#its so fun even though i die over and over again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nabitsun · 5 months

Text

— SPINE BREAKER shy! choso x fem reader

᭝ synopsis : who knew you just needed good dick from a shy boy to lose that attitude.

᭝ tags : smut & little angst? uni (both in their 20s), reader is kind of a minx but you'll pick that up.. (well, all reader's friends are), oral sex (f), pussyjob, unprotected (pull out game 10/10), uhh sweet choso duh <3

᭝ wc : 11.5 K

᭝ notes : t'was supposed to be a one-scene typa oneshot but got carried away - blame it on choso. (i remixed that shit 4 times)

"shoko.."

"what is it?"

"no need to put these under my nose i've told you, i'm not coming." you slap her hand away gently, she's holding two entries for a random party in town.

"oh but you will." she smiles.

you know you will, you always do.

"c'mon i have two entries? i can't waste them."

"exactly, ask yuki to come with you."

"she also bought two entries, she's already coming with someone else."

you give her a quizzical look,

"i don't know any better, she didn't say."

"she's probably inviting aoi over again, God.. another reason to not come.." you shake your head at the sole thought of the man.

"who's that?" she says, switching up outfits in front of her as she ponders in front of the mirror.

"y'know that meathead eccentric guy who's like, super fan of her,"

"ohh, that one.." she hums in thoughts "mh, i doubt it though. the last time he was here, he didn't leave with that same smug face. if he keeps getting into trouble the way he does, I doubt she'll invite him back."

she's referring to the last time yuki invited aoi to one of these parties, not to sugarcoat anything but he definitely learnt the hard way to not be an arrogant show off.

"i hope not." you mumble

"stop trying to find excuses. you're coming with me, we're gonna have a good time, end of story."

you let out a crude laugh, "let me rephrase. you're gonna have a good time, and i am gonna get bored out of my mind." you can see her roll her eyes, "i don't even see the point of going there."

"because you don't try to have fun."

"if trying to have fun implies rubbing myself on some smelly drunk strangers with shitty ass songs in the background, then yeah i'd rather not try."

"you're no fun, it's not that bad."

"it's not that bad until you reach your fifth drink" you quick back as you cross your arms over your chest as if to withdraw from this endless battle that you know, will defeat you.

"aren't you being a little dramatic, now?" shoko barely looks at you with raised eyebrows. she knows as well as you do that beyond her tolerance limit she's no longer controllable, which is why you've spent many nights taking her home and trying - as best you could - to bring her back safe and sound. she won't admit it though.

you dismiss the (probably) rhetoric question, "since yuki's coming, why do you want me to go so bad?"

"what a silly question." she sighs as if she'd heard a child say the most gullible nonsense, "i like having you around, that is all."

"something is tellin' me you don't wanna end up third wheeling," you sing song.

"shut up.. you're coming anyway." she avoids your stare and lets out a heavy sigh, "you like the blue one?" she twirls the dress on its hanger around and turn over to face you, she tilts her head on the side as if to weight your future answer.

"i like the purple better."

"that's what i was thinking.."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

being confided in the car with a loquacious shoko didn't help the growing headache you felt in the back of your skull. it had been a tough week.

your exams were approximately in a week and just thinking about it actively made your head hurt even more, and your throat tightened with culpability.

"hey, don't die on me now." shoko glares at you from the side as she's driving to the house. you feel her checking you multiple times.

"i'm fine," you sigh, rubbing your temples in an attempt to soothes the growing pain – that eventually worsened when shoko suddenly hit the brakes, a bit too abruptly to your liking, at a stop sign.

"girl, you either need a good night sleep or some good dick." she clicks her tongue, "look at you," she emphasizes by shaking her head as if the sole sight was too much for her.

"focus on not getting us crashed already."

"i'm serious though, you want some water?"

"no–no, i told you i'm okay." you look ahead of you, resting your head against the headrest for some support ; flashes of cars and traffic lights interacting in the night, "you drive like shit though."

"wow. okay, you'll show me how much of a good driver you are when you'll drive me back tonight, yeah?" she chuckles, taking a second turn on a new avenue.

"having you drunk in the back of the car is a constant fight of trying to not make you throw everything up, of course i have to drive nicely."

you see your friend nodding as she taps her fingers on the steering wheel, apparently at loss of words.

"mhm, thanks?"

you relax back with a content smile, "i prefer that,"

the house is not so far from your respective apartments, also not far from your university, which is around a fifteen minutes drive.

you can't really be mad at shoko for dragging you to those places ; the kind of places where she often ends up with a grain of lucidity to keep her half upright, while all the rest of her cognition makes her look like a psychotic out of an asylum. and even though you're practically always the one driving her back to her place, it doesn't exclude the fact that you need this sometimes.

despite your complaints of not wanting to go with her – for various reasons that you listed prior, but also because of your upcoming exams that are sucking the energy directly out of you – you still kind of look forward to the evening, if you're being honest. it gives you the opportunity to sit back and suspend the course of time for an evening, as ephemeral as it is.

the car stops at a red light as you think back to shoko's words, back in her room.

"yuki still didn't tell you about her special guest ?" you mindlessly ask as you fix your makeup by looking in the mirror of the sunshade, curling your eyelashes with the edge of your index to fix them.

"nope, i might have an idea though.." she pauses, you don't say anything as you wait for her to continue, "you know that guy she hangs out with sometimes? she's not like always with him but i don't think she'd invite anyone else, knowing her.."

"what guy?" you frown, you close the sunshade to look at her.

"uhh, black hair, pale skin, really quiet too. one of those snobs who behaves like termites by staying in their hole, you know. i don't even think i've ever talked to him, or seen him talk for that matter." she squints her eyes to reminisce old memories but the sudden shift of color on the traffic lights makes her focus back on the road.

"like what? a sorta depressed emo boy or something?" you scoff.

she laughs, out of mockery for your credulity it seems, "pretty close. but he's really.. the nerdy type y'know? the type to sit there and not say a word unless spoken to about some stupid nerdy shit, i guess."

"as long as he doesn't talk about fuckin' uni or something like that tonight, i'm good." you sigh at the thought as you close your eyes, clearly ignoring the silent warnings in her eyes.

"oh girl, you're such a fucking minx."

you ignore her offense when you continue your interview, "why would she invite him though? i mean why would he even come?"

"why did you?"

you keep silent.

"exactly," she states, "now keep your curiosity to yourself, you're about to find out."

after a few bends leading to the far end of town, you then remark the students crowding the lawn, stepping everywhere as some of them walk to the entry of the house.

no wonder you had to pay entries to get to some crackhead student party – you understood when you saw the size of the house and how many people there was. you silently hoped there was no one around as they would probably spend one hell of a night.

"not too far, i don't wanna have to carry you fifty meters tonight." you warn as shoko tries to find a good parking spot.

she sends you a hard glare and mumbles something inaudible that almost sounds like an insult. she seems to comply anyways as she parks not to far from the entry.

you were met with fresh air as you stepped outside the car, the extremities of your skin growing cold as well as your bare legs barely warming up with the strides you were taking. it was only eight in the afternoon and yet, you already saw wobbly people trying to walk their way out of the house. the two of you approach the path leading to the house, hearing the music as it gradually intensifies.

"there," shoko throws the car keys to you as you catch them hardly in your hands, "in case i lose them during the evening, you're in charge." you don't say anything, you'll have to drive back home anyways.

the calm atmosphere of an april evening was replaced without much transition as you walked past the open doors. the lights of the traffic lights now seemed far less stimulating in comparison to the sight in front of you. and paradoxically, your headache had disappeared, making you guess it was indeed, shoko's driving.

shoko turned around and took your hand to lead you through the numerous ponds of people hovering the place, talking, singing, dancing or even making out grossly. your steps grew heavier – whether from the combined heat of everyone weighing down on you or the vibrations of the boosted bass – it felt as if you were clearly reaching the pit of hell, both physically and symbolically.

and you could feel that with every steps forward, requiring the unsolicited touch of people brushing past you. the odors coming on play for less than a few seconds to merge with your own scent, just to disappear as soon as it entered past your nostrils. the lights changing from blue to purple to pink or even red, reflecting on the few skin shoko was showing with her slip dress as she was leading the way.

to say you were getting overstimulated was understandable. it was like getting thrown into a pit with only hungry lions to face; and with that dramatic metaphor you noted that the first lion you'd have to fight tonight, was the woman in front of you.

once you both reached what seemed to be the main saloon – though it was hard to decipher with the ton of people and the lack of furniture, beside some occupied couches. you didn't even know who was hosting the party to be fair, it seemed to change every other week like some sort of competition of who's gonna have the privilege to clean the big mess next morning – although you'd guess they probably have someone to do just that.

you were so focused on the environment you didn't even see the golden shadow passing by when a pair of fingers snapped you out of your illusion.

"you look like it's your first time at the zoo."

by the tone and voice you wouldn't even need to turn around. yuki looks at you with crossed arms in a sleeveless black turtleneck and flare jeans with a hint of a smile – out of friendliness or amusement, you didn't know.

"definitely feels like it," you smile back as you reach out to embrace her, which she welcomes.

"i see, shoko brought you here just to be her cab home then hm?" she tilts her head ignoring the way shoko snapped her head in her direction.

"hey don't say that! i wanted her company t–"

she gets interrupted by a loud noise, not seemingly coming from the music but by someone who just seemed to crash down on a wooden coffee table – one of the furniture you had such a hard time to see apparently because some people decided to stand on it. both girls in front of you roll their eyes almost in sync.

"well, looks like the alcohol's kicking in. you're coming with me?" yuki addresses to shoko and you.

"yeah i need to get something, i don't like how aware i am right now." shoko shakes her head in disapproval of the events.

the three of you approach the kitchen, where all the drinks stand upright and ready to use like weapons of war laid out on a table.

you don't venture into drink design, preferring to leave it to shoko or yuki, who apparently know best what they're doing since they're arguing over whether pineapple or cranberry would be more suitable to mix with vodka. once the ingredients are mixed, you all take a sip to mark the start of your evening.

"ew what the–" your body shudder lightly from disgust as you lower your hand over the counter, "tastes like piss seriously.." you whine and look at the wrongdoer.

"told you pineapple was a bad choice." yuki restates, but she's ignored by shoko, who takes the cup from your hand and pours the contents into her own cup.

"fuckin' alcoholic.." you breathe out in amusement.

"i paid for these, might as well make it worth my while." shoko rejoins and it makes you think..

"hey yuki, talking about entries, where's your guest?"

she takes another sip before answering through the music as she leans over, "he told me he wanted to use the bathroom, he went upstairs i think but.." she looks around, ".. i don't see him around, maybe he's stuck in there or something." she shrugs as if it were the most banal piece of information.

you naturally frown at the answer and at her lack of interest as to where her friend might be, so does shoko as she flicks yuki's forehead – earning an annoyed grunt from her victim.

"you can talk about me, you don't even care about your friend."

"he's a dude girl, if he's staying up there there's a reason. i'm sure he's fine," she shrugs once again with round eyes devoid of any remorse.

as they continue to argue mindlessly you sneak your hand on the counter, gliding it across the surface to grab discreetly yuki's cup, probably much tastier with cranberry, and retrieve it back to walk away and leave them to their incessant vindictive promises.

you're sure when you come back they'll still be on their feet – at least you'd like to put this much faith in them – as you rush through agglutinated people to get past the stairs. you don't really know why you're going, maybe you could say he picked your interest ; the thought of a guy like him in the middle of the evening just reminds you of a lamb around a horde of wolves.

you take a couple more sips from your cup and climb the stairs, squeezing past a heated couple making out in the middle of it. you follow down the corridor to find a multitude of doors, and one at the end of it that would be the perfect prototype of the bathroom at the end of a corridor. once you reach it you lean in to rest your ear against the door, trying to gauge potential noises, but nothing.

you smooth your denim skirt down and readjust your purse on your shoulder. you knock once, then twice – over the music you're practically not able to hear your own knocking – until your press your fingers down on the locker slowly, peeking through the door but you're only welcomed with pitch black.

maybe he just got lost among people, or maybe he was one of the ones you saw vomiting their guts out outside – which is less probable, but not impossible. you don't really feel like acting like a detective and exploring every nook and cranny, for fear of also finding yourself in front of people fucking in one of the rooms, so you prefer to turn back on your heels, giving up on the mission you thought would spark up your evening a little bit.

but it doesn't really go as planned actually. as you walk back towards the stairs, you notice a door open ajar, as if to let in a trickle of air, so you don't pay it much attention, but it's only when you start to look away that you see the previously motionless shadow, move.

it's quite honest to think that it's the first effects of the alcohol that are starting to take effect, a blurry vision in addition to poor lighting – results are not promising. you pause in your steps once more, tightening your fingers around your cup as you tilt your head so that you can look through the doorway without acting too much like a voyeur.

that's when you see him. rather tall figure standing up with the major help of big boots, black trousers with a black shirt – or maybe the colors are tainted by the darkness of the room, barely lit up by an amber light. and you do notice the signature buns with a few strands falling on his forehead.

his movements are so ever delicate you're having a hard time to decipher if the stability of your vision is playing tricks on you, or if it's really the slowness of his movements. one of his hands reaches over the shelf, he grabs a book and opens it. so careless.

"didn't know you were also a creep." you open the door without warning, with your cup in a hand and it makes you think that you probably look like some drunken mess barging in a room.

he drops the book on the ground.

"fuck!" his panicked eyes dart to you, pretty purplish eyes, "i'm sorry— shit. i didn't mean to pry." he picks up the book from the ground, bending his knees to grab it softly.

"if anything, i was the one prying." you comment, entering the room. and.. oh? what a sight you're welcomed with. it's a crime to not have seen this man on campus before – or maybe that's his crime to decide to stay inside his room with such a pretty face. his eyebrows are still brought near the center of his forehead, a faint look of worry that doesn't seem to disperse as the seconds pass.

it's also shoko's crime not to have mentioned the few silver jewels adorning his lips and eyebrows, or the charcoal mark layered upon his nose and spread horizontally along the length, covering both cheeks. and maybe there's another crime to add to your list when his tired eyes look away from you, trying to find some sort of distraction, anywhere but on you.

"i wasn't doing anything, i swear." his voice is coated with the sweetest tones though it's deeper than you'd expected – such a contrast with his face.

"careful, there's no better way to appear guilty than with this sentence." and you swear you can see a light frown on his face. you take a couple more steps towards him, he stands still, the book still in his hand as it's closed and tightly wrapped around his fingers.

you reach for the book lazily, and you take good care to not try any brusque movements. it's like you're walking on thin ice and you just start to realize how quieter it got in the room, with the buzzing of music barely heard and a few people chanting way too far.

he doesn't even try to fight it, the book slips past his fingers easily as you grab it, "The Picture Of Dorian Gray". classic. he looks down at you silently, a bit too long as if he's realized something.

"are you planning to come down?"

he shoves his hands in his pockets, shifting part of his weight on one foot in a slightly awkward manner, "i don't really feel like it."

"why is that?" you put the book right in the empty space, where you guess it previously was, squished between the other books.

"i don't really enjoy.. this." he nods to the door.

"what do you enjoy then?"

he runs his tongue over his piercing, wetting his lips and smothering the silver ring with it in the process as he ponders, then locks eyes with you finally.

"not parties at least."

"mhm, i would've guessed."

the room was strangely not that big compared to the house, a very sober room that must have been for guests, at least no personal decorations were visible. you approached the window to watch the racket outside and you found yourself glad to be upstairs at the sight.

"yuki was getting worried though." you know it's not true, but you're trying your best, you really are.

he turns around to face you, still not moving an inch from his initial position though, "oh so you're one of yuki's friend? the one she said would come?"

"it depends on whether she talked about a little pain in the ass or a cheeky cynic."

"she used the term.. « bothersome minx », if i recall."

you chuckle softly and put your cup down on the windowsill, gliding it on the side as you turn to look at him. he eyes you up and down, tapping his fingers along his thighs and you're not sure if you are in good shape due to the previous consumption or if he's just being the analytical man he's known to be.

"what's your name?"

"choso."

"choso.." you introduce yourself as well, he repeats your name just the same, "wanna sneak out?"

"what do you mean? like right now?"

"yeah, why not? i mean you can stay in that room as long as you want but i doubt you'll have much fun." he turns his head to glance at the door lazily, gauging the proposal.

"what are we gonna do?"

"i don't know, we'll see." you shrug with a smile and you're not sure if playing the russian roulette with him is gonna get you anywhere but you're too interested to play it safe.

"hm, i want to be back for yuki though, she's gonna need a ride home."

"you will." you say simply, but choso raises his eyebrows, waiting for more based arguments rather than a simple affirmation. so you continue,

"we can just take the car, drive for a couple of minutes and you'll be back here before you even notice."

there's a few seconds of silence where you both look at each other, expecting an answer. he sighs, lowering his head and you think he's about to decline your invitation but..

"alright, but just for some time."

you can't help but grin widely, you eagerly dig in your purse for the car keys shoko gave you and take quick steps towards the exit. as you wait for him on the doorstep you see him take a few strides, but towards the windowsill where you previously were standing. he grabs the drink you left dismissively, his jacket on the bed, and throws your empty cup in the bin just in the corner of the room as he walks back towards you.

he smiles gently at you and closes the door behind the two of you.

you practically had to fight your way through the crowd waiting for you downstairs. you thought the hardest part would be getting through to the front door, but once outside you found yourself in a quandary as you had to tiptoe to avoid stepping on any garbage, sticky liquids or dead drunks on the lawn.

choso asked you if you were able to take the wheel, you told him yes, of course – you'd only had one drink that had barely shaken you. he insisted on driving anyway.

the place where you had him taken was one of the only ones not too far away that was still open at this hour; and especially one that didn't look like a crowded bar.

a small café-restaurant run by a woman who was far too old to still be on her feet serving until late at night – but she always did it with too much care that you always resigned yourself to going there, even if the prices were higher.

the car ride had been remotely silent, with only a few instructions as to the routes to take and choso asking you if you wanted to put the heat on.

you took your seats on the colorful banquettes, waiting for the woman to come and take your order. the contrast was quite ironic, seeing you and choso dressed for some fancy evening in a place that was very reminiscent of that kind of little retro restaurant in the 50s, with the famous jukebox playing ballads from Elvis Presley, and the endless greasy hot dogs displayed on the counter.

