices. 

It doesn’t take long for you to want more, though. To fantasize about not just what his calloused hands can do to your body, but what it would be like to hold one in your own while walking down the street. To show up at a home game and have everyone know you were there to support not only your brother, but JT too. 

It’s a fantasy that is only stoked by the comfort you feel walking around JT’s apartment in just his t-shirt with his number on the shoulder. By nights spent together at his dinner table, on his couch, in his bed. By sweet texts and stupid memes and random photos of things that made him think of you. 

You don’t dare speak your desires out loud though. For fear of JT not wanting the same thing or for fear that he would, you’re not quite sure. 

It’s a tough situation to be in. One where you’re worried you're heading to a fork in the road that has JT on one side and your brother on the other. 

You have no delusions about the two paths eventually forging back together again, know that you’ve come dangerously close to that intersection marked with a big fat caution sign. 

Probably you should speak to JT, get on the same page about where you’ve been and where you’re going. Following that, assuming he secretly yearns for the same thing you do, you should probably then come clean to Dylan. 

Probably you should do a lot of things, but unfortunately what is done in the dark always comes to the light and sometimes it happens quicker than you can make your mind up. 

-

A road win presumably has JT in a good mood. He’s texted you letting you know he’ll be home before midnight, requesting your presence in his bed. 

It’s an easy yes, considering you’re already in the aforementioned bed. It’s nice to get out of Dylan’s house, of the suffocating feeling that you’re intruding in someone else’s home, on someone else’s life. 

There’s really nothing particularly sexy about the way he finds you, but his eyes darken upon finding you curled up in his bed just the same. You’re not attempting to recreate a sexy pose from a boudoir photo shoot, and one of JT’s shirts and a pair of boy shorts aren’t exactly fancy lingerie. 

That doesn’t stop him from dropping his bag dramatically and stripping from his dress shirt and pants. 

“Awfully presumptuous,” you say as if the very fact that you’re in his bed in not much more clothing than he is. 

He shrugs, “Not presuming anything. I’m fine if you just want to sleep, but I’m sure as shit not going to sleep in those dress pants. Bad enough I had to sit through a plane ride like that.”

His tone is teasing, but the implication that he would be just as fine falling asleep beside you as anything else pretty well takes all the fight out of you. 

“C’mere,” you say instead of a catchy comeback, lifting the covers and inviting him into his own bed. 

He wastes no time sliding in beside you and curling up around your body. “Hi.”

You snort and hide your face in his neck. “Corny.”

“I’ll show you corny,” he says, but you shush him by pulling his face closer to yours until your lips brush. 

“Thought I was presumptuous,” he says upon breaking the kiss. 

You roll your eyes—“Shut up.”—and kiss him again. 

He doesn’t manage to keep his mouth shut, but at least this time it’s to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

The temperature of the room rapidly increases—between the weight of his body covering your own and your body’s reaction to his fervid kiss, you feel the need to lose at least one item of clothing. 

“I need—“

Luckily he quickly understands what you’re trying to accomplish by pulling at the hem of your shirt, lifting off of you long enough to assist in removing it from your body. 

He makes a noise of appreciation at the bare skin revealed to him before diving back into your lips, this time with one hand cupping your right breast. 

Appreciative noises of your own build in your throat when that hand slides down your body to dip into your underwear. It’s teasing touches at first, until you reciprocate by cupping him through his boxer-briefs. 

Finally you both shed that last remaining layer, uncaring of where they end up in the bedroom. There’s a brief pause while he rolls on a condom and then he’s entering your body like it was made for him and him alone. 

There’s no rush about his pace, just gentle thrusts and soft moans and sweet praises. 

Sex with JT is so good, better than with anyone else you’ve ever been with. He’s the very opposite of a lazy, selfish lover. It’s like your needs and your pleasure come first, and you certainly do too. 

The positioning of your bodies is so intimate, bodies close, mouths slotted over each other with intermingling breaths. 

You worry you’re getting too caught up in that intimacy, possibly running in a direction not quite warranted and so you seek to depersonalize it a touch. 

“Let me,” you say softly while gently pressing a hand against his shoulder, indicating you want him to lay on his back. He moves willingly, even helping you climb atop him. 

It feels just as good with you on top, and the bit of distance between your upper halves means you can breathe a bit better. 

It’s easy to get lost in the feeling, to tilt your head back and focus on your movements and the feel of his bruising grip on your hips. 

Feeling the pressure build in your stomach, you slide a hand down your abdomen to where your bodies meet while the other grasps your breast just for something to hold on to. The added friction to your clit is pulling you closer and closer as you move on top of him. 

He’s staring up at you with lust filled eyes, mouth open in a mix of awe and pleasure. A look of almost disbelief on his face. His hands are still on your hips, now helping the movement of your body on his when your body lights up like the fourth of July with your orgasm. 