"didn't think you'd follow a stranger blindly,"

he rests his forearms on the table and bring his eyes back on you as they were occupied scanning the place, "you're no real stranger, you're yuki's friend after all."

"oh i'm sure you were the kinda kid to enter some random white van." you say, more to yourself though as you look at the menu briefly. he doesn't say anything in return, and you don't look up either to see if he's looking at you or not.

"tell me choso," his name is like the ring of a bell, his eyes widen just a little, "how come i've never seen you around? you're on campus right?"

"mhm, i guess," he opens his mouth as if to start a sentence but he soon renounces by closing it immediately, he reaches for his nape to massage it, "i guess i don't really hang out around campus."

"majoring in?"

"computer science."

you would have bet your entire fucking fortune on it. you let a smile slip through.

"um, you're friends with gojo satoru too, right?"

the question definitely surprises you, everyone knows who's satoru, and that's not to his advantage as he's more or so known for being one hell of a jerk. you nod and he takes a deep breath, one that speaks volumes.

"i know what he says about me, you know. i just don't want you to think i'm like that." he admits and the sight almost makes you frown, you don't know if it's pity or empathy but you shake the feeling away.

"what do you think he says about you?"

he pauses for a few seconds, he's quick to bring his hands around his ear piercing, fidgeting with them as he relaxes back against the banquette, he finally crosses his arms over his chest.

"they say things that aren't necessarily wrong but aren't totally true either."

when he says they, he's probably referring to shoko, or maybe suguru if you think about it, though he doesn't seem to care about people's business that much.

you'll blame choso's inability to communicate properly for his ambiguous answers and not because he's trying to pull a series of enigma right now.

"mhm, and don't you think i have a mind of my own?"

his eyes almost pop out of their sockets and he once again leans against the table, clearly not settled on how to sit still, "no–no i didn't mean to say that ! i'm sure you do," he says softly, yet still very much alarmed.

you almost regret your choice of words but he's so goddamn sweet it would be a shame not to tease him a little.

"i don't know i just, don't want you to think badly of me." his fingers fidgets with the salt and pepper shaker in front him.

you know you're in no position to talk, you even feel embarrassed if you're being honest, as you were not just about an hour ago making fun of him in the car with shoko – that, he doesn't know.

the old woman comes back to take both your orders and it's as if the bubble you were both in had just burst, bringing you back to the café as the music gradually came back to your senses. choso orders a strawberry milkshake and you take a blueberry.

the way he talks is so sweet, it makes you physically wince, and let's not talk about the way he looks at the old woman like she was cotton candy to the eye. you think it's all an act he's about to drop when she leaves but, even when she returns behind the counter he returns his eyes on you with the same look ; heavy lids – that you don't know if they are the consequence of a long day or if they're always like that – with shades or purple circling them.

"you'll know that the only time I take satoru's opinion into account is when I have to make a choice for lunch. you're okay." you assure.

he nods slowly and you see his face soften at your reassuring words.

"i don't know why you hang out with them." he says and it's so faint you're not even sure if he mumbled to himself or if he actually talked to you.

you tilt your head on the side with a frown, "what do you mean?"

he takes some time to answer, to gather his words or because he's hesitant you don't really know.

"you were always so nice to me," but you're still puzzled so he continues, "back in high school, you weren't hanging out with this kind of people, y'know."

you don't even pay attention to the way he's not so subtly trying to bring your friends down, you readjust yourself in your seat, visibly confused.

"i don't.. i mean, we were in the same class?"

choso shrugs, not really phased to see you don't remember him at all, "you had a lot of friends. plus, i didn't have these two." he points his finger up to show his hair attached in two buns atop of his head as if it could be the sole reason of your memory lapse. silly.

"i like this look on you. you look nice with them." you say as you look at the hairstyle thoroughly. the praise seemed to have gotten to him because you can see a small smile on his lips as he looks around impatiently for the drinks to arrive – or maybe he just needed to lay his eyes somewhere else than on you.

the drinks arrive shortly after, not surprising due to the lack of customers as it's practically just the two of you there. you don't really say anything much, comfortable in the silence you're both in as you grab your order to taste them. you don't really want to continue the conversation about your friends right now, and choso seems to have dropped the idea of it too.

choso watches you as you lean in to wrap the straw around your lips, elbows on the table to support your body on top. he also watches the way the milkshake climbs up the straw to pour into your mouth, away from prying eyes.

"you want some?"

his blurred eyes meet yours.

"huh?"

you smirk, only because you're enjoying the look on his face and you want it to worsen. you straighten up properly, away from that damn straw and focus on choso, who grows a little embarrassed, somehow – you see it, he backs down a little just at the sight.

"i know what you want," you say, almost above a whisper, stirring the straw with painful slowness.

"you just gotta ask."

choso doesn't say anything. he doesn't really know what to say actually as he flicks his eyes between your eyes and your lips. he's panicked, that's one thing anyone could notice if only they had their attention on him.

"you want a taste, right?" you say with such a languid voice he has to look around to see if you're putting on a show for anyone around, in vain of any spectators. choso raises his eyebrows, devoid of any answers.

"my drink, you idiot."

such a fool, his pouding heart slows back down quietly into his chest and it shows by the prior rapid breaths that are replaced by long and painful sighs. and what a disguised curse to be around you. he doesn't even seem to notice the degrading name he got assigned, you're not even sure he's got to hear the short sentence correctly.

"um.. yeah, sure."

you glide the drink forward on the table until it reaches his fingers which firmly wrap around the glass – and if you were from the police you'd suspect it's to hide his shaking fingers. he puts his own lips where yours once were and begins to sip through the straw. he doesn't have to look up to see you watching intently, he can feel it.

"there you go, how is it?"

"s'good." he nods.

the aroma melts on his tongue, almost sugarcoating the strawberry he previously ingested and the sour taste of a little humiliation.

"i wonder what's going on in that little head of yours. you're so analytical with everything."

"you make me feel like I have to be."

a head tilt from you is all he needs to know he has to develop his thoughts.

"be aware of my surroundings."

your answer gets stuck in the back of your throat when you hear the buzzing of your phone in your purse, you dig it out : a call from shoko.

you excuse yourself and choso simply nods, you bring the phone to your ears and you soon regret the movement as dissonant noises come to deafen your drums – urging you to pull your phone away from your ear.

"h-hey!! where.." the sentence is cut by another voice, and maybe some screams, you don't really know. you squint your eyes as you try to decode the semblance of sentences thrown at you, you call shoko but she doesn't seem to be on the line although the call indicates two minutes past.

choso continues to sip on his milkshake and he looks just as confused as you are.

"where r'you–" you don't need to ask her if she's drunk or not, you can hear it through the slurring of her words. you don't answer her question though, you know it will cause more damage than anything to say you'd preferred to leave the party to go sip on some milkshake with a man you're supposed to despise more than anything.

after five minutes of negotiation, you finally find out what shoko wanted - simple curiosity as to where you were, but also a call for help with the disappearance of choso, who was supposedly trapped in the toilet, according to yuki. you promptly hang up and finish your milkshake in a one go.

"she's in trouble?" choso gauges your reaction and imitates you, putting away his own things as he puts his jacket on.

"she's about to be if we don't come pick her up now." you place you purse back on your shoulder as you draw enough of cash to cover the bill and tip, "c'mon, let's go."

choso wasn't so wrong in the end, since you both arrived in time to prevent a tragedy from happening, one more on the list that shoko may not remember - despite the scale of it. you and choso agreed to take back your possessions – in this case yuki and shoko, who seemed to be standing on their own two feet only by some celestial force.

no need to to depict the end of the night, it was always the same when you went out with shoko. though something – or rather someone – during evening had told you it wasn't going to be the same ; that your tranquility was long gone, that you had now committed, whether you'd like it or not apparently, to be a fucking babysitter.

and he was fast with it, he didn't wait a week or so, he didn't even try to make it natural. the day after the party, choso went straight to talk to you, and the boy didn't even care if you were with your group of friends, the same that vehemently talked shit behind his back.

he didn't even try to wipe that smile off of his face, nor to calm the rosy tint on his cheeks that left little room for other interpretations. he didn't even try to cover for you when he gave you change for the milkshake you'd paid for – and God he didn't seem to understand that if you'd paid him it didn't mean you particularly wanted to give him the impression he owed you anything in return.

he also didn't notice that you didn't appreciate his refund, that you would have preferred to send him off, but that under the pressure from satoru and shoko, who were only viciously agreeable to him, you had to accept his exchange with a big smile.

you really didn't know whether his behavior was of the order of undisputed innocence or whether it was a means of publicly humiliating you.

in any case, the incident didn't go away, not with satoru and shoko around the corner, who were both just explaining the situation to suguru in the middle of lunch in the refectory.

"she left yuki and i alone with a bunch of freaks," shoko declares through the clattering sounds of the cantine while pointing her fork on you as she explains the evening, once again.

"you didn't seem to mind when i pulled you away from one that you were trying to dissect open with a knife." you insist, once again.

you stir the fuming food and distribute it homogeneously over your plate to let it cool down, ignoring shoko's words as she continues the story.

"it's kinda funny that you spent the evening with a guy who's a carbon copy of the type you say you hate." suguru intervenes and you sigh at the snarky remark. satoru keeps chewing on his food carelessly, clearly enjoying the roast you're subject to.

you shake your head at the statement, "spending an evening with someone and actually enjoying the time spent is different."

"mhm, clearly if i hadn't called you you'd still be making out with him right now.." shoko mocks and you swear you can see satoru's lips twitch in amusement.

"we just talked !" you half whisper, half scream, letting your food drop into your plate, causing your friends to shush you.

"c'mon just say you like him, we'll still be friends y'know?" you look deadpan at satoru, a look that doesn't require any words.

"i mean everyone knew he had a crush on you in high school, it wouldn't be surprising if it was still the case." suguru shrugs, you don't know if if he's being honest this time or if it's another joke. you choose to believe the latter.

you shake your head and look around the cantine to ease your mind from your shit friends, which doesn't seem to be the thing to do as satoru adds another weight to your already heavy shoulders.

"what? looking for your new pet? homeboy is probably hiddin' in his room right now. i mean, when doesn't he?"

you breathe out tensely, butchering your food with your cutlery as you clearly picture some detailed ways you'd like to treat the man in front of you.

"fucking assholes.."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

after what happened during the last couple of days you really tried taking measures. good measures. and it was kind of ironic how choso should've been the type to try and dodge any interaction with your friends, but now you were the one trying to sneak past him.

he was nice. you'll give him that.

but he was stupid. so fucking careless. and really naive because he surely did think an evening sipping on milkshake meant something along the lines of "will you marry me?"

anytime he spotted you in between classes he just had to walk in your direction. whether it was just small talk or not, he talked to you every. single. time.

but he was so nice. you couldn't just shove it in his face? could you? despite shoko's encouragement to drop him there's something that just.. didn't feel right. and may God forgive you, but you know this is certainly not the advent of your good morals.

though all of that clingy attitude really pissed you off, you did find yourself thinking about that evening and how Elvis Presley was so annoyingly being repeated in the background. how his eyes, despite their darkness and exhausted features, never ceased to display the most authentically pure emotions you've ever seen.

"i don't know i just, don't want you to think badly of me."

you sigh, heavily. some conflicted parts of you wanted to know more, an evening wasn't enough to just send him off right away, right? who was he? who does he claim to be? and the fact that you don't remember him, no, you can't remember him doesn't help either to your curiosity. because you did search through your yearbooks and to see his face didn't help you bring back lost memories.

shit maybe you just need someone to ring some senses to you but you also don't want shoko nor satoru to do it, as much as you hate to think about it they'll taint your vision more than they'll clear it out. in some ways choso was right ; their judgment might have their part to play in the way you think. in some ways only.

or maybe you're trying to blame your friends for your shitty behavior which only makes you feel ten times worse. you let out a grunt as you get up from your chair, going to the library to study with a clouded mind wasn't a good idea and even more at the end of the day.

failing to have a cigarette you can borrow from shoko right now, you choose to take a walk around campus. it's not the best sight but the air is far more fresh outside.

oh and how ironic was it when your feet led you upstairs to the dorms. it's not like you even planned your itinerary, it was like second nature to you, plus the air definitively felt a lot more breathable.

out of all the rumors you've heard, you knew at least one was true : choso was an orphan ; he stayed in the dorms right above the college structure.

and how absurd that was when you feet planted right outside his doorway – you can say thank you to the floor tenant files that didn't seem to care about the resident's personal information.

the thing missing though is your speech. you didn't have anything in mind. fuck what are you thinking? you're not even sure you'd want to see him at all, despite your evident location. before you could produce another stupid thought your fist met the door to knock twice.

it was about six seconds of wait that felt like half a minute as you just stood there outside. the door opened slightly ajar, and it reminded you of the first time – well not counting high school – that you saw him.

long strands of black hair dangled in front of the doorway before he stepped closer to fill the gap with his width. of course his eyes widened. they always do when they meet yours.

"oh, hey," he quickly looked over his shoulder, behind him and lowered his eyes to take a look at himself.

it was an agreeable sight, you will not deny. his hair were hanging loose at shoulder length, wearing only an oversized white t-shirt (was it oversized or just his actual stature ?) and gray sweatpants. you almost felt like diverting your eyes away as if you were prying on something you shouldn't see.

"hey."

silence.

"are you okay?" he stays still, swiping his tongue inside his lower lip while playing with his ring piercing you presume ; a habit of his you've noticed. you don’t really know if he's asking to be polite or if you genuinely look like you need help.

"mhm," you nod, "can i come in?"

"uhh, yeah" he takes another look behind him and you're starting to think maybe you came at the wrong time. "yeah, of course." he opens the door wider and steps aside, you enter and to your relief nothing crazy's going on.

the room is neatly organized to your surprise, not that you were imagining a slum, but you were expecting something more akin to the prototype of the homebody student. you avoid looking too much everywhere, you didn't come for that anyway.

choso retreats to his desk where he leans against it, his hands on the length of the edge to support his body.

"looks serious eh?" he escapes a small laugh, almost a scoff actually as he scratches his forearm and you suddenly want to leave the room because of how miserable you feel.

"we have to stop this.. thing here." you point to him then yourself.

you almost feel bad for him. almost, because of the way his hand previously on his other arm stops in the previous scratching motion, because of the way he only stares at you for a few solid seconds.

"what do you mean?"

"you know what i mean," you sigh "i don't even know why you suddenly want to talk to me anyway," you shake your head and look down. it's not even something you're blaming him for, you're really wondering why he'd want to talk to someone who plays on both sides with him.

"it's not.. that sudden. i've always wanted to talk to you." he tells you softly, "have i done something wrong?"

he's too nice with you it makes you audibly grunt.

"do you have a crush on me or something?"

silence again. a longer one this time. you didn't really mean to blurt it out like that, you'd envisioned something a little more subtle but frustration got the best of you.

his body shifts, his hands move closer to his body and he crosses his arms over his chest, tapping his biceps with his finger repeatedly. he stays silent.

"it's a yes or no question choso."

he pinches the bridge of his nose just where his mark is and breathes out a small "fuck".

"alright. it's ok if you don't wanna use your words, you certainly don't fail showing it to the whole fucking world anyway."

he takes a step forward rapidly, a single step but big enough to be closer to you nonetheless.

"i'm sorry, shit, i didn't know it would make you so upset. i'm sorry." he apologies. and you don't know if he realizes how upset he looks in the situation, he runs a hand through his hair in distress and you can see how agitated he is.

his face is right above yours, you don't really have to do anything but to look up to meet his panicked eyes. and it's a complete contrast how your eyebrows almost hurt from the frown while his face is contorted in worry.

and you'll blame your beating heart on your irritation and building up anger and definitely not because of his sole proximity. you try to commit to that thought at least.

"you're insufferable you know that?" you hug yourself as you readjust the strap of your purse on your shoulder.

he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek and looks away for a flitting second before bringing his eyes back on you, or your lips ; he's very indecisive poor boy doesn't know where to look when he has you this close to him.

"i.. i didn't know know how to tell you i'm sorry i just–"

"oh shut up,"

you practically throw yourself on him as it's the only way he'll eventually stop apologizing, one of your hands quickly wrap around his neck, to the base of his nape pulling him closer as your lips crash onto his. choso stumbles back at the contact and his hands reach instinctively on your waist for support, his body hits the desk where he stood prior and he escapes the faintest gasp at the harsh contact.

you wouldn't even have dreamed of doing this – fuck if shoko would come to know about this she'd probably laugh at you. but he's so gentle in his every moves, his every words, so naive about your motives it would be a damn shame if he knew what kind of crap person you really are. if the two of you really had to stop talking like you stated, your only wish would be to at least do this before.

choso's fingers grip more tightly on your waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your shirt practically playing with the hem of it. he pulls you closer and parts his lips to kiss you back avidly while your nails dig deeper around his nape at the feeling, before sliding them back along his jaw to orient his head at a better angle. you feel him exhale through his nose as you slow down your pace, slowly detaching your lips from his.

"y'taste good." he whispers against your lips, his forehead is practically touching yours and it's only now that you realize how much his features have changed within seconds. his eyes are blazed, breathless and fingers shaky around your waist. you'll blame the taste of your lips of the cherry gloss you're wearing – and he's wearing too now that his lips are shiny from it.

you're no better though, you swallow as you catch your breath, your heart is pounding in your chest so much you also hear it through the buzzing of your ears, coating the sounds around you.

"yeah? what is it, never kissed before?" you smile, you'll never get tired of teasing him, not when he always gives you the same look.

"not like that," he pants and smile back at you, a little smile that soon turns into a frown, "i.. shit, i wanna make you feel good. can i?" his voice is so low it makes your head spin.

"then do it," you kiss him once slowly and you feel him shudder at the new sensation, "make me feel good." you kiss him twice, even slower this time.

no need to say it twice for choso, if it's not you latching on him right now he definitely doesn't feel like backing down, he takes your answer for words and his hands find your cheeks instantly, cupping them as he puts a lot more pressure, making you step back. your hands lower down on his shoulders and your purse slip down your arm until it reaches the ground harshly ; not your priority number one right now.

he presses his body even closer to you and you don't need an explanatory drawing of what's happening down his pants as you feel his hard on pressed against you. you put your thigh forward, adding your own pressure against him and the moan that escapes his lips is enough to make your skin shiver and your panties tighter. much tighter.

still glued to each other, he guides you to his bed, just behind and it takes a couple steps back for your calves to hit the furniture, your body drops down the bed as you look up at him and you think he's about to slouch his own body on you, but he kneels down right before you instead.

you put your hands on the bed behind you to push yourself farther against the wall but to your – second – surprise he puts his hands flat on your knees.

"i need you right here," he soothes as he taps your knee lightly, making you stop in your movements. you don't know if he's about to do what you think he's about to do but your questions get quickly answered.

"can i?" he asks as he flicks his eyes onto your skirt, asking permission to touch it you guess. you nod eagerly and he leans back slightly to take your mary janes off instead, right foot, then to the left foot so ever carefully and putting them aside on the floor. you watch him and notice how steady and focused he looks despite his torso heaving up and down rapidly, you see it.

he straighten up on his knees and the sight has you gulping down, you're on his bed, he's on the ground just right in front of you, his eyes scan your face thoroughly you almost feel overwhelmed by it. your skirt gets pulled down easily, oh but so slowly, you prop yourself up on your elbows to make it easier for him.

"so pretty." he breathes out, he discards the piece of clothing on the floor and places both of his hands on your hips to bring your body closer to him as he easily glides you.

he leans in and his face is only inches away from your crotch, he glances at you before returning back on your clothed cunt. his thumb circles the hem of your panties as if he's admiring the sewing method and your breath hitches when his thumb drops a little lower, down where you clit hides beneath the fabrics.

"don't have all day, choso" you gulped, your hands bawl into tight fists in apprehension.

"okay–okay." he coos and immediately grant your wish ; he pulls your panties down and you're now bottom naked on his bed. it gives you a real reason to be embarrassed for sure because you didn't really "plan" on being that drenched from a single quick make out session. and the more he stares at your exposed cunt the more you grow impatient.

"choso.." you try to warn him but it comes out as a whine instead. he shifts as he gets closer to the edge of the bed, he wraps his hands under your legs to grab onto your thighs firmly.

"gonna make you feel good ok?"

"jus' do it–" you choke on your own words when you feel his tongue on you. a single lap and you're already panting in the room like a mad woman, "ffuck." you whine and your hand reaches immediately down to get a hold of something – his hair in this case which is being in his vision doesn't stop him nonetheless to complete his mission – as it's the only way you'd call it due to how devoted he looks between your legs.

he gives you a few more laps, down from your entrance to the very top on your clit, and he's diverse in his moves you'll give him that – he goes either way from the right side, then the left side, until he decides to flick his tongue against your pussy from side to side this time. you'd honestly thought the man would go down on you as his first time, his first experiment but it looks like you're the one experimenting for the first time his tongue skills – that, you don't miss to point out.

"shit- where the fuck did you learn to do that?" you pant, you push his hair back the best you can though it still falls atop of your pussy, giving you extra tingles on the way.

the sounds are purely gross, the room is nothing but a space for filth, hearing liquids collides whether it'd be his saliva on you or your slick on him. doesn't help from your restrained moans nor from his own whimpers that resonate lowly against your skin – it's almost as if he's being louder than you are.

he props your legs up onto his own shoulders when he leans down further into your pussy, getting better access while your thighs are in the air, tensing and quivering at each touch.

you start to seriously lose it when you feel pressure on your clit, getting even more stimulated your head starts to feel dizzy ; his thumb brushes against your folds to gather your juices before going up to your clit while his tongue starts to push down your entrance.

he mumbles something but you can't understand either from the pounding in your ears or because he factually has his mouth buried in your cunt.

"you feel so– fuck!" you almost cry out when he accelerates the pace on your clit "so fuckin' good shit," and before you get hold of the situation your muscles contract, your thighs wraps even tighter around choso and you're not really in the mindset to care if you're hurting him right now when you're nothing more than a trembling mess under him.

when you release the grip you have around his head with your legs, he slowly backs down and wipes under his chin with the back of his hand, breathing heavily as if he had just come flooding back from the water after a long dive. the sight has your brain rebooting from the start, simply short circuited.

"t'was okay?"

you almost feel indignation for his own self when you look at him in disbelief, "okay? thought i was losing my mind over there," you slowly sit up as you look at him with heavy lids. you probably look like you got run over.

"want me to get something to–"

he stops once he sees you getting your top over your shoulders, taking it off and throwing on the chair near his desk. you get closer to the edge of the bed, still sit up on it as you cage him between your legs since he's still kneeling on the ground.

"well.. i guess you have other plans..?" he murmurs under his breath, he doesn't even try to hide the fact he's staring, the man is practically glued to you like when kids stand too close to a tv.

"you're a perceptive one aren't you?" you leaned down to slip your fingers under his shirt, near his hips to take it off too, "unless you don't want to?" you whisper, stopping your movements to get his approval before starting anything but oh don't you dare take your hands off of him because he'll put them back on their original place.

"no–no, i do. i want you." his eyes meets yours and it's as if repentance was just knocking at your door and you don't know if you're willing to open the door because of how good he ate your pussy or because you really feel like you should do it.

"good."

you knew choso was introverted, a little shy even, the kind of men to be a little prudish even, the ones who'd rather stay indoors, the ones who's rather not get touched by anybody, even less when those places are under their clothes. you thought he was that kind of man when you'd first met him.

you got fooled. once when he mastered the technique of his tongue on you a few minutes ago that got your jaw dislocating in pleasure. but twice now that his shirt is past his torso, up to get through his head and you see yet another pair of silver jewelry. one on each of his nipples.

and your reaction is suited honestly, you just drop your arms and leave him struggling with the shirt on his own as his head is still tangled inside of it, you swear under your breath as you look at the two shiny buds. and maybe he did it as a distraction, getting two silvery eyes up his breast might be one hell of a surprise when you're trying to look at his whole torso ; but even in that case you wouldn't get why on earth you'd need to be distracted from his upper body, because what a fucking view.

once you see choso's head pop out of his t-shirt you're so turned on you're scared if you move you'll just leave the biggest pond of your slick on his covers ; you're feeling genuinely embarrassed to say the least.

"come here, get on your back." you tap on your left to show him the way on his own bed, he executes your demand without much more convincing. he lays down where his pillow rest, propping his head up a little as he still supports his body on his forearms, watching you.

which is not such a bad thing as it gets his whole upper body tensing up from the position, and you realize you got fooled thrice because of how defined his body is, muscles tracing his skin in the prettiest way.

you crawl closer to him and take his sweatpants off, throwing them along with the other remaining of clothes on the ground.

you straddle choso, only in his boxers now and he's always on the lookout for your next move, eyes traveling along every part of your body standing so close to him. you lean in to kiss him again, a simple kiss this time, not heated, nor passionate as you'd intended earlier, almost too intimate to your liking. you feel him relax under you, no, melt. he melts under your kiss, his back rests totally flat on his bed now and his hands travel along you jaw, touching you like porcelain if it were to break.

"it's only fair i return the favor, right?" you tell him as you lean near his ear, and if you chose to ignore the bulge in his underwear when you got him out off his pants you're certain you can't now. it's entirely poking through the fabrics to lean oh so perfectly against your entrance you have to fight back a moan just at the feeling. how embarrassing.

"fuck, please do." he moans, his hands get back on your hips slowly, pressing his fingers into your skin lightly. though you'd rather take some of your time, if you're in this might as well do it right.

you kiss your way down his body, from his lips, to his jaw, on his neck a few times — just because you love watching his adam's apple bobble up every time he gulps when you touch him — near his collarbones, on his torso and why not on the twins piercings he's got on it too.

at the contact of your tongue swirling around his nipples choso instantly throws his head back on his pillow, earning a deep breath from him along with a "fuckk" he couldn't bite back. at the same time your hips start to grind, slowly, cautiously, you wouldn't want to get off on his boxers now would you?

your hands reach down his boxers, under it to grab his dick but... maybe you got fooled fourth time. or maybe the saying is right, the quietest got the biggest and he's a living proof of the statement, you can attest. you break the contact on his sensitive buds and sit up correctly to look at it lay flat on his stomach, curved and strained in its own blood flow. you really have to close your mouth to not drool on it directly and you mumble something unintelligible.

his hands rest on your thighs, they try to guide you forward, they really do and you let them. you bring your hips forward, pussy gliding – as it's the only way it would be described, you're soaked – on his dick, just slipping through your wet folds, enough to mold him on the way forward, then all the way back when you return to your position. you let your hands fall on his abs, you're not even tired, you just need the support right now or else you're afraid you'll just collapse right onto him.

"God, you feel so good," you whine, grinding slowly along his cock and you honestly don't know how he's handling it down there 'cause it feels too fucking good for you.

"n-need you right now," he painfully gulps, he looks at the friction with a frown and he lowers his head back on the pillow, "shit..." he whimpers, such a wobbly voice yet he's not even inside of you thus far. you don't know who's winning the embarrassing contest but he might win over you if you keep giving him good pussy.

"so sweet. you're too fuckin' sweet y'know that?" you praise and choso's hands come directly to grab at your tits, cupping the roundness of them with both hands as he massages them slowly, pinching your nipple between his index and his thumb.

you're done with being patient actually as it is your cue to wrap your fingers around the head of his cock. you brush your thumb over his tip and his whole body jerks off from the touch, you slide your whole hand down the base of it as you pull yourself up on your knees.

you thought you'd reached the epitome of pleasure when he was between your legs just now, and you don't know what other seventh heaven you landed on when he entered you, but it was just as similar.

the head of his cock has just slipped through and you're already full of it, full of him. and you have no doubt when you look at choso that he's feeling it too. you both moan at the new feeling, a feeling you were too puerile to treat with such disdain when you looked at him, a feeling you'd never come to know if he didn't slightly hurt your ego with his kindness.

"holy shit, so fucking tight f'me.." he purrs through the whole process, his hands help you go down, steadily and slowly at your pace when more than half of his cock has sunk into you. your legs shake slightly when you've reached the end, you start to bounce up and down lazily, hearing every gushing sounds of both of your slick as they disperse through your organs.

he can't help it, you don't know if it's because you've teased him so much pior that he can't hold it in anymore, but the grip on your hips gets tighter, the bouncing up and down his cock gets messier, and even though your thighs start to feel numb you soon understand that choso has your back. his hips starts to buck back into you to meet your hips halfway, skin to skin as they collide rapidly.

"f–fuck, choso, you're gonna make m–"

"i know, i know." he soothes, you lean into him, chest to chest as you put your hands on his shoulders. and you can't help but be extremely grateful right now as you're practically laying down on him, he's fucking right into you with the help of his hands pressing down your hips as he moans in your ears softly.

"wanna make this pretty pussy mine– fuck. wanna make you mine." he whimpers and you can hear the way his throat tightens that he's close. you wouldn't wanna lie saying you're not – to be honest you've been wanting to come as soon as you hoped on his thighs.

you don't know if it's the heat of the moment, because you're taking his dick so fucking perfectly inside of you that the thought of being with him doesn't really repulse you that much, for it actually seems pleasant enough to imagine it.

"fuck–fuck-i'm gonna cum!"

and you sincerely hope nobody is in their dorms right now because you're sure the whole floor knows what their nerdy resident is doing to some resentful student on campus. he's so vocal you wouldn't have it any other way, specially when every each one of his moans reach your cunt before your ears.

you feel your legs tremble and your nails dig deeper into his skin when you reach your second orgasm, and not one for the weak ones as your pussy clenches so tightly you think you're sucking choso's dick whole with the suction. your hips get pulled up on spot when choso releases his own shot in between your bodies, his dick springing out from where it was caged. you still tremble on him when he breathes heavily, coming down to his high.

you both stay silent for a couple of seconds and reality hits you back.

"you're too good to me." he murmurs as he wipes some of the mascara under your eyes with his thumb, you head is still near the crook of his neck, you don't move.

oh only if he knew.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"can you believe nerdy boy got laid?"

you turn to shoko almost too rapidly, "what?"

"i know, who would do that.."

you don't say anything. you don't really wanna say anything for now, but you know shoko isn't saying that just to make the conversation when she waits for an answer. a valid one.

©nabitsun !

thank you for reading :D

585 notes · View notes

killerlookz · 4 months

Note

hiiiii i adore your writing soooo sooo much!! i was literally dancing in my room to joosts music and i thought of a new fic idea:3 can you write something where Joost comes back home and the reader is dancing to his songs in their apartment, the reader doesnt notice him at first, completely in the moment and when they do, they get all embarrassed and its all fluff and cute??(((:

awww this is so cute <33 ty sm anon!!!

Dance With Me? | Joost Klein

content: gn! reader, no warnings rlly! just fluff :-) the song in question for this fic is Joost Klein 2 btw! this fic contains rpf and has been tagged as such, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable

word count: 1.2k(just a wee little blurb!)

Sundays had always been your least favorite day of the week, a bleak reminder that the hours of the weekend were waning and you'd have to return to the monotony of the weekdays. Perhaps the worst part of Sundays was that they were your designated cleaning day, you would much prefer spending your last day free from work lazing on the couch or curled up in bed, but instead, once again you found yourself bouncing around your apartment straightening up whatever cleaning you had left unfinished throughout the week.

The silence of your empty apartment had been getting to you, bored out of your mind as you stood on a chair to dust off a bookshelf. The only thing you figured that would this slightly more tolerable was music at least the apartment wouldn't be so damn quiet.

You hop down from the chair, scurrying into the living room to turn on your speakers. It wasn't long until music was flowing into the apartment, loud, and probably obnoxious to the neighbors, but it hadn't been late enough to warrant a noise complaint- so they would just have to deal with it for now.

Among the many plusses of having a musician for a boyfriend, you had to admit being in possession of a stellar stereo system was definitely one of them. You had been able to hear the music just as perfectly as you pranced back into your bedroom, not exactly eager to get back to cleaning.

Though it would seem not much cleaning would get done after that point, more focused on the music than any of the tasks you had at hand.

"Joost Klein maar m'n stack die is groot!" You sang along with the lyrics that boomed over the speaker. Another plus of having a musician boyfriend was that he was a damn good musician., "De regering zoekt mij, maar ze vinden me nooit!"

You had found yourself jumping around to the music, a smile pressed onto your face as you swayed your head back and forth in time to the beat.

Still jumping, your arms in the air you start to spin around when suddenly the breath is knocked out of you at the sight of a figure in the doorway to your bedroom. Your body grows rigid, stopping dead in your tracks as your mind races to the worst-case scenario.

Luckily it hadn't exactly been the worst-case scenario, as your eyes focused and you were able to see your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Why'd you stop?" He asks, clearly amused, "I was enjoying your performance. I think you might put me out of a job."

"Joost!" Your voice is sharp like you're scolding him for being in his own home. Your eyes widen at the shock, not having expected him to be home, much less having even heard him walk through the door, "I thought you said you'd be running errands all day."

Embarrassment begins to grow on your face, your eyes refusing to meet Joost's, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as your body grows hot.

"I've actually been gone awhile," He chuckles, "I finished my errands."

"Hmm," You hum, looking down at your feet, "Time flies." You mumble.

"It does when you're having fun, which you looked to be having." Joost muses, an eyebrow-raising behind the thick rims of his glasses.

"Cleaning was getting boring," You shrug, still refusing to make eye contact out of sheer embarrassment.

Joost can clearly sense your unease as his smile still rests on his face, beginning to bob his head up and down, slowly walking towards you with some grove in his step,

"Maar ik blijf Joost en ik bleef in de derde zitten," Joost lowly sings along to his own voice over the speaker, his movements becoming livelier as he gets closer to you, "Soms haat ik kittens en haat ik ook science-fiction."

He grabs your hands, as to ask you to dance with him, but you're reluctant, only holding his hands in front of him as he dances on his own continuing to sing along to his own song.

"C'mon," He urges, "Dance with me?" An exaggerated pout rests on his lips as he stares down at you with big, blue, puppy-dog eyes. You can't exactly resist that look, slowly stepping back and forth to appease his request.

He pulls at your arms as he jumps up and down to the music, just about forcing you to move with more excitement, your embarrassment quickly subsiding as Joost dances in a manner similar to how you had been just moments prior.

"Joost Klein maar m'n stack die is groot!" Eventually, the two of you are singing, bouncing up and down in sync with each other and you can't believe you had ever been embarrassed in front of Joost in the first place. It had seemed so trivial now that the two of you danced together, after four years together you were sure you had seen each other in much more embarrassing situations, you knew better, that he would never pass any judgment on you, "De regering zoekt mij, maar ze vinden me nooit!" You practically yell to each other, oversized grins burned into both of your faces.

The song soon fades out, allowing for a song that wasn't Joost's to start playing.

"You've got some good music taste," Joost teases, the two of your movements dying down.

"Meh," You shrug, "Joost is kind of mid, I think Ski Aggu is better,"

Joost clicks his tongue, shaking his head in joking disapproval,

"You're lucky you're cute." A kiss is pressed against your forehead. The small gesture leaves you with butterflies in your stomach, despite the length of time the pair of you had been together, every touch from him seemed to feel like you were falling in love for the first time all over again.

"You get much cleaning done?" He pulls back

You look around the bedroom, the bed still unmade, clothes strewn upon your dresser, various items scattered around your desk. You feel yourself becoming stressed again at the task ahead of you.

"Not quite." You respond sheepishly, you sigh, "I should probably-"

"It can wait, relax, liefje," Joost cuts you off, "I think we should continue our little dance party."

"Easy for you to say when you've gotten everything you need to get done today,"

"Hmm," Joost puckers his lips, twisting his face into an expression that makes it obvious he's thinking, "How about..." He trails off for a moment, inching closer to you, "You stay here and dance with me, and I'll clean the whole apartment while you're at work tomorrow."

It's an easy proposition to accept, not having to clean? Fine by you.

"Deal?" He asks, smiling down at you.

"Deal," You quickly nod.

"Eh," he holds up a finger, "We need to seal the deal."

You raise your eyebrows up at him, waiting for what he's going to say next,

"You gotta give me a kiss to seal our deal,"

You giggle, standing up on your tip toes, placing both of your hands on Joost's shoulders as you reach up to press your lips to his.

He's quick to kiss you back, resting his hands on your waist as he engages you in a soft, passionate kiss.

"Okay," He nods, "Now it's a deal."