It’s hard to keep moving while in the throes of pleasure, but it’s like JT can read your mind, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you until he finishes too. 

Your whole body tingles as you collapse on top of him, relishing in the feel of his arms wrapping around your body. Leisurely you kiss for a minute, until your heart rate returns to normal and you feel like you’re not likely to fall over when going to the bathroom to clean up. 

When you return, you’ve slipped on one of his shirts once again. There's a soft look on his face as you crawl into bed beside him. It only cracks when you quietly whisper, “should we order pizza?”

“I think you’re the girl of my dreams,” he laughs. 

The room is quiet, filled with only the sounds of your breathing and occasional kissing as you wait for the delivery. 

Finally the doorbell rings. “I got it,” you tell JT and pull on a pair of discarded sweatpants before pulling the drawstring so they don’t fall. 

You don’t bother to check the peephole, certain it’s your food which turns out to be a giant mistake. 

Not only is it not your pizza, it’s also the last person you want to catch you with sex hair in oversized clothing that obviously belongs to the guy you’ve just had sex with. 

Dylan’s mouth has dropped so far down it would be comical if it wasn’t also horrifying. 

“Dylan I–” you start to explain yourself but pause midway through. How could you even begin to explain?

“I can’t believe this.” He shakes his head, hands curling at his side. “Actually no, I can’t believe this from JT, I can definitely believe this from you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snap. 

Your brother laughs sardonically, “Well you’re not exactly known for making the right decisions when it comes to relationships.”

JT exits his room, no doubt lured by the loud voices and the lack of food. “Hey man, come on, let's talk about this like adults.”

“Like adults?” Dylan is incensed in a way you’ve never seen before. “Now you want to talk about things like adults? The time to talk was before you started sleeping with my sister behind my back.”

“I’m sorry you found out like this–” JT continues to try to defend himself, defend you while you stand there speechless. 

Dylan interrupts, “Sorry I found out or sorry you got caught?”

JT goes to respond but Dylan cuts him off again. “I trusted you dude. I told you she was off limits, and not only did you ignore me, you went behind my back.” He then turns to you. “And you? My teammate? Seriously? You couldn’t have chosen literally any other douchebag to treat you wrong?”

That snaps you out of your stupor. “JT doesn’t treat me bad!”

A different kind of look crosses your older brother's face then. “Well when he does, don’t come running back to my house and crying to me.” 

Dylan slams the door and you sit in the quiet of the room for a minute with your ears ringing. 

The reality of the situation hits you. 

“I can’t stay there, God not only am I a fuck up but I’m homeless too.”

“You can always stay here,” JT offers and it really bothers you that you can’t tell if he wants you to, or if he’s just offering because of his hand in the most recent blow up of your life. 

“I’m pretty sure his baby sister shacking up with his teammate he doesn’t want her with isn’t exactly going to win me any favors with Dyl,” you reply. 

“Well I’m pretty sure he’d rather you be here than living on the street.”

Ordinarily you think that would probably be true but the look on his face when you opened JT’s door is seared into your mind. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

-

In the end you do move your things into JT’s apartment. Kenzy is the accomplice to your crime, helping you pack your things while the team has practice, wrapping you in her arms and telling you that he just needs some time. 

“He loves you,” she says. 

You’re not so sure. 

That’s probably overdramatic. You’re sure he loves you, and you sure hope he forgives you. You’re just worried that this time you’ve both done and said things you can’t take back and you’re not sure how things will move forward from here. 

It’s not all bad though. 

Living with JT is surprisingly easy, even right one might say. You fit directly into each other's lives like perfect puzzle pieces. His strict routines of practices and morning skates and games—both home and away—allow you the space to complete your own work on your own time. Cooking pregame meals together and curling up beside him when he takes his pregame naps quickly become some of your favorite activities. 

You dance around the feelings talk, never quite broaching the subject. But it can’t feel this right if it’s all one sided, all in your head, right?

He’s even kind enough to let you drive his SUV even though the price tag makes you nervous every time you’re behind the wheel. You’re not a bad driver, as evidenced by the fact JT lets you drive the Audi, but you are possibly on this side of over cautious as a result of a bad car accident in high school. 

Three home games after your fight with Dylan and approximately zero words or text messages exchanged between the two of you, you find yourself in the passenger seat. 

“I could have taken the bus,” you protest weakly, almost knowing exactly what JT’s response will be. 

“Over my dead body,” he laughs, eyes flickering over to you before focusing on the traffic in front of him. “Just pick me up after practice or text me if you’re still out and I’ll find a ride.” 

“I’m not gonna leave you stranded at the arena, of course I’ll be there after you’re done.” 

It’s oddly domestic, kissing JT across the console and then sliding into the driver’s seat that he vacates. You wait as he grabs his gear and walks away, you do really love watching him walk away. 