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #rpf #joost klein rpf

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pasdasin · 2 months

Text

Wicked Game

wolverine x vampire!reader

an: set in a timeline where Logan and Alex Summers have beef since i envision this with the days of future past casting!

ch 1

warnings: mentions of blood, needles, generic doctor stuff, cussing i think, angsty lol

ur at the start -- next

~~~~~

The mansion was always having a frenzy. The rotating door of constant students, the random federal agents that never seem to fully go away, and the weird brotherhood that seemed to always succeed in attacking the school and yet never actually hurt anyone. In other words, this was the most fun you have ever had in centuries. The latest fun you ran into at the school was right now. Watching the students frantically try to finish the book report they were assigned by Storm. Listening to their banter and recollection of the book made you giggle at them. Scott Summers, the most vocal of the group, turned to look at you with a scowl on his face.

“Oh like you know anything about, uh, what are we reading?” He said turning back to his friends.

“Dracula?” You inquired, bringing the drink up to your lips.”I was there when it was written.” You smiled. “But don’t expect my help okay? I promised Storm that I wouldn’t say a word.” You walked out of room with a small smirk on your face, listening to their arguing fade.

Humming to yourself, you observed the students on your walk back to your office. As the school nurse, you knew a lot of the students on a first name basis. Many repeat visitors had graced your office with superficial wounds just so they would see you, and your favorite?

Mr. Logan Howlett, the Wolverine himself. Who was sitting on the bench in your office, awaiting your return. Your eyes locked onto his own, and your smile grew, exposing your fangs slightly.

“Well if it isn’t my most needy patient.”

“Guilty as charged,” he muttered standing to greet you. Pulling you into a hug, he squeezed you tight.

“Another day, another blood test?” You inquired, already knowing the answer. Your oldest friend nodded, removing his jacket so you could start to prep his arm for the extraction. Pulling over a stool, you sat as you wrapped the tourniquet over his bicep. “This might hurt”

“You say that everytime.” Logan responded, rolling his eyes and inhaling as the needle entered his skin. “You should train with us again” It was your turn to roll your eyes at him.

“Now you say that everytime,” he huffed at you using his words against him. “I am not who I was a hundred and what? Fifty years ago? I am a doctor, I help people… I am not a vampire.” You muttered the last bit, removing the needle from his arm and taping down gauze. Even though he didn’t need it, it helped him feel human.

You had met Logan around 1899, in the streets of London on the way to America. You both had caused some havoc and needed to escape the city until you had “died”. You both instantly bonded over your mutations and the fact that you both couldn’t die. You certainly had tried, burned at the stake, drowned, stabbed, shot in the head, even a stake to your heart. Your mutation had cursed to you continuously walk to the ends of the earth every time you needed a new identity, and somehow Logan was the same. If it weren’t for the adamantium poisoning his blood.

Holding the vial up to the light, you closed your eyes and focuses on the blood inside. Listening to the way it flowed and coagulated. Reopening your eyes, you stared at the vial until finally, you unscrewed the cap and took a sip. Closing it up, you placed it inside a centrifuge and wiped your mouth of any remains.

“Its so freaky when you do that.” Your rolled your eyes at him. “Especially when you drink it, why don’t you just take it from the source at that point”

“Firstly, I can taste the bourbon you had at lunch. Don’t you know addiction is bad for you? Secondly, I can tell that the serum has been working. I don’t taste the metal as much anymore. You should only need to get three more shots and finish one more round of antibiotics.” You informed him as he put on his jacket. “I love you Lo, but for the love of god please eat a vegetable, I can feel the fat you’ve been consuming.” He chuckled at your request and patted your head. Placing a small kiss on the top of your head, he left your office and shut the door behind him.

Sighing, you turned to start the centrifuge and rested your head on your hand. You hated how he did that. Joked with you and kissed you like you were his world. You knew you weren’t even close to being the owner of his heart. You had tried once, back before the great depression, but he wasn’t interested. He always had his eye on another.

You closed your eyes and let yourself drift away from your thoughts. Enjoying the silence you rarely got.

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #xmen #x-men #x men #days of future past #marvel #vampire!reader

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heartsforvin · 2 months

Note

hi, can you do imagine were vinnie comes back from a long trip?

DON’T LEAVE ME

cutesy lil fluff for you guys <33

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: cussing, use of pet names, sexual joke mentioned, pure fluff, if i missed anything lmk !!

summary: you don’t let vinnie leave your sight the minute he gets back from his trip

vinnie had just gotten back from his one week trip to europe, and of course you were the one to meet him at the airport.

the minute you helped him with his bags and got back in the car, you kissed him so hard he thought he’d die from lack of oxygen.

“never leave me again,” you breathe against his lips, both of you smile. “one week is too long.”

you caress his cheek and a sweet smile is planted on his lips as he looks at you with so much love.

“got some cool pictures though.” he breaks the sweet moment with a laugh.

you pull away from his face and sit up straight. vinnie’s hand immediately finds its home on your thigh once he starts driving back to your guys’ shared apartment.

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

the minute the two of you got into your apartment, you pushed vinnie’s bags aside and dragged him into your room.

you didn’t want to waste any time apart. this might’ve come off as clingy, some might even say separation anxiety, but you just loved your boyfriend.

“baby, baby slow down,” vinnie chuckles when you swing your leg over his and snuggle into him. “i’m not going anywhere, my love.”

you smile up at him with so much love. you just missed him so much, you couldn’t help it.

the two of you barely had time to talk due to the time difference, along with vinnie’s busy schedule he had out there.

you just missed your boy.

vinnie kisses your forehead as he moves his thumb over your arm. “what fun things did you and hera do while i was gone?” he asks.

you snuggle into him more before holding onto him tighter, making sure he really isn’t going anywhere.

“same old shit basically,” you sigh. “had to work majority of the week, then i of course took care of our daughter.” you finish, looking up at him.

vinnie smiles, kissing your temple before untangling himself from you.

when you grab onto his bicep though, he turns to look at you and chuckles. “princess i gotta use the bathroom, let go.”

your grip tightens and that’s when he realizes you aren’t going to let go. grabbing your hand from his arm, he pulls you up and over his shoulder.

you giggle at the view of his ass, trying to reach down the best you can and smack it playfully like he does you.

“no smackin’ my ass, that’s my job to you!” vinnie laughs when he feels your hand on him.

you just laugh with him and do it again before he sits you on the counter in the bathroom.

“you happy now?” he asks sarcastically, you just smile and kick your feet in front of you as your boyfriend uses the bathroom.

once he finished up and washed his hands, he grabbed your hand in his and carefully helped you down off the counter.

“you gonna let me do anything in private?” vinnie asks once the two of you get back into bed.

hera climbs in with you, climbing on vinnie’s chest and laying on him. you move to lay on your side, arm draped around his abdomen.

“well duh, i’ll let you shit in private, i know how you are about that.” you joke.

vinnie laughs and looks over at you. “what if i wanna get off? you gonna sit and stare?” he asks, making you laugh quietly.

he looks at you, serious but not that serious about the question. “i’d just do it for you.” you reply with a shrug.

vinnie smiles and moves his body to face you, making hera run off his chest and onto the edge of the bed.

he grabs you by the waist and pulls you in so you’re on top of him, face to face.

“my pretty girl,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before kissing you softly. “you don’t know how much i missed you.”

you blush at the name, even being with him as long as you had, every little name he calls you gets you flustered.

“i kept telling hera i missed you everyday when i got home before i fell asleep,” you informed, making the boy smile. “i think she got sick of it, on the second day, she stopped sleeping on the bed with me.”

vinnie let out a laugh, kissing your cheek. “i missed this.” was all vinnie said before hugging you tightly.

“i feel so safe with you, v. its hard to fall asleep when you’re not snuggled into me. im glad you’re home.” you say, hugging the boy just as tight as he did you.

this was his home — having you in his arms, breathing the same air as him. he don’t know what he’d do without you by his side everyday.

“i’m here forever, baby. i’m not leaving you ever.” he informed.

the two of you laid there, in each others arms as you basked in the feeling of being together again after being apart for what felt like eternity.

there was absolutely no place either of you would rather be.

this was SOOOOOOOO cute , i loved writing it !!!!

thank you for reading !! i hope all of you enjoyed !! <33

tags: @cosmicanakin , @anqeliclust , @native2princess , @visualbutterflysworld , @sturnioloshacker , @khackerr , @slvthrs , @bernelflo , @0strawberrysorbet0 , @laylasbunbunny , @kriissy4gov , @defnotayonna , @supabhad , @louloulemons-blog , @kayleighh , @hallecarey1 , @violet0182 , @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom , @jpg3 , @eddieslut69 , @khxna , @miilzzy

#vhackerr #vincent hacker #vinniehacker #vvhacker #vinnie hacker smut #vinniehackerfanfic #vinnie hacker blurb #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie hacker #vinnie x reader #vinnie x y/n #vinnie hacker headcanon

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threepandas · 3 months

Text

Bad End: Kept Safe

[Art by Miu_A]

You ever give someone advice, knowing full well they aren't going to take it? Even AFTER they have begged and pleaded and WHINED at you, for hours, for it? Even after they poured their heart and soul out to you? And you, a good friend, carefully and tactfully, tried your best to help? LIKE THEY ASKED?

Ever find yourself the designated "run too dramatically weep in the arms off" friend?

I have.

It is hell. I am in hell.

This is my punishment for all those hours I spent reading and playing Otome Isekai junk instead of, I don't know, solving world hunger or something. Because it HAS to be. I am clearly being punished. Repeatedly. By some sort of petty, petty, anime God.

Fuck you too, buddy.

A fresh round of highly dramatic Protagonist sobbing peirces the air. Dear lord, she has a set of lungs on her, does she? It's like an air siren. But more... upset toddler. It was bizarre. I'd LIKED her as a character. I HAD. Bright and cheerful, determined with a good heart. She'd been a bit naive, yes, but she'd grown. Love had changed her for the better.

But THIS?

This was some middle school "he threw away my secret note, that I didn't sign, so that means he HATES MEEEEE~" bullshit. It went on and on and ON! God, it'd been MONTHS! Years!

I made friends with the Protagonist when we were in The Royal Academy. The story's setting. It SHOULD have finished by graduation. SHOULD. HAVE. But DID it? No! This nonsense had spilled into the COURT! The general population! Actual political factions were starting to get involved!

All because my "friend" COULDN'T PICK A MAN.

And she didn't listen. I tried. God, how I TRIED! No matter HOW I phrased "just fucking TALK to them" it didn't get through her dense fucking skull. I tried taking a break. To calm down. She HUNTED ME DOWN with her little Harem of political trainwrecks!

That poor port city STILL has yet to recover from the chaos they unleashed.

I don't... God, I don't even LIKE her anymore. I've just been reduced to her HANDLER. Forced into girlish tea parties devoid of any taste, because no one ELSE will come. Followed by winces and pitying looks by every lady in all of polite society. The sacrifice to keep HER distracted, lest her gaurd dogs decide its a good idea to do something unhinged again.

It's exhausting.

I'm not even listening.

She seems to have worked through her usual cycle of "cry, mope, what about meeeee~, then I going to go be Plucky at them! Tee Hee~♡!". Good, good. You go have fun, you little train wreck. I'm going to go find an actual ADULT to hide behind.

I have my maids change me out of an outfit that, frankly? I am too old for. I am not sixteen. We are not GIRLS, for the heaven's sake. We are WOMEN. It was a cute outfit. I enjoyed wearing it, back when I was physically young enough that it was appropriate. But even THEN... that's the down side of the whole "isekai" thing.

You keep your mental age.

Everyone around you? INFANTS. Fresh faced babies. You are being flirted with by fourteen year olds and? It is DISGUSTING. They can never be anything more then "cute kids" to you. The characters you once thirsted over? Reduced to actual, living, breathing, pre-schoolers.

There's no going back after that. I'll NEVER unsee it. Can only continue to age, even as they simply... grow up. And then? When they started behaving like FOUR YEAR OLDS? Forget it! I'm beginning to share my parents fears I may die single.

At least I have a refuge. A place of SANITY and SENSE.

I grab the imported wine I had purchased. I'd noticed him drink it before on special occasions. Found a tea seller that was willing to also bring some back. Mother LOVED the tea and my friend was going to love the wine, I could just tell.

Cautiously poking my head out of the guest apartments i was staying in, I checked the hall. Left. Right. Left. Thank god. No Protagonist in sight, she hasn't come back yet. Better hurry though.

I walk fast and keep close to the wall. Ducking into alcoves at every new female voice. Passing servants, Nobles, and the occasional Knight either murmur what they know of Protagonist's last known location or politely pretend not to see me. For anyone else, this would be scandalous behavior. For ME? Well... everyone knew EXACTLY why I was being driven to such extremes.

I thankfully reached the governance wing unmolested. It was far quite and none of the pack of fools ever really set foot here. Not ever the ones who were SUPPOSED to be busy learning their future roles as leaders of this country. God, I could only hope the third prince somehow quietly pulls a coup.

Not that I'd SAY that.

The gaurds don't even bother to announce me, I'm here so often. Merely opening the door. I maintain my decorum none the less. JUST long enough for the doors to finally close and I am able to drop my social mask like whipping of my bra after a long day. Oh thank fuuuuuuck. FREEDOM!

A familiar chuckle, like incense smoke, wafts from the second floor of the office.

"Oh my~, so tired?" My friend muses, his voice that ever lilting purr. I hear him closing whatever heavy tome he's currently studying. "And so early in the DAY! Was it the little nuisance again? Surely she must have SOMETHING better to do?"

Gently putting the wine I'm gifting him on his desk, I then throw up my arms. You would THINK! Wouldn't you?! It's an old complaint. And frankly? I'm glad he still let's me vent about it. It HAS to get old. Yet? He let's me complain anyway.

I met the, roughly translated, "Keeper Of The Shield" at one of the Crown Prince's many ridiculous parties. I was dragged along as Protagonist's plus one. Because GOD FORBID she bring one of her suitors! That might lean towards CHOICE! Can't have THAT!

It was an overly dramatic, gaudy, slow motion trainwreck from beginning to end. I? Got very, VERY drunk. I knew I shouldn't. It was wildly inappropriate. But I was HORRIFIED. Hid near the balconies and drank to forget. Contemplating jumping.

Was likely the only one there my age NOT in ten layers of bows and fabric flowers. It was probably why Crevan decide to talk to me. That and the look of abject suffering. He informed that, sadly, the balconies were locked. But if I planned to maim my self to escape, he could probably boost me up enough to reach the upper windows.

I choked on my drink and guffawd like an idiot. It was SUPER flattering. Very pretty. And honestly? The best conversation I'd had in YEARS. He was droll. Witty. Snarky. In just as much hell as I was. We gleefully narrated the drama playing out before us in as cutting a manner as possible. Grown adults, government officals! Behaving like fucking CHILDREN.

Only after, did I learn I had been chatting with the equivalent of the minister of the Defense. THE commander of our nation's defensive forces. All of them. Knights, army, spies. All of it. And the poor man had been dragged from his desk to play party prop by a glorified teenager. I was horrified. Appalled. Fucking OUTRAGED to learn that it was just... normal!

This country was a nightmare! Otome games are HELL. Lacey, sparkly HELL!!!

But at least I had Crevan to keep me sane. He was always willing to listen. Advise when he could. We had HOPED that Protagonist would start maturing... I'd even mentioned it, but it just seemed like she back slid again and again! Trapping me. Isolating me! Ruining my chances to move ON and have a LIFE!

I don't know what went wrong! Is it me? Am I too hand holdy? It's starting to destabilize the country! Not that the royal family even seems to notice! God no, if it weren't for Crevan, the whole PLACE would have collapsed!

I flop down on my couch. Technically it's not "mine", but honestly? He's fooling no one. The man barely had ANY guest furniture before we became friends. It's totally my couch. (He even got a tea table for us, the softy.)

"Oh? A gift? How thoughtful, dear~" It's only months of friendship that keep from jumping these days. I should get that man a BELL. "Would you like some?"

I can't help but huff a laugh. He always looks to PLEASED when he gets the jump on someone. Startles them. A mischievous asshole, that one. Touchy, too. Forever cupping my cheek or earnestly taking my hand. Patting my head. Guiding me by the elbow or shoulder. He has so few friends... I am certain he is touch starved.

A thought occurs to him, as he pours two cups. A sly grin stretching across his face as he turns to offer me a cup. The wine's scent mixes, burning and delicate, with the ever present smells of incense and his favorite herbal cigarettes. Blurring the senses and relaxing. It's a pretty strong drink.

"You KNOW... it just occurs to me! Darling, if you want to avoid that pest? Why not spend the day HERE? I'd love to have you. " his voice becomes low and serious for a moment, almost catching me off gaurd, bouncing back before I can really think about it. "You could trash my shelves again! Camp out on my couches! It'll be like a little party~ Just you and me! Not a care in the world. You won't have to worry a single thing~"

He grins, glasses catching the light, toothy like the old scheming fox he is.

"I'll keep you nice and safe~"

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starsstuddedsky · 3 months

Text

Needles and Knives

red hood!jeno x doctor!reader

...

“Don’t you dare die,” you say, gripping the scalpel.

“Already did that,” Jeno mutters, eyes fluttering. “Didn’t agree with me.”

...

summary: Jeno’s plans never included you yet somehow you worm your way into his life. Being a vigilante isn’t easy - but neither is loving one.

genre: angst except i can’t stop them from making jokes so like fun angst. little bits of fluff here and there

warnings: gore, mentions of death, violence, cursing

wc: 16k

a/n: dc fans i am so sorry. my knowledge of these characters comes from wikipedia. medical workers i am so sorry. the medicine in this is NOT accurate. if ur neither maybe you can fully enjoy this fic. i hope you do :) this is as proofread as its going to get..... as always i appreciate any sort of feedback you can give. i hope this story leaves you as delusional about jeno as i am <3

Not for the first time, you open the door to your apartment to find a man covered in blood on your couch. At least he managed to keep it off the floors this time.

You can just see the back of his head from the doorway, black hair sticking up from where he slouches on the couch. The head seems to be intact, which is a bit of a relief—being a surgical intern means you’ve become numb to gore, but not fully immune to the nastiness of patching up a tear in his scalp.

“Still alive?” You ask as you kick off your shoes. Your feet ache from standing for the past eight hours.

Jeno huffs a humorless laugh. “More or less.” He twists to look at you, holding up a very sad looking plant. “Which is more than I can say for this poor thing.”

You drop your bag behind the couch and cross to stand in front of him, his head swiveling to follow you. He sets the dead succulents down on the side table. The tuft of white that hangs over his forehead bounces with the movement, stark against the rest of his black hair.

His shirt is already off, discarded to the side. At work, you’ve become just as numb to bodies as you have to gore. You haven’t quite managed that with Jeno despite seeing him shirtless on the regular since he seems to find himself covered in blood on your couch at least once a week. Still, you can’t really be blamed for being a little flustered when he looks like… Well, that. He’s got more abs than ribs and broad shoulders that give way to thick arms of pure muscle. But you can never truly ogle because he inevitably is covered in too much blood for you to ignore.

“I think I just popped the stitches,” he says, referring to the wound on his stomach that is once again bleeding. “No new shit. I think.”

“I don’t think that’s actually any better,” you say. “You know we usually tell patients to refrain from strenuous activity after they’ve been stitched up.” You retrieve the medical bag you definitely don’t keep stocked from the supply closet at Gotham City Hospital.

“They usually get pain meds, too,” Jeno grumbles, even though he’s never once complained about the actual pain of being stitched back together.

You kneel in front of him, focusing on what was once a deep gash. He showed up with it a couple days ago, spewing more blood than he physically should be able to produce. It’s already half healed, though the new stitches will still help.

“They usually aren’t getting blood on my couch either,” you say. “We can do this all day.”

Jeno doesn’t answer, staying quiet long enough for you to peek at him and make sure he hasn’t passed out from some injury you don’t know about. Instead you find his dark eyes, filled with an intensity that wasn’t there when you were children. You still find it hard to believe the kid that walked with you to school every day for three years has grown up into this—all hard lines and guarded expressions. Every time you look into those eyes you are reminded how little you know about him.

Here’s what you do know: Jeno and his family disappeared when you were twelve. Vanished in the middle of the school year, leaving the house next to yours half full of their belongings in the flight. And then you didn’t see him for another twelve years, long enough for you to graduate high school, and then college, and then med school. Long enough for you to get a prestigious internship in the surgical program at Gotham City Hospital, which had you moving three states over into an apartment you had to rent without even doing a walkthrough. It’s this apartment—the one that he sits in now—that brought Jeno back to you. Again, he’s become the boy next door, though you still can’t reconcile your memories of the little boy with this man, who never smiles. You barely recognized him. But he recognized you, and even though he didn’t seem all that interested in having friends, he found out you were a med student and just happened to need stitches. And then he needed help with a broken wrist. And then a black eye. And then, and then.

It didn’t take you long to figure out he’s Red Hood, one of the newer vigilantes of Gotham City. Or, more accurately, it didn’t take you long to figure out he’s a vigilante. It did take a while to figure out Red Hood, but his eyes eventually gave it away. One look told you he’s cold on the inside. One look told you he’s a killer.��

(Plus you’ve seen the now-iconic leather jacket hanging in his entryway.)

But though you can’t call his eyes warm now, they aren’t cold either. He regards you with a softness you’ve never seen before, or maybe just never noticed. You duck your head and turn back to the stitches.

“If you pull these again, you’ll be sewing them up yourself,” you mutter.

“Well, how else am I supposed to see you?” Jeno asks. “You only ever make time for me when I’m bleeding.” Despite his earlier complaints, he doesn’t flinch as you begin the sutures. In fact, he doesn’t show any sign that he’s even noticed.

You roll your eyes. “That's because I took an oath. Something about saving lives, and something about ‘no matter how much I want to take a hot shower and pass out for the next twelve hours, I’m legally obligated to keep my weird neighbor alive when he shows up begging for help.’”

“Who said anything about begging?”

You pause, needle in hand. “I can leave you like this, you know. You can finish it yourself if you really want to.” And you know he can. You’ve seen the scars. So many scars, which tell the story he hasn’t told you: the oldest on his forearm, perfectly straight, the result of a real surgery; the thick ones on his back that look like they were never stitched up; the cut on his arm that looks like it tore through muscle yet was carefully stitched up; the scar on the back of his neck that looks like it should have broken his neck; and the angry red scar on his left knee that he said he stitched up himself a couple months before you moved in next door.

You open your mouth to tell him he’s really on his own now, but Jeno says, “I guess I can beg.”

You pause, then say. “That’s just terrible.” You have to look away so you continue the stitches. “You can do way better than that.”

“Oh, YN, great saver of lives,” Jeno says, “please do me the great honor of stitching me up. Again.”

You hum. “Better but still room for improvement.”

“I would die without you. I would get on my knees if I could. Please, please, do not stop stitching me up.”

You grin at him and almost get a smile back, his eyes truly warm. You take it as a win—or at least a vast improvement from how he was two months ago. You finish the stitches, sitting up straight.

“I don’t suppose you’ll sit still long enough to let these actually heal, will you?” Not that you know how long that is. You noticed a while back that most of his injuries heal far faster than they should. He shouldn’t need to come to you for minor injuries yet he does, over and over again. It doesn’t make any sense, but as long as he keeps showing up on your couch, you’ll keep taking care of him.

Jeno looks at you like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if he should. Maybe this is it. He’ll finally tell you exactly how he gets his scars. How he became the Red Hood.

Instead, he says, “Nah, probably not.”

You sit back on the couch beside him, sighing. “I watched a seven hour surgery today, and you know what I learned?”

“Hm?” He turns, cheek resting on the couch. For a moment you see the boy again, cast in gold from the afternoon sunlight. You can just picture his smile, the way his whole face melts into a gooey happiness. You blink and he’s gone.

“Surgeons are dicks,” you blurt out, forgetting what you were going to say. “They never want to believe patients, and I get it, sometimes they’re annoying and think they know best, but this girl came in three months ago complaining about pain and Dr. Park called her a junkie. She came back in today and collapsed in the waiting room because he never actually examined her.

“She was having a heart attack, and if he just listened the first time, it might have been salvageable, but the second one ripped her heart to shreds. Dr. Nakamoto said he’d never seen someone survive a heart that looked like that.”

“But she did survive?” Jeno asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “For now. She needs a heart transplant, though, so it’s a waiting game.”

He nods.

“I don’t get why Dr. Park or any of the other doctors couldn’t run a simple EKG. It’s not difficult and it would have saved her life but they took one look at her and assumed she was a junkie,” you say, “and I can’t even complain about it because Dr. Lee will just say some shit like ‘medical decisions are more difficult than you think’ because that’s easier than actually checking if his surgical team gives a shit about their patients beyond death rates.”

You sigh. “The worst part is, they aren’t even bad doctors. They know the medicine, and the procedures they can do—it’s really incredible. I don’t know, sometimes I worry you can only be good at medicine or good with patients, and it’s impossible to be both.”

“You really think that?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I’m just tired.”

Jeno nods, letting silence settle between you. It’s far too comfortable to just sit with him like this, a peaceful solidarity you’ve only ever felt with him. You won’t give it meaning, won’t think about it any more than another afternoon on the couch together. That’s all this is.

“I should take a shower,” you say.

“I should get back to my place,” Jeno says. Neither of you move.

Lee Jeno doesn’t consider himself to be consumed with rage, despite what the headlines say. Yeah, the mask is intense, but he doesn’t use it to incite fear among all those who look upon his face. He just needed to keep his face hidden from Bruce (and, as much as it pains him to admit Bruce might be right about anything, he can’t deny that keeping his identity hidden is ultimately the right move).

He tosses the magazine on his desk. He’s got to stop reading the tabloids. They’re rotting his brain. But somehow they’re the only reliable source on the current crop of Joker’s little worshippers. Jeno still can’t believe it took him six months to realize the ads were calling for new recruits to the cult.

He feels the pit of anger, deep in his stomach, writhing at the thought of that man. Revenge would be too kind. Jeno will take him down, no matter what.

Maybe he’s a little consumed with rage.

But he can’t ignore the recent distractions. He’s spent the past week sitting behind the computer doing whatever investigative work he can, any excuse to avoid pulling the stitches again. You really didn’t seem like you were joking about making him do it next time, and it was a bitch to stitch up his knee on his own. The angle alone would make his ribs pretty much impossible.

Jeno sighs, tapping on his keyboard to bring the computer to life. Three monitors light up, the far left screen featuring the feeds of all the security cameras that show the apartment building that he very legally tapped into. The far right screen shows three different news feeds, local to Gotham, national news, and an international broadcast, volume off, subtitles on. The middle screen remains blank, ready for him to pull up whatever information he needs.

Hunt Joker. Get revenge.

It was simple when he first got his memories back. Those were his only goals. But then he had to train, become a better fighter, establish some sort of half-life in the city–which meant figuring out how to pay rent, which meant figuring out which billionaires he could reasonably steal from without them noticing. He admits it’s foolish to have Wayne Enterprises on the top of the list, but the bastard owes him.

Six months passed by before he finally set this place and a couple other safe houses up. And then another six passed, and Jeno is still no closer to revenge. He is supposed to be better than before, but all he’s done is steal some lunch money from people too rich to notice and take down a couple men who liked to pick on the weak. He hates that he did more in tights than he’s done becoming Red Hood.

He let his life become too simple. Day after day of hunting criminals and keeping them from hurting anyone ever again. It was freeing, no debriefings with idiots that would tell him that he should have acted differently—should have acted with more mercy. He makes his own decisions and no one is there to judge him. It’s proof he never needed anyone, even if hunting Joker is taking a little longer than it would if he had Wayne Enterprise resources.

And then you showed up.

He leans back in the chair, the joint squeaking. Jeno still doesn’t know what to make of you popping back into his life. He hasn’t been the kid you knew for so long he almost forgot about him. That kid died the day his parents yanked him out of school and moved to Gotham city. His parents worked back breaking shifts in one of the factories, while Jeno lasted a month in school before he realized he could stop going and no one would care. He learned how to survive Gotham quickly, and pretty soon he thrived. He barely even noticed when his parents died.

You bring back memories of suburbs and eating ice cream before it could melt onto his hand. He remembers this one time you were walking back home after school and you tripped and skinned your knee. There was so much blood, Jeno freaked out and thought he’d have to carry you (which he definitely couldn’t do back then), but you just stood up and gritted your teeth and walked all the way back. It didn’t surprise him at all to find out you’re a doctor now, not when you were always so hardcore.

It came in handy pretty quick, too, though he’ll at least admit to himself that his powers probably won’t let him die. It just turned into a routine for him, a nice way to end his day (though his work “day” generally ends at dawn).

But nice is for a boy that doesn’t exist, not for the justice he seeks. He can’t keep pretending to be someone he isn’t, and someone as smart as you can’t keep pretending to believe his lies. He focuses on the security feed, watching a dark sedan roll past.

He can keep avoiding you. It would be easy to clear out of here, especially when you spend most of your time at the hospital anyways. He could do it now—you’re in the middle of one of those endless shifts where you sleep in the hospital. You complain so much about being exhausted that he doubts you’d notice that he left, at least for a month. You’re not friends with him, Jeno doesn’t have friends. You just took an oath to save lives, and he forced you to save him. You wouldn’t even miss him.

But even as he contemplates it, he knows he can’t do it to you again. Even if all you are is the person that patches him up every other night, you deserve some explanation. A goodbye.

Rain begins to fall, slow at first, then a steady patter, the gentle wind strong enough to send the rain against the window.

He hears the truck engine rattling down the street before it finally comes into view on the top left camera. Strange, the bottom right camera covers the opposite side of the street but shows nothing. He keeps an eye on the truck, which rattles by, frowning at the bottom right screen.

Not just an empty street. Though the sky is dark in the background, the pavement and sidewalk are still dry. Jeno curses, getting to his feet and grabbing his belt. He loads the pistols, clipping on the extra ammo to his belt alongside the gadgets while keeping an eye on the other cameras, trying to see if he missed anything else. Two more screens play on a loop, the transition more obvious with the rain. He pulls on the mask, grateful he made it waterproof. His jacket is last, riddled with holes he never had the time to sew back together. He keeps his knife in his right hand, checking the cameras a final time—all showing empty loops—before ducking out the window onto the fire escape.

The jacket is thick enough to keep the rain from actually soaking him, but the cold seeps through. It brings an ache to his bones, an empty feeling like his body doesn’t quite belong to him. He presses a hand to his heart, the pressure bringing a new ache that reminds his body his heart still beats.

He jumps the rest of the way down from the fire escape, landing in a puddle of water that splashes beneath his boots, sending water up to his knees. He needs eyes on the situation. Ideally he’d go to the roof, but there’s too much daylight to be out in the open like that, turning him into a sitting duck. He opts for the alleyways instead, looping around the back of the building to where he can see the street without being seen. Whatever is going on, he needs to drive the action away from his place.

He scans the road, settling on the dark sedan parked in front of the corner store. It wasn’t on the security camera feed when he left, and as he watches, two tall men with dark hoods pulled over their heads slip out of the back seat. They approach the apartment building with the confidence of residents, though Jeno can tell from here they don’t. He memorized his neighbors a long time ago, but even if he hadn’t, Jeno has seen enough gangs to know bruisers when he sees them.

But who do they belong to? Who knows where Jeno lives? The people he’s been skimming from? He hasn’t been stealing enough to warrant this kind of a response. No, his life as Jeno couldn’t have attracted these men.

So it’s Red Hood? Anyone that knows about Red Hood should know better than to send two goons that could be taken out this easily. Jeno switches the knife to his left hand and pulls out a pistol, turning off the safety and cocking the hammer.

Before he can squeeze the trigger, he senses something, the rain behind him falling on something other than pavement. He drops to the ground and rolls until his back is against the wall and a dumpster protects his front. A bullet buries itself into the pavement where he had been standing a moment ago.

He moves again, vaulting over the dumpster, catching the man holding a pistol at the end of the alley by surprise. Still in the air, Jeno squeezes the trigger, hitting the man in the stomach. He lands on his feet and crosses the alley in two quick strides to kick the man as he falls. His hood falls off as he lands on his back, revealing an assuming face. Like the other men, Jeno has never seen him before.

Jeno kicks the gun out of his hand and snatches it from the pavement, slipping it into one of the extra holsters on his belt. He glances between the front of the building and the back. The two goons out front had to have heard the noise, which means he doesn’t have much time before they make it to the alley. But he’s got no idea what might be around the other corner.

He crosses back to the dumpster, keeping an eye on the man behind him as he waits. The man at the other end groans but doesn’t call out for his buddies. Rain overflows from the gutters, falling in spurts rather than droplets. Thirty seconds pass and Jeno only hears the rain. Are they waiting for him? Circling around to trap him between them?

He adjusts his grip on the knife in his left hand, holding it so that the blade is nearest to his pinky finger, his thumb wrapped around the bottom of the base. He keeps the blade facing out, stepping to the front of the apartment building. Instinct guides him to the left, giving him enough time to block the bat with his right arm, sending a shock up his shoulder.

He steps closer, letting the man—one of the goons from before—pull the bat back for another swing. Jeno swings the knife up, catching the man’s jacket but missing blood. He drops the knife and twists, turning so that the man is behind him and ducking to catch the arm still swinging the bat and flip the man over using his momentum and the bigger man’s weight. He hits the pavement hard, sending water splashing all over Jeno.

The second man catches up from the other end of the alley, firing wild shots that don’t come close to hitting him but force Jeno to step back. Jeno pulls a throwing star from his belt, sending it cutting through the air to knock the gun out of the man’s hand. With his right hand, he takes a shot at the man struggling to get off the ground, catching him in the back. He falls again and this time he doesn’t move.

The second man charges out of the alley, the throwing star gone from his hand, though it still drips blood. He has a crowbar in his other hand, like these guys want to be stereotypical goons. He moves about as well as the other man, all power and zero agility. Jeno dodges him easily, letting him take a couple swings before he shoots him in the head. The man drops a couple steps away from his buddy.

Jeno glances around but the dark sedan has left. No one else ventures out to investigate—probably because Jeno still holds a gun. He retrieves his knife and the throwing star, going back to the first man that he shot who still groans at the end of the alley. Blood mixes with the iridescent swirls of run off, red overtaking the blended greens and purples.

He kneels on his chest. Rain falls on the back of his mask“Who sent you?”

The man gurgles a laugh. “What’s it to you?”

Jeno pushes his knee a little harder. “I asked you a question.”

“Fuck you,” the man says. He tries to spit but the mix of blood and saliva ends up splattering on his own face. The man suddenly turns, moving with more strength than Jeno expected. At the same time that Jeno points his gun at the man’s head, the man pulls a gun from inside his coat, pressing it straight into Jeno’s stomach. Neither of them hesitate to pull the trigger.

Caution tape is up in the alley next to your apartment, but the rain seems to have washed away any sign of the crimes committed. It pounds into your head relentlessly, soaking you through your coat.

Though you’ve been living here less than a year, Gotham’s reputation has held true. Working in the hospital has given you even more experience with the diversity of types of people the city attracts—good, bad, and everything in between. You even worked on a guy who apparently turned out to be a Batman villain a few months ago.

Between working at the hospital and living in the city in general, you’ve gotten used to dissociating crime scenes with the sense that you’re actually in danger. Besides, you live next door to a vigilante. Who are you to say this is even a crime scene?

You don’t think anything of it until you open your apartment door and catch the unfortunately familiar scent of blood. Wind and rain crash through the open window, pulling your stumbling feet forward to find the source of the blood.

Jeno didn’t make it to the couch this time. He lies just inside the windowsill, barely sitting up with his back against the wall. One hand clutches his stomach, red blood spilling over the black shirt. His head hangs low, hair soaked by that rain that still falls on him through the open window. The red mask sits in his other hand.

For a scary moment, he doesn’t move.

You drop your bag, rushing to him. You can’t stop your voice from shaking. “Jeno?”

He groans when you shake his arm. “Ow.”

You curse as you slam the window shut and lay him out on his side, keeping his hand over the wound until you can get a better gauge on what it is. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”

He doesn’t answer, only groaning as you try to reach your medical bag while keeping pressure on the wound. You finally get it to the ground, pulling out the scissors and slicing through the shirt so that you can see the wound—a gaping hole framed by bullet fragments where his stomach should be.