The moment is cut short by catching a glimpse of your brother's vehicle. He’s not in it, obviously already inside the arena, but the sight of it makes your stomach clench all the same. 

Thoughts of Dylan and his disappointment and worry that he’ll never forgive you flood your mind the entire drive. So much so that when the next light turns green, you let off the gas without realizing that there is a larger SUV running the red. 

It all happens so fast. The screeching of tires, the crunching of metal, the pop of airbags going off and then a blinding pain in your wrist. 

In the end, you’re pushed into the wrong lane of traffic, the other vehicle damn near in the passenger seat you occupied only fifteen minutes ago. There’s a distinct ringing in your ears and you offhandedly wonder if this is what it feels like to get boarded. 

“Are you okay? I’m calling 911.” The words sound like they’re underwater, and it takes you several seconds to realize they’re being spoken to you. Turning your head to the side, you try to get the words out to say you’re fine, but you’re blocked by the airbag that has gone off near your head. 

Emergency services come quickly, a perk of living in Detroit you suppose. Embarrassingly, it takes the jaws of life to peel off the driver's side door to get you out. A cop takes your statement and then you end up in the back of an ambulance. Despite your assurances that you’re fine, one raised eyebrow from the female paramedic and the idea that you’ve probably broken your wrist has you agreeing to the ER visit. 

It’s then that someone asks you if there’s anyone you want to call. Heartbreakingly, your first thought is Dylan and your second thought is you’re not sure he’ll pick up. 

Your third thought is JT and his SUV that you’ve probably totaled. 

One of the paramedics helps you dial the equipment manager’s number, the one you were instructed to only ever use in case of emergencies. If ever there was a reason…

When he picks up the phone, you have to explain that you’ve gotten into a tiny fender bender and if you could please speak with JT and yes I mean JT not Dylan. 

“Are you okay?” JT all but demands when he picks up the phone. 

“I’m totally fine,” you fib, and then concede based on that same female paramedic once again raising an eyebrow. “Okay so I might have broken my wrist but–”

“Which hospital are you going to?” he interrupts. 

You tell him, but try to say, “It’s okay you don’t have to–”

He interrupts again, “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up quicker than you can ask how he’s going to get there without the car that you’ve wrecked. 

True to his word, he’s sitting on a chair in your hospital room when you return from getting an x-ray. He stands abruptly upon your entrance and takes the three strides to stand in front of you before hesitating, like you’re made of glass. 

You take matters into your own hands and slide your good arm around his back, careful to not jostle your injured wrist. There's a slight tremor to his body that you feel run through yours. 

“I’m okay,” you say comfortingly, rubbing your good hand along his back before pausing. “Your car though….”

The tears are already starting to pool in your waterline as he pulls back. 

His hands slide to cup your jaw as he speaks seriously, “I don’t give a damn about the car. It can be replaced, you can’t.” A tear slips out before you can stop it and he brushes it away with his thumb before kissing you softly. “I care about you. So much. And that phone call scared the shit out of me.”

Despite the less than stellar background and circumstances, his words have your heart leaping in your chest. “I really care about you too,” you whisper and kiss him again. 

“Where is she?” you hear coming down the hall and it occurs to you that your brother is still your emergency contact. 

“Did you tell him?” you ask JT who promptly shakes his head. 

You don’t even have time to step back from JT’s embrace before Dylan comes crashing into the room. JT wisely pulls away and gives Dylan the space to place his hands on your shoulders and scan for any signs of injury. 

“I’m okay,” you reassure him but the words feel hollow considering they’re the first you’ve said to him in more than a week. “Broken wrist they’re gonna cast and probably a concussion. Can’t say the same for the car.”

Eerily similar to JT, Dylan replies, “Cars can be replaced–”

“But I can’t,” you say in unison with him. “I know, JT said the same thing.” 

It’s like Dylan remembers his teammate then, eyes sliding over to where JT stands and then back down to your slowly purpling wrist. 

The room is silent except for the sounds of medical equipment and the faint sounds occurring outside the door. 

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison with your brother again. 

“No, I'm sorry,” he says first. “I’m your big brother and I’ve seen you get your heart broken too many times. I’m always going to worry about you but I was out of line.”

“I’m sorry we went behind your backs and I’m sorry you found out that way. We should have just talked to you, I should have just talked to you.” 

“Truce?” he asks, like you’re 10 and 11 again, fighting over something silly and trivial. 

“Truce,” you confirm, hissing when you knock your broken wrist as you pull him in for a hug. 

Later, when you’ve gotten over the guilt of totaling JT’s barely used Audi and the cast on your wrist is long gone,  it’ll be a fun story to tell at parties. About how it took an idiot running a red light for you to define your relationship with JT and to reconcile with your brother.