“Fuck.” He needs a hospital, a surgeon that’s done more than assist on an appendectomy, but you can’t bring yourself to dial 911. It would bring too many questions on Jeno, who has clearly avoided hospitals for a reason. And he came to you. He trusts you, even if you don’t trust yourself. You have to save him, if only because you’re the only option.

You set out the equipment, spraying them with alcohol to sterilize them and get ready to cut.

“Don’t you dare die,” you say, gripping the scalpel.

“Already did that,” Jeno mutters, eyes fluttering. “Didn’t agree with me.”

You gape at him but he seems to have slipped back into unconsciousness. You force yourself to look back at the bullet hole. You can only yell at him if he’s alive, so you push away the thoughts and get to work, replacing any insecurity with arrogant belief that you know what you’re doing.

Death is nothing like falling asleep. For one thing, it fucking hurts. Jeno supposes the method might have played a factor. He used to think getting shot point blank might be better than being beaten for hours and then blown up (he now has the experience to decidedly answer that question: marginally better). But death itself. It hurts.

And resurrection? All the pain of death with none of the peaceful end. Jeno remembers crawling out of the ground, forcing his muscles to work even though his body still suffered from the wounds that killed him.

But it was the pain that forced him to keep moving, the pain that still fuels him now, a never ending ache deep inside that no time will heal.

Joker may have held the bat, but Batman didn’t stop him. He never stopped him. Jeno remembers the look on his face, the shadowed glimpse of it that he could see. He remembers dying, hearing the Joker cackle, and Batman calling out to him—calling him Robin.

He remembers the pain. Pain he can live with. Pain makes him who he is. He can’t let go of the pain, not when it is all that he is.

But the pain ebbs away when you’re around. And for the life of him he can’t convince himself that it’s a bad thing.

You manage to get Jeno into your bed after you finish patching him up—which was six grueling hours of pulling bullet fragments from the hole and praying he didn’t bleed out. No one should have been able to survive the amount of blood that seeped out of him but by some miracle (though maybe it’s a curse), his heart keeps pumping.

He woke up just long enough to let you sling an arm under his shoulders and half carry him into the bed. You spent the entire time praying he wouldn’t pull apart the stitches and bleed out for real, but it seems like luck was finally on your side.

You should get up. You should clean up the blood, or at least wash it from your hands. You can only find the energy to drag your armchair next to the bed and sit beside him. His chest rises and falls with even breaths.

Still alive, for now.

He mumbles again, voice too low to make out any words. His eyes flutter but remain closed. Does a man like him dream?

“What happened to you?” Your voice cracks. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t show any sign that he can hear you. “You disappear for weeks at a time. You rarely show up when you aren’t bleeding. But you never talk about it, and you don’t smile anymore. I don’t think I know you anymore. I don’t know if I ever did.”

You managed to hold back your tears, push all the emotions away to keep him alive but they come flooding back now. Tears spill over as you watch him breathe.

“Your heart keeps beating but are you really alive?” You ask.

He doesn’t answer.

You moved to Gotham in August. The heat was so bad that crime rates were down–making it miserable to carry box after box up two flights of stairs since the building didn't have an elevator. You’d only been here twice before, both times on school trips, never on your own.

But your friends all live back in your college town, and your parents were busy dealing with a lawsuit against your neighbor for the mailbox war, so you were stuck moving on your own—which wasn’t all that terrible since the apartment came half furnished. Still, you had to figure out a way to get a mattress up the stairs, along with a car full of clothes and all the rest of your belongings. Between the heat and the prospect of stairs, you weren’t exactly stoked about living in the city.

Two trips had you wheezing for air, leaning outside your door to catch your breath. The door to the apartment next to yours swung open. You hoped someone wasn’t already complaining about the noise you were making. Instead a tall, broad shouldered man stepped out, wearing a simple black t-shirt and cargo pants.

He turned around, revealing cold eyes and a face that looked like it spent most of its time frowning. But behind it all something familiar called to you, buried deep behind the bitter front. You remembered a boy who cried because he stubbed his toes, a boy who would fight you to make a wish on every dandelion that lined the sidewalk on the walk home.

He froze, a tiny frown in his brow. “YN?”

“Jeno?”

You set down the tote, stepping around it to get a better look at him. Your eyes jumped between his, trying to decipher the hardness behind them. Though it had been over ten years, you still thought of the sweet boy who lived next door often, always wondering what happened to him.

It seemed that the years had not been kind to him. Though he grew taller and filled out considerably, he had an emptiness behind his eyes, the kind that comes from too much hurt. He looked like it had been years since he last smiled. He barely seemed to react to you, guarding every expression as if you could be some sort of threat.

“You’re taller,” you finally said.

“It has been a while,” he said.

“I think ten years qualifies as more than a while,” you said.

He just nodded. “You’ve moved here?”

“Just today,” you said, gesturing to the boxes.

“You’re on your own?”

You shrugged. “My parents are bringing a load later in the week, so it’s really not that much stuff.” You paused but Jeno didn’t run away, so you figured it was safe to ask, “How long have you been living here?”

“In Gotham since I left.” He pauses, eyes flicking between yours. For a moment you think he’ll tell you everything. Then he says, “Here specifically, only about six months.”

You should have asked. Maybe it would have made things simpler, maybe you wouldn’t be dancing between fantasy and reality, balancing a tedious act of ignorance.

Instead you asked him if he’d help you move your mattress and what the pizza delivery situation was like.

Jeno wakes up sometime in the middle of the night. You snap awake from your dozing as he shifts.

“Sit still,” you say. “I don’t think I can put you back together if you fall apart this time.”

Jeno blinks. Even in the darkness you can see eyes are still glazed over in confusion.

“You were shot,” you explain. “Point blank from the looks of it.”

“Ah,” he says. His soft voice carries in the quiet hours of the night. “That’s what hurts.”

“Never make me do that again.” Your voice shakes despite your best attempts to steady it. The tears from earlier try to weasel their way back out of your eyes. “You should have died.”

He reaches out, except he really must be feeling weak because his hand barely makes it to the edge of the bed before it hangs limp.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles. “Didn’t want to get shot.”

You blink back the tears as anger courses its way through you. “I don’t think anybody gets shot on purpose,” you snap.

He tries to snort but it ends up sounding like a short exhale through his nose. “Fair enough.”

“I’m not a good enough doctor for all of this,” you say. “This isn’t a hospital. I don’t have sterile equipment, or a blood bank, or an extra set of hands, I mean, if anything worse happens, you could be in real danger and there’s nothing I could do about it, and I can’t—” You pause, taking a deep breath. “I don’t like when I have to admit I can’t do something, but with you, it feels like that’s all I can do.”

“You saved my life,” he says. “It doesn’t really feel like you couldn’t do it.”

“It was a pretty fucking close call,” you say. “Gunshot wounds aren’t particularly easy, and you had to go and get shot in the stomach.”

He shifts, hand running over his torso beneath the blanket. “I didn't pop the stitches, though,” he says. “I gotta get some points for that.”

You glare at him, though he probably can’t see it in the darkness. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m trying to be serious.”

“So am I,” he says, “it was not easy. I sat still for two full days. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve done that?”

Ask. Get a real answer from him. Stop shying away from who he really is. You have to talk about it.

“Well, get used to it,” you say. “You’re staying in this bed. I don’t care if I have to tie you down.”

Jeno actually smiles. It’s been far too long since you’ve seen that smile, softening the hard lines and curling his face into something sweet. “I could be into that,” he jokes.

And maybe it’s because there are blood stains on your shirt that will never come out and you haven’t slept in about thirty hours and you came far too close to losing the only person you really care about, but you laugh. “Just shut up and get some rest.”

“You should rest too,” Jeno says. “You look terrible.”

“Yeah, well it’s your fault,” you say.

He pauses then says, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well, don’t apologize.” You sniffle. “It’s harder to be mad at you.”

He smiles again, and you can’t even pretend to be mad at him anymore. It’s too hard on your heart, which has been through far too much for any more lies. You smile back at him.

After a day, Jeno can walk around on his own. You called out sick from work, despite his insistence that he’d be fine on his own. He had to bribe you to convince you to sleep on the couch, since you would barely let him go to the bathroom, let alone move back to his own room. He won’t complain too much, though. He forgot how nice it is to wake up to someone.

He sways on his feet, holding a hand up to stop you from helping him. He forces even breaths, determined to make it to the couch without any help.

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat for the thousandth time.

“I told you I’m fine,” he grunts. Two more steps and he’s there. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the way his entire lower half screams at him. One more step.

He collapses onto the couch more than anything, but he makes it. He lets himself slouch a little, head resting against the back of the couch. How many times has he sat here like this? So many hours spent waiting for you, watching the sun inch across the room. But most of the time it’s been like this—you at the opposite end, always a cushion separating him from you.

The fake wooden floor is stained deep red, pooled around where he laid while you worked on him. He wonders what would have happened if you weren’t there. When he first came back he thought he was invincible, and his healing has saved him from a lot–but he’s never truly put it to the test. Could he have survived without you?

His mask still sits where he pulled it off underneath the windowsill. He peeks at you from the corner of his eyes, your head turned towards it. Say something.

You stare at the mask, clearing your throat. “I hope you didn’t pay too much for that shitty costume,” you say. “You don’t even have armor.”

“YN,” Jeno says but you refuse to look at him.

“Seriously, walking around dressed like a vigilante is going to get you killed.”

“YN. You know it’s not a costume.”

“What, you made it yourself? That’s even worse, I mean, it’s one thing to dress up like these guys but trying to be one of them, that’s just plain stupid. I can’t believe—”

Jeno shifts to the center cushion and wraps his fingers gently around your wrist, forcing you to look at him. “I am one of them.”

He lets go of your wrist and watches you process the words, trying to figure out any other meaning. Your eyes dart between his, panicked and desperate. For whatever reason, you don’t want to admit it, and it’s been fine. But Jeno is tired of feeling like he’s lying to you.

“I know,” you finally say, sighing and looking away again. He hates that it feels like he’s let you down. But he won’t apologize for who he is.

“Why didn’t you ever ask about what happened after I left?” He asks.

You’re quiet for a long moment. “I think I was afraid. It didn’t take long to realize what you were—or at least that you were wrapped up in something twisted—and then it was obvious whatever happened to you here wasn’t good, and I wasn’t sure if I should know that.”

Jeno nods, gaze traveling to the window. He can see some scattered rooftops, mostly shorter residential buildings of the area. Farther in the distance, skyscrapers stick out. He’s spent more years in this city than not, grown to love it like family. But unlike family, the city doesn’t love him back. It’s not capable of it. No matter how much of his blood lines the streets, Jeno will only ever be one of millions that call the city home.

Yes, what happened to him here wasn’t good. But it wasn’t all bad, and it’s not over yet. He won’t give up on the city just because of the past.

And there’s you now. He has these moments where his heart beats so hard it feels like his chest will burst in the good way. He no longer ceases to exist when he isn’t fighting. Jeno worms his way back into reality, not separate from Red Hood, but no longer overshadowed by him.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think these past couple weeks,” Jeno says. “Time to figure out what I want. For the longest time, it was revenge. It didn’t matter how I got it, how many people had to die. I would avenge myself no matter what.

“And then you came into my life, and I would catch myself wondering what would have happened if I could have stayed back then, how different my life would be. I even wondered what would happen if I took off the mask, permanently.

“But this is all I know how to be, and, I think even when I get my revenge, I won’t be able to leave this life behind.” He pauses, tilting his head away from the window and waiting until you meet his eyes. “I don’t want to die again. I don't want to live this miserable half life where all I think about is getting back at the people who wronged me. I want to live, and when I’m with you, I feel alive.”

You stare at him, eyes adorably wide. Maybe he's been a little too good at keeping his feelings hidden. It’s alright. He can wait for you to work it all out. It’s not like he’s got anywhere to be.

“I like being with you,” he says. “I like who I am when I’m around you, and I like you. I mean, you’re stubborn and you always have to have the last word.” He smiles at your bewildered eyes. “But you care so much, not just about me, or your patients, but about everyone, and everything.

“Like your little houseplants that keep dying no matter what you do. I mean, it’s hilarious that you can save my life but you can’t keep a succulent alive. Or the way you talk about the street cats, and even the rats. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had sympathy for the cockroaches.” He finally manages to cut the rambling off. For a long moment you’re too quiet, and he begins to feel the inklings of fear worming its way up his stomach.

“I don’t know about that,” you finally say, voice soft. “I think they might be radioactive here.”

He waits but you don’t say anything else. He knows he shouldn’t ask, that he already has his answer. Still, he can’t help it. “That’s all you have to say?”

Your eyes slide to the floor. “I… I don’t know.”

“You feel something,” he says, reaching a tentative hand out to rest on top of yours. You freeze beneath him, eyes darting between his hand and his eyes like you can’t decide which you’re scared of more.

“Tell me I’m not crazy,” he pleads. “Tell me you feel at least a fraction of the way I do.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “I do care about you,” you begin slowly, “I care about you too much. You have this life, and I know you need it, and I want you to have everything that you want, I just don’t think I can be a part of it when it inevitably destroys you.”

He squeezes your hand. “It won’t destroy me,” he says, “I won’t let it.”

“You died.” Your voice shakes. “I don’t think I could handle that.”

“I won’t let that happen again!” Jeno says. “Things are different now, I’m not the same person I was when I died.”

He won’t die again. He’s sure of it, not just because he’s learned from his mistakes but because he has something else to live for now. He has more than the family that pushed him to be more than he could, he has his own life, goals outside of revenge. But grounding it all is you, the first person he thinks of, always. He won’t die when it would hurt you this much.

“Even if you could promise that, it’s not enough.” You look away from him. “I don’t want to die either, and it seems like that’s inevitable around people like you. The loved ones always die first.”

He opens his mouth to say he would never let that happen but the words die in his throat. He can’t guarantee that, and one look at you proves even if he could it wouldn’t matter. It’s not enough.

“I think I love you,” he whispers.

You smile sadly. “I think I love you too. I wish it was that simple.”

He sighs, resting his head against the couch cushion. “I don’t suppose supreme embarrassment is a good enough reason to let me go back to my own apartment, is it?”

He watches you purse your lips out of the corner of his eye. He pretends not to see the tears threatening to spill over.

“I have to go back to work,” you say, voice steady. “I suppose sleeping in your own bed won’t be a problem.” You turn stern. “As long as you swear you’ll actually rest.”

Jeno winces. “I don’t think I can do anything else.”

“And yet you will,” you say. Jeno knows it’s worthless to argue, especially when he really can’t promise he won’t do anything. He goes where he’s needed.

But until then, he’s perfectly happy to wallow in the embarrassment of getting shot and shot down.

(please enjoy a brief interlude until i figure out how to fix thing shitshow)

The city always smells cleaner after a good storm. You enjoy walking to work, though the piercing wail of sirens makes it harder to appreciate the way the city almost smells like spring. Green has returned, sprouts of grass and early flowers blooming. You can walk and breathe and pretend like your heart isn’t dragging along behind you.

Jeno haunts you. You dared to check on him before leaving and found he has reverted back to the one word answers and solemn expressions, a shadow of a person. He barely even looks at you, and you can’t even blame him. You’ve done more than break his heart; you can bear the consequences of doing so.

Because it doesn’t really matter. He will keep getting hurt and you will keep patching him up. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.

Even if you can’t stop dreaming about him.

An ambulance wails past, turning into the hospital. You try your best to push the Jeno thoughts away, preparing yourself for the inevitably grueling day. You push open the doors, the security guards now familiar. You smile at them, the movement of the muscles feeling foreign, and take the elevators to the fourth floor, heading to the locker room for the surgical interns.

You’ve barely changed into your scrubs when Jaemin appears.

“Wow,” he says, biting into an apple. “You look terrible.”

You glare at him. “You look worse. How long have you been here?”

He shrugs. “I got a whole six hours of sleep in an on-call room, so I’m actually doing great. You, on the other hand, look like you spent the two days fighting guys who wear pinstripe suits and call their henchmen goons.” He eyes you for a moment. “And you lost.”

“That’s pretty much how I feel,” you say. “Though I still think you act like the criminals in this city are cartoon villains.”

“The aquarium was attacked by a crocodile-man last week and the guy that stopped him cosplays as a bat,” Jaemin says. “I don’t know how you take any of this seriously.”

It helps when you have a melodramatic version of the bat guy bleeding out on your couch every other week, you think.

“I don’t know, being afraid for my life helps,” you say.

“Oh the crocodile guy just wanted to free his people,” Jaemin waves his hand. “He wasn’t going to hurt anyone.”

“His name is Killer Croc.”

“Semantics,” Jaemin says. “But seriously, you’re okay? Nothing happened?”

You shrug. “I just haven’t gotten enough sleep, I’ll be fine. Why are you acting so weird?”

“You haven’t heard?” Jaemin asks. “Dr. Moon and Dr. Jung were both attacked three days ago. Dr. Jung is in the ICU and Dr. Moon is still missing.”

“What happened?”

“Police don’t really know yet,” Jaemin says, “but it’s connected. These big guys in suits with these weird black hoods were seen around both of their places before the attacks. They found Jaehyun in his apartment, beaten pretty bad, he’s been in a coma ever since.”

“Wow,” you say. You’ve worked with both of them quite a bit. You spent a week learning about skin grafts with Dr. Moon, a star plastic surgeon. Jaehyun gave you an extra shower curtain when you mentioned you tore yours when a cockroach crawled up your shower brain while you were in it. They’re both good, nice people, not the type to get involved in trouble—definitely not trouble like this.

“Is Jaehyun going to be okay?”

Jaemin purses his lips and shrugs. “Still not sure. He had some pretty serious injuries, most of which were patched up but apparently he had some bad head trauma. They called in the Lee Taemin from Central.”

“You didn’t shit your pants meeting your hero?”

“YN,” Jaemin says sharply, “a good friend of mine was in the hospital, and the best neurosurgeon in the country, the guy I will one day convince to be my mentor, was called in to save his life. Of course I was shitting my pants.”

“Did you get to meet him?”

“I thought it would be weird to introduce myself to him, but I did happen to visit Jaehyun while he stopped by, and happened to mention I wanted to pursue neuro when he asked.”

“And?”

“And he said it was a smart decision. Or said only the smartest thrive. He’s very confusing.”

“So basically you’re obsessed?”

“Yep.”

You lean against the metal lockers, letting the cold press against the back of your neck. You think about Jaehyun, hooked up to machines with a whole team of doctors, including a star doctor, all working to keep him alive. How long will it be before that’s Jeno, except no machines, no team, just you? How long before you won’t be enough?

Jeno has discovered all there is to know about his ceiling. There’s eleven cracks, tiny fissures in the paint that’s at least ten years old. The color is off white, not cream, though in the corner above the door, they did a touch up with a paint that has slightly more blue. He can tell what time it is from the angle of the light coming through the window.

He’s beginning to run out of things to learn.

He misses you, so much. He wonders what your ceiling looks like, if it’s got its own little galaxy of cracks. He misses sitting on your couch, knowing that he’d see you soon.

He can’t remember the last time he got out of bed, and he can’t even blame it on the gunshot wound. He's not fully recovered, but he doesn’t need to lay in bed all day. He should be up and moving, keeping himself in shape, or at least hunting down the guys who attacked him. All he managed to do was set up an alert with the license plate of the car he saw, feeding it through all the security cameras he could get access to.

But otherwise he lays in bed and stares at the ceiling.

Getting this dejected over a rejection makes him feel like a teenager—not that he ever went through this during his teenage years. He can put on the mask and be Red Hood, but Jeno? He doesn’t know how to be Jeno alone, he doesn’t want to learn. He had his parents when he was younger, then Bruce, and Dick, and the family that began to grow among them. Despite all he used to whine, he’s never truly been alone.

Will he be alone now? Will Jeno even exist without the people around him to keep him going? Or will he truly become Red Hood, letting the man behind the mask cease to exist.

He knows what Bruce would say. The mask can’t exist without the man. But Bruce is the reason he put a mask on in the first place. He can philosophize all day long, it’s his fault Jeno ever died. He doesn’t have to listen to the man’s words.

Jeno rests his hand over the wound. He hardly feels the ridge where the stitches are. He wonders how the wound will scar.

It doesn’t make any sense but even though his body heals unnaturally fast, the scars remain. It’s like his body remembers dying and wants to remind him—even though he came back once and he’s stronger than ever before—he’s still human.

And there’s nothing more human than a broken heart. He should be grateful it’s only metaphorical.

Jeno sighs. The worst part is he knows how dramatic he’s being. But it’s only been 28 hours. He can allow himself a little bit of time for the dramatics. Bruce takes like a month off when a civilian dies under his watch.

He pulls his blanket closer, wondering if it’s too far to put on some music—something loud, maybe.

Instead he hears a ding, a notification from his computer. He sits up a little too fast, feeling a tug on his stitches, though they don’t fall apart.

He can’t spare too much thought to them, not when his screen lights up with feed from a security camera, zoomed in to show the license plate of a dark sedan, the numbers he remembers. It rolls past, camera shifting down the block as Jeno drops into his chair, typing rapidly until the screen zooms out. The larger screen reveals the sedan is one of many, traveling in a line together.

He sets up the second monitor to plot their movements across the city, a bright red line tracing the few turns they take.

The windows of each car are tinted, concealing those within. But, with his previous encounter, it’s safe to assume there’s plenty of hired muscle in the six cars. It could be anywhere between fifteen and thirty men, headed this way.

He watches them draw closer, tapping his finger on the desk. They caught him by surprise last time. On a good day, he wouldn’t sweat odds this bad, but it’s not a good day. He can still feel his insides healing.

It’ll be a tough fight, but he’s planned for this. He’ll rig the place, take down as many as he can and get to one of the other safe houses.

The Jeno that lived here will disappear. And it will be for the best.

He changes into his suit, moving as fast as he can without hurting himself. He stuffs as many weapons as he can into his pockets, his belt weighing extra heavy around his waist.

Then he gets to work on the bomb. A smaller explosive, more of a popper than a true bomb, but enough to take out his computer and all of the evidence he’s left behind here.

He wonders if the police will come. Will they question you? Surely someone has noticed he spends a lot of time with you. You’d never give him up, but would you defend him? Would you go on television, tell the world Red Hood is just a man? You’d look good on television.

You wouldn’t though. You wouldn’t say a word, not to the cops, not to anyone.

He’s really going to miss you.

He checks the map. Still five blocks away. Except… The cameras first picked up the sedans in the upper east part of the city, by the Sprang River. They mostly traveled west from there, they’re still north of him.

They stop at a light, just two blocks away. He watches, waiting for them to turn.

The sedans roll straight ahead, passing the apartment. He frowns, staring at the screen but the cars keep going, one block, two, and then they pull to a stop.

Jeno curses, grabbing the keys to his bike. It was never about him.

The sun peeks through the windows of the hospital, the only sign time passes. The setting sun casts the parking lot in gold, making even the ugliest cars shine. You pause to peek outside, for once not in a rush. You have to scrub in with Dr. Qian in twenty minutes, but until then, you have a rare moment of freedom.

Because you’re standing at the window, you see the exact moment the cars pull up. They form a line, like a row of beetles, stopping in front of the entrance, blocking the parked cars. As soon as they roll to a stop, the doors fly open, men streaming out all wearing black hoods. They line up in front of the car closest to the entrance, whose doors had remained closed since stopping. The driver exits first, another hooded man, though considerably smaller than the rest. He opens the door to the backseat, head bowed low.

The man in the backseat takes his time. Pale hands peek out of the carefully fitted suit, the only open skin you can see. He steps out from the car and the line of men bend into sharp bows. He closes the door and you finally get a full look at him: from the suit to his shoes, he wears all black, but most striking is the black mask that covers his face. It melts into his suit, keeping every inch of his skin hidden save for his hands.

He must say something, because the men straighten and vanish from your view, streaming into the hospital.

Is it too late to alert security? There has to be twenty men, and with how Jaehyun looks, you doubt they’ll be able to hold them off. 911, then? It’ll take the cops forever to respond, and it’s too late. They’re already here.

You could call him. He’d come.

Despite all your instincts screaming at you to hide, you turn around. The lobby is packed with the final rush of visitors, and 9-to-5 staff getting ready to leave for the day. It’ll be safer to pack in with them than be caught on your own, and maybe you can warn security before mass panic breaks out. You rush down the hall to the large open space in the front of the hospital.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, but everything feels too normal. A father holds his child’s hand as they walk to the bathroom. A nurse whispers furiously into her phone. An elderly couple hold hands, clipboards to the side of them. You scan the small crowd, looking for a security guard.

Instead you find a brute of a man, black hood tipping back as he raises a gun above his head and fires it a couple times.

“Everybody quiet!” He growls. “On the ground!”

You drop into a squat, hands automatically coming above your head as screams echo. Someone yanks on your coat, knocking you off balance. Your heart nearly stops but it’s just Jaemin pulling you to sit beside him with a wall at your back instead of the open hallway.

“Thank you,” you whisper. You slide into a seated position, back against the wall. Jaemin crouches next to you, keeping one hand on the wheelchair of the patient he must have been with before all of this. You peek at him and recognize him as Yoon Jeonghan, the guy that got hit by a truck while biking. He looks like he’s trying to decide if he’s included in the “on the ground” order.

The goons pick on a couple people, shoving them to the ground.

“Hands above your heads!” One of them orders, pointing his gun at random. You raise your hands again, Jaemin following more reluctantly.

Ten minutes pass as goons escort people from all over the hospital, the lobby quickly becoming packed. Half the patients are in wheelchairs, clinging to IV drips while the doctors and nurses glare at the men. Finally, it seems they have collected everybody, and a quiet tension falls over the room.

Then the man in the black mask strolls in.

“What’s the saying?” He asks, muffled voice carrying in the open space. “If you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.” He clasps his hands behind his back, strolling along, peeking at the cowering hostages.

“He doesn’t have a pinstripe suit,” Jaemin whispers.

“I don’t even think he’ll call the henchmen goons,” you whisper back.

Jaemin shakes his head. He’d probably tsk if he didn’t think it would get you both killed.

“I bet they’ll still beat us up,” you whisper.

“If you don’t shut up, they definitely will,” Jeonghan mutters.

Jaemin rolls his eyes and makes a face at you. You bite back a smile. You’ve tempted fate enough.

“The name you all will know me by is Black Mask,” he announces.

This time you can’t help the smile, turning away from Jaemin to prevent yourself from laughing out loud. Even Jeonghan mutters, “Very creative.”

“I have a list, you see,” Black Mask continues, “people that owe me. They know what they’ve done. I promise if your name is not on that list and you don’t make a fuss, no harm will come to you. I’m a reasonable man.”

Reasonable men don’t play dress up and shoot up hospitals, but you figure he’s due for a dramatic speech. At least he’s explaining why he’s here.

Black Mask pauses in front of one of the nurses—Shotaro, a good nurse who you’ve worked with several times. He grabs him by the shoulder, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“This one,” Black Mask announces, waving at his goons to pick Shotaro up. They half drag him away as Black Mask continues to make his way through the crowd.

“This is more efficient, you know,” he says. “I’ve tried other methods, but there were some complications. So, I thought to myself, if you’re all in one place, why not just go to the source?” He points at another nurse, Sehun, but Dr. Bae steps in front of him. Black Mask pauses, tilting his head to peer at her before gesturing to the goons to drag them both away. Dr. Bae puts up a fight, trying to twist out of their grip, but one of the men tosses her over his shoulder and carries her out. Sehun follows, stumbling behind.

Dr. Moon, Jaehyun, Shotaro, Sehun, and Dr. Bae, though it seems like she wasn’t originally a target. All good, hard workers, not the type to make mistakes, definitely not collectively. You watch as Black Mask creeps closer and closer.

You’ve worked with all of them. Only a few months ago, a case of a man with terrible burns on his face. Your blood runs cold as Black Mask stops in front of you. You stand up, a heartbeat before he points.

“You,” Black Mask says, venom seeping into his voice. “You owe me.”

“I remember you,” you say, keeping your voice soft.

“You remember what you did to me,” he says.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, “and neither did anyone else in this hospital.”

He raises a hand and smacks you, and before you can react, two of his men grab your arms, dragging you away whether your feet move or not. You try to think of something witty or smart, but all you can think is how much you don’t want to die.

They take you to the stairs, carrying you up two flights of stairs before depositing you in an empty patient room. One of the men stays with you, guarding the door, while the other vanishes.

You glare at the man, face stinging. Jeno would tell you not to provoke a psychopath.

But Jeno’s not here. You shouldn’t want him to be, because even if he could be here, he would only get himself hurt, and you won’t be responsible for causing him any more pain.

He said he loved you, even after all he’s been through. He wasn’t afraid.

You don’t want Jeno here, not to save the day. But it’d be nice to apologize to him. And if there was only one person you could say goodbye to before you died, you’d want it to be Jeno.

Maybe you do want Jeno to save the day. Just so you can apologize. Just so you can tell him you were wrong. Just so you can finally admit the truth.

Jeno’s bike screeches to a stop a block away from the hospital. He parks it in an alley, covering it with a tarp and trusting that the locks will prevent anyone from stealing it. He hopes he’s swiped it from the impound lot enough times for the police to leave it alone too.

He climbs to the roof of the nearest building, moving painfully slow, between the pull of the stitches and the exhaustion of healing such a large wound. But from here he can see the line of black cars in front of the hospital, the setting sun reflecting on the metal, making it difficult to see. He switches to infrared, the mask buzzing a couple times before picking up on the mass of bodies in the main lobby. Majority of the building is far too empty for a place of medicine.

From his memory of studying the schematics on an off day, he remembers the west facing wing houses the operating rooms, which explains why the infrared picks up a couple small masses. But with the rest of the hospital empty, the four rooms on the third floor stand out. Each holds two bodies, one significantly larger than the other.

That’s where he’ll start.

A better fighter would get a better gauge of the situation. Maybe spend more time determining which are civilians and which are hostiles, or figure out exactly where they’re holding people. But Jeno has always worked best flying by the seat of his pants. He still doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but these must be the hostages important enough to separate from the main group.

It would be safest if you were on the first floor, just one of many in the crowd, but the selfish part of Jeno wants you to be where he can see you. Where he can save you.

He can’t waste any more time. He shoots the grappling gun, pulling on it to build momentum even faster and angle himself directly at the window. It shatters beneath his feet, and he tucks into a tight ball, rolling once before springing onto his feet. He ducks as the big man swings a crowbar at him, wincing at the sharp pain near his stomach. He takes a quick strike with his knife, slashing up across the stomach first, then across the throat, finally driving the knife into the man’s heart. He crumples to the ground and doesn’t move.

Jeno pulls the blade out, wiping the blood from the knife on his pants and sheathing it. He turns around to find a figure in a white lab coat, cowering in the corner of the room, hands over their head, glass shards scattered around them.

He crouches down in front of you, brushing the glass off your shoulder. You peek up at him, eyes softening as you recognize him even though you’ve never seen him in the mask before. There’s a small cut on your cheek. His thumb moves on its own, swiping at the blood and doing nothing but spread more on your face.

“Are you okay?” Jeno asks. The modulator of the mask twists his voice into an unrecognizable beast. It’s perfect for protecting his identity and intimidating low lives, not so great for comforting the scared victims. Maybe he should tweak that part of the suit, make it adjustable. But you don’t flinch, standing up and shaking the rest of the glass off.

“I’m fine,” you say. “How did you get here so fast?”

“These are the same guys that shot me,” Jeno says. “I had a tracker out on the car, which led me here.”

“Sionis,” you say. Jeno frowns. He knows that name.

“Roman Sionis, that’s the guy doing all of this,” you explain. “He was a patient three months ago, really bad damage to his face. He’s targeting the team responsible for his care, doctors, nurses, everyone he blames for what happened to his face.”

“Which includes you,” Jeno says.

You nod, eyes tight. “Which means they weren’t after you when you got shot.”

“Hey,” Jeno says. “I’m fine. You patched me up, and I’ve got the super healing, so if either of us was going to get shot, I’d rather it be me. It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” you say, though you don’t sound like you believe it. “Should you really be jumping through windows, though?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t pull the stitches. I swear.”

You purse your lips but let it go. He wishes you would just say what you’re thinking but you look away from him, glancing at the door.

“They took three more of us up here, and they probably know you’re here by now.”

Jeno nods. Resolve the situation, then talk.

“I’m going to clear out the rooms one at a time,” he says, “then work my way downstairs.” He unholsters a gun, handing it to you. You raise an eyebrow.

“I’ve never used one of these.” You reluctantly take the gun out of his hands.

“Point and squeeze the trigger,” he says. “It’s semi-automatic, you don’t have to do anything to reload. If they’re close enough you won’t even have to aim.” He forms your hands around the gun, teasing your fingers into the right position and turning off the safety. He lets his hands linger, waiting for your eyes to meet his, though he remembers a moment later that the mask conceals them.

“Get the rest of the hostages and stay together,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” He forces himself to let go of your hands but doesn’t step away yet.

He should say something else. Maybe apologize for what he said. Take it back. But he meant every word of it, even if you did too. He’s said all he can, and if that’s still not enough then at least you’re still alive.

“Go save the day,” you finally say. “Then… I’ll see you after.”

He nods, turning away and striding to the door, stepping over the body. “Wait for me to clear the rest of them, then get the hostages out of here.”

He pulls the door closed behind him, trusting that you will be fine on your own. He doesn’t have time to worry, ducking to dodge the knife that flies toward him. He doesn’t let the man get a second chance, sprinting as fast as he can and burying his knife in the man’s heart. He’s turning a second later, using the man’s body as a shield against the second man in the hall, who doesn’t hesitate to fire a couple shots. Jeno throws the first man’s body on him, his knife following quickly after, burying itself in the man’s forehead.

Like always, his pains melt away when he’s fighting. He barely feels the tug of the stitches, or the exhaustion he felt earlier. This body was made to kill, and that’s what he’ll do.

He ducks into the room next to yours, knocking the guard to the floor and stabbing him. The hostage, a woman wearing a white lab coat, stands.

“Wait here,” he says. “I’ll clear the rest of this hall. Don’t go outside unless you want to get shot.”

She nods slowly.

Jeno clears the other two rooms similarly, quick and far too easy. He hesitates at the stairwell. He should clear the rest of the civilians if he wants to resolve things quickly, but it feels wrong to leave these hostages to you—you were a hostage yourself only a few minutes ago. But it’s irrational. He knows you’re capable of protecting yourself, and smart enough not to get yourself killed. He has to trust you and do his job. You were the one that told him to save the day.

He doesn’t bother with the stairs, jumping in the open space between the flights and using his grappling hook to control his fall. If he wasn’t hurt, he’d just drop the three stories, but it’s only a little slower this way. He retracts the hook with a button and sticks it back into his belt, pulling out his knives.

He makes it halfway down the hall before he sees the first figure, raising his knife on instinct. He drops it a moment later, picking out the scrubs from here. The nurse sprints past him, barely glancing at him. More and more people follow, until a stream of people flood the hall. They part around him, allowing Jeno to make it to the lobby as it clears. Only a few people remain, mostly patients that struggle to move on their own and the people that stayed behind to protect them.

Where is Sionis? Where are all of his men? Even in the flood of people, they would have stood out. Did they hear the commotion upstairs and run? One of the men fired his gun a couple times, maybe they went to investigate.

No, they wouldn’t have let the hostages go if that were the case. He curses himself for not trusting his instincts, turning around to get back to the stairs, but the hallway is still blocked by all the people clamoring to leave.

It takes painfully long to get to a stairwell, but he finally makes it. That’s when he hears the gunshot—different from the pops before, no this is a sound he recognizes. This is his gun.

You wait until the hallway is quiet, peeking out the window for good measure. Nothing moves, the bodies on the floor limp. Blood pools around the three, puddles bright against the white tiles. You wait for another heart beat, holding your breath but the only movement comes from the blood, trickling down the hall.

The door creaks open beneath your fingers. It feels like your footsteps echo as you hurry to the closest door. You make it to the first door, hand on the doorknob when you hear it—footsteps echoing from the stairwell, the opposite side of where Jeno left. They thunder up the stairs, at least ten men.

You open the door a crack, whispering a sharp, “Stay hidden!”

You don’t give whoever is behind the door a chance to argue, closing the door and sprinting to the stairwell as fast as you can. You hear a shout just as you cross into the stairwell, sprinting forward. You take one step toward the descending flight but see dark heads bobbing in the space between the stairs. You curse, turning and heading up.

Shit, shit, shit. You can only go up. The men from the other end of the hall burst into the stairwell, your heart sending another shot of adrenaline through your body and pushing you to take steps three at a time. Even as you feel your body working harder than ever before, you know it won’t last. You have to find somewhere to hide.

You burst onto the fifth floor, cringing as the door slams against the wall. No chance they missed that.

You run as far as you dare, ducking into a storage closet and curling into a ball in the farthest corner, hiding behind a wall of bedpans. You shove a hand over your mouth, trying to cover your heaving breaths. Bile rises in your throat as the sprinting catches up to you but you swallow hard, closing your eyes and praying.

Jeno’s gun rests in your other hand. The cold metal helps calm you down, your breathing evening out as you hear a door bang open. A moment later then there’s another bang. You hear footsteps in the hall, then another. They must be checking room by room.

You’re about halfway down the hall, maybe five rooms in. You don’t have much time.

You raise the gun, letting go of your mouth to hold it with both hands. Your finger drops to the trigger. Point and squeeze, Jeno said. You can do that. You aim it at the door, bracing your arm on your knees to keep them from shaking.

You flinch at the next bang, feeling the wall shake. They’re in the room right next to you. They trash the room, sending vibrations through the floor, until it suddenly stops.

You’ll have to move fast, you can’t give them any chance.

Light cascades around as the door is thrown open. You squeeze the trigger, keeping the gun aimed at the large mass in front of you. There’s a loud bang and the gun slams your shoulder back but the man stumbles backward. You squeeze the trigger again and this time he goes down.

A second man dodges the falling body, taking a step inside but you squeeze the trigger again and again and again and he falls too.

Shit, how many shots was that? You clench your teeth but they seemed to have learned the lesson for the moment—nobody follows.

“Alright, that’s enough fun.” You recognize Sionis’ voice from behind the mask this time. “Come out on your own or get dragged out. Your choice.”

“I’d really rather stay here,” you say, voice shaking. You force yourself to your feet.

“Fun way it is,” Black Mask says. This time two men push their way through, one blocking the other. You shoot and it hits the front man in the shoulder but he doesn’t go down. You squeeze the trigger again but nothing happens.

You throw the gun at him, hoping to catch him in the head but he just knocks it away. You start pulling things from the shelves, throwing as hard as you can. It does nothing to stop them, grabbing you by the arms and heaving you off your feet. You twist and kick and try to bite but they don’t seem to notice. They hold you up in front of Black Mask in the middle of the hallway.

“You are a feisty one,” he muses, watching you thrash.

“Let me go,” you say. You try to growl but it comes out more like pathetic begging.

“I’d like you to calm down a bit,” he says.

You open your mouth to tell him to fuck off but apparently that was some sort of signal because one of the men raises a fist and brings it down hard on the top of your head.

It sends jitters down your spine as your teeth clang together. You blink tears away, your head lolling forward a little. The floor blurs beneath you—no it’s your eyes, struggling to focus.

“Now, on with business,” Black Mask says, clasping gloved hands together. “I—”

You nearly fall to the floor as one of the men holding you—the one you shot in the shoulder—falls to the ground. You tilt backward as the second man goes down but a tight hand around your arm yanks you backward.

Black Mask pulls you into a patient room, the bed pushed against the wall next to the bathroom. He pulls you away from the door until your back is against the window. He keeps his hand tight around your arm, pressing something hard and cold against the side of your head. Your brain still reels from the hit but you don’t have to think hard to figure out it’s a gun.

There are a few shouts from the hallway but it falls quiet quickly. Only one pair of boots echo in the hall, solemn footsteps that pause by the door. Then Jeno appears in the doorway.

Blood splatters cover the shirt, concealing the bat motif. It seeps into his leather jacket, though Jeno himself seems to be unscathed. He holds a gun in one hand and his knife in the other.

“That’s close enough,” Black Mask says when he tries to step inside.

Jeno’s mask covers his eyes, but if it didn’t, you’re pretty sure he’d be glaring. “Let the innocent go. Settle this like an adult.”

“Innocent?” Black Mask cackles. “Sure, I’ll let the innocent go. I already did that.” He grips your arm tighter, pressing the gun harder into the side of your head. “But this one isn’t innocent.”

He taps on the mask. “I don’t wear this for fun, I’m sure you know. But I’m not like you. I don’t hide to protect myself or my loved ones—I don’t even have loved ones, and you know why? Because this idiot and the idiots at this hospital don’t know how to do a simple facial repair!”

“They were third degree burns, you’re lucky to have a face,” you say.

“Shut up!” Black Mask screams, shoving you. Jeno takes a step forward but freezes when Black Mask turns back to him.

“One more step and you’ll be cleaning some brains off your mask!” He takes a breath, lowering his voice. “I’ll be the first to tell you, that’s no easy task.”

“Let the hostage go.” Jeno sounds cold through the modulator.

“And you’ll let me go?” Black Mask huffs a short laugh. “I don’t think so. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Then you know what will happen if you pull that trigger.”

“Leave now and I’ll leave this one alive,” Black Mask says.

“What, half mad after you spend a few hours with your tools?” Jeno says. “Your reputation precedes you, too.”

Black Mask sighs. “Then it seems I have no choice.” The gun presses hard against your head.

“I’ll be seeing you around,” Black Mask says. You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the shot but the pressure on the side of your head vanishes.

There’s a loud bang, and for a moment you’re sure you’ve died, but then you feel a hard shove on your chest. Your legs hit the wall but it’s not enough to stop you from tumbling out the window, nothing but air beneath you.

You barely raise your arms out before something tackles into you, an arm wrapping around your waist. You wrap your arms and legs around whatever they find, clinging like a baby monkey to Jeno’s side.

He raises the other arm, shooting the grappling hook and pulling hard. You snap in the air, swinging up higher than you had fallen until you’ve crested the roof.

“I got you,” Jeno says, arm wrapped so tightly around you you’re crushed against his side.

He takes all the weight as you fall onto the roof, bracing the landing with his legs, somehow remaining upright.

You can only cling to him, waiting for your brain to sort out what happened. You aren’t dead. Black Mask threw you out the window. Jeno caught you. You repeat the words over and over in your head until they almost make sense.

“We’re back on solid ground,” Jeno says.

“Mhm.” You don’t let go, keeping your arms tight around his neck.

“You’re safe now,” he says.

“I know.”

He pauses. “You can let go.”

“Not ready yet.”

“Okay.”

For a long moment all you can hear is the pounding of your heart. It lessens and you start to hear tires screeching on pavement down below, people shouting, sirens wailing in the distance.

“Black Mask is getting away,” you say.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jeno says. “I’ll get him when I get him.” His hand ghosts over your back. “All that matters is you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you say. “Physically fine, at least. Just trying to sort out my head.”

He hums, second arm wrapping around you in a true hug. You let yourself linger in the moment, breathing in the sharp scent of blood on his jacket. It smears against your scrubs as you press closer to him, turning them slimy against your skin. The jacket hides the warmth of his body, a hard layer separating you from him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You lean back, letting go of his neck to rest your hands against the side of his mask. Whatever it’s made out of is hard, a thin metal that curves around his features yet doesn’t bend beneath your fingers. It doesn’t look anything like Jeno, the pale eyes concealing the most human part of him. He reaches up, pulling the mask off.

Sweat makes his hair stick to his forehead, which is creased with concern. His eyes flit between yours, dark and full of everything. For too long when you first ran into him, he would look at you with cold emptiness. Though you can’t read everything behind them now, he doesn’t bury all his feelings. He lets them shine through.

“It’s not your fault,” you begin, letting your hands fall to his shoulders. “Too much has happened, and that guy hit my head, and I thought I was going to die, so it’s hard to tell what I want to say. What I’ve been meaning to say.” You take a deep breath, looking at his forehead instead of his eyes, at the white streak of hair that clings to his forehead. “But if I don’t say it now, I think I’ll chicken out and never say it.

“I’m kind of a coward,” you say. “I don’t want to get hurt—I mean, like, don’t let anybody anywhere near my heart to keep it safe, and it works. I’ll find an excuse, any excuse to push them away.

“I did it to you. Yeah, I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to think about you dying because it always sends me into a spiral, but those were all excuses. It doesn’t matter that you wear that mask. That doesn’t change anything, and I won’t hide behind it anymore.

“I love you,” you say, “so much. So much that it’s making me brave. I don't want to be a coward anymore. I want to love you. I’m sorry it took me so long, but I love you, I really, really do.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything for a long moment, looking back and forth between your eyes. He doesn’t frown or smile, his face a mask itself.

“Oh,” he says.

“Apparently near death experiences lead to radical reflections and revaluations of life values.”

And then he smiles, a real smile that curls his eyes and sends your stomach hurtling in somersaults. He presses his forehead against yours, your hands still resting on his shoulders.

“Don’t apologize for things that aren’t your fault,” you say. You brush his cheek with your thumb. “Save your applogies for real fuck ups.”

He snorts. “Think there’s going to be a lot of those?”

“Somehow I think I’m going to get stood up a lot,” you say. “It’s okay, though. That’s just what happens when you date a superhero.”

“I don’t know about that,” he says. “I’m no superhero.”

You kiss his nose. “Whatever you want to call it. But you’re a good man, Lee Jeno, through and through.”

Jeno brushes his lips against yours, barely a kiss. He moves hesitantly, like he’s scared you’ll crumble in his hands.

Well, you’re not going to die, he made sure of that. You are here and alive, and so is he. You grip the neckline of his jacket, pulling him into a crushing kiss. You press your lips harder against his and his arms tighten around you, finally kissing you back.

It’s terrifying, how much you trust him. Like jumping off a cliff and knowing he’ll catch you—which basically he just did—you have to let go of the fear. Even when his arms are wrapped around you and you can feel him with every atom, it isn’t easy—a part of you will always want to run away, protect yourself. But you’re done running. Jeno put a gun in your hand and told you to fight. You can do that for him—for yourself.

You will hold onto him and you will love him and he will do the same for you. It’s all you can do.

Bonus:

Jeno doesn’t know how you slept on this armchair. The back is stiff against his back and he can’t hang his legs off the side without the arms cutting into the back of his knees. He can tuck his head against the wing but it leaves his neck at an awkward angle.

It’s for the best, though, since he needs to stay awake anyway. He shifts the chair until it’s against the side of the bed and sets his legs back on the edge of the bed, crossing one over the other and resting his elbows on the armrest. You raise your eyebrows at his feet but don’t tell him to move. He’ll give it a good twenty minutes before he tries to sit on the bed. He wonders if you’ll kick him out if he just asks outright if he can curl up next to you. Better to ease into it.

You look radiant, wearing a big t-shirt curled under the blankets. Your lips curl into a little smile every time you catch him looking at you (which is pretty much always).

“I’m going to invest in a big ass taser,” you say, still listing out your plan to keep yourself safe. “And some heavy duty pepper spray.”

“I can teach you how to shoot a gun,” Jeno offers.

You make a face, nose scrunching.

“No?”

You shake your head slowly. “No thank you. My arms hurt.”

“How about some hand-to-hand?” He asks.

“Are you going to be able to keep your hands to yourself?”

“What are you talking about?”

You look pointedly at his hand, which has found yours, fingers tapping on your knuckles. Huh, he didn’t realize he was doing that. He raises both hands, holding them up like a criminal waiting to be arrested.

“My bad,” he says, setting them in his lap. Your bottom lip juts out for a second but you’re too proud to ask him to hold it again. He bites back a smile at the little war behind your eyes.

“How’s your head?” He asks.

“Concussed,” you say flatly.

“You want to sleep?” He asks.

“Not yet,” you say. You finally concede, reaching out a hand for him. He puts his feet down, slipping out of the chair to sit on the edge of the bed, clasping his hand over yours. Your shoulder rests against his hip. You blink up at him.

“What?” He asks. “Is this okay?”

You nod slowly, studying him with piercing eyes. He gets the feeling you see right through him, so he turns his gaze to your intertwined fingers.

“What did you think of me when you first saw me? When you moved here, I mean,” he asks.

You pause for a long moment. “Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were unemployed for at least two months.”

Jeno snorts.

“I mean pretty much every time I knocked you were wearing sweats and half the time you looked like you had just woken up!”

Jeno scratches the back of his head with his free hand. “I don’t wear sweats that often.”

You pause for a moment and he doesn’t dare peek at your face. “When you asked me to sew up your scalp, I figured it was either vigilante or something worse, and then I saw Red Hood on the news and I just knew.”

He looks at you, head tilted down to see the top of your head. “Really?”

“It looks like you,” you say. You pause before adding, “Plus you’ve got that leather jacket hanging in your entryway. What’s up with that, by the way?”

“What?”

“Your ‘suit.’ A leather jacket and cargo pants?”

“They’re functional,” he says.

“Your name is Red Hood and you don’t even have a hood. It’s a mask.”

“Well a hood doesn’t exactly protect you,” he says, “and it strikes fear into my enemies.”

You snort. “Does the black t-shirt help with that?”

“Yeah, I can’t defend that one,” he says. “It’s cheap and easy.”

“No wonder you died,” you say.

“I take personal offense at that,” Jeno says.

You yawn. “Okay buddy.” You scoot over a little. “Just lay down already.”

Jeno grins, shifting to pull the covers up and slide his legs down them. He stretches out, rolling as close as he dares to you. His arm hovers over you until you shake your head and pull it over your waist, shifting until he all but lays on top of you. Your shoulder presses against his chest, his head resting on the same pillow only a breath away from you.

“If you wanted to cuddle you could have just asked,” you say.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You turn your head to meet his eyes, nose brushing against his. He could melt into your eyes, so warm and full of a happiness he hardly recognizes. He hopes he looks a fraction as happy as you do—and he hopes you know it’s only a fraction of how he feels.

He didn’t think he’d ever feel happy again. Even if he finally got his revenge on Joker and Batman, it would be bittersweet at best, the end goal of a bitter fight that started when he dragged himself out of that grave.

But he is happy. It’s the warmth that courses through every fiber of his body, the way his heart pounds every time he looks at you, the hope he feels when he thinks of the “after.”

“You know it’s been years since the last time I smiled?” He says.

“Yeah, I could tell.” Your eyes soften impossibly more. You rest your hand against his cheek again, fingers soft and careful as they trace the lines of his smile. They work their way to his lips, ghosting over the soft skin.

“I think that part is over,” Jeno says. “Hating the world.” He presses a kiss on your thumb. “I’d like to be happier now.

“Red Hood is a part of who I am, and it always will be. But Jeno is too, and I won’t let go of that.” He tightens his arm. “I’d like to hold onto you, too, though.”

You grin. “I’d like that too.” You press a short kiss to his lips. “But my head hurts and right now I’d really just like to go to bed.”

Jeno nods, shifting away only to turn off the lamp on your bedside table. He curls back around you, tucking his head against your neck and pulling you as close to him as he can. He is Jeno, he is Red Hood, and he isn’t alone anymore.

thank you for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated

#🌟 stars galaxy #nct #nct dream #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct reader #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct fluff #nct dream angst #nct angst #jeno x reader #reader x jeno #lee jeno #lee jeno x reader #jeno fluff #jeno angst

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beepboopkek · 9 months

Text

— Strip Starchess with Jing Yuan (Female Reader)

Including: Jing Yuan cw: afab!reader, pwp but barely, slight mention of reader having a size kink, unprotected p in v, first time writing a proper fic, first time writing smut (please send help), reader is a little bashful, overall its kind of a self-projection I guess. Jing Yuan is a little bastard (affectionate), stripping (who would've guessed), grammatical errors(I tried), Jing Yuan calls you pet names (dear, love), no use of y/n, light bondage ( reader gets their hands tied with a t-shirt nothing too bad), safe sane and consensual w/c: 3941 (might be a little off since I made a few edits in this post) a/n: I am so sorry for this I am going to die of cringe later but I needed this out of my brain so I made my best attempt at writing. There is a lot of stuff that is bad but I do not have the energy or patience to do it so, you have been warned, this is a first-time smut from an inexperienced writer whose first language isn't english :3 hope someone out there likes this

You were bored.

Extremely bored.

Jing Yuan had promised you he’d come home on time so that the two of you could enjoy dinner together. You had something fun planned for the evening for the two of you. Something you were excited to try out.

One problem though, there were still no signs of your boyfriend’s arrival.

You sent him a few messages asking him where he was but to no avail, you knew for a fact he wouldn’t be able to respond anyway.

The sound of a door opening broke you out of your thoughts as you turned around and were met with an apologetic soft smile on Jing Yuan’s face.

“Yu.”

“My Love.”

You huffed at him in annoyance, realising what he was trying to do. He always knew how to soften you up.

“You’re late.” You said as you watched him unstrap his boots and place them near the shoe rack before he turned to look at you.

“I apologize, I overslept in the afternoon and had to compensate as a result.” Jing Yuan gave you a pitiful look.

“Regardless, I am here now,” He walked over to where you were seated and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on your head. “And I’d love to eat what my dear has cooked for me.”

You rolled your eyes at him a little and turned towards the table again as he took his seat opposite to you. You began eating in silence while Jing Yuan served himself some of the food you’d made.

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” He spoke suddenly as you focused on eating and ignoring him.

“Be like what? I didn’t do anything.” You huffed back to him again while continuing to look at your food when you suddenly heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor, you looked up, only to be met with your boyfriend’s amber eyes boring into yours.

“What can I do to make it up to you?”

You grumbled something with your mouth full.

“I didn’t catch that, love.”

You gulped down your food,

“I said, play Starchess with me”

“Do we not play Starchess on a regular basis already?”

“We do, yes, but I found a new variation of the game that I thought would be fun to try out. Only if youre up for it, though.” You made eye contact with him again as his eyebrow shot up in surprise.

He leaned in on the table and rested his head on the palm of his hand as he tilted his head lazily.

“Go on.”

Your confidence and annoyance all but vanished this exact second, you really hadn’t expected him to be this interested and knowing him , he probably already has an idea simply based off of the tone of your voice.

“...Nevermind.” You looked away, blushing as Jing Yuan continued to watch in lazed amusement.

“Is it-”

“Yes it’s Strip Starchess, okay? I thought it would be fun to play.” You blurted out as your ears turned a light shade of red.

“I was going to say Blitz Starchess.”

Your eyes widened in horror as you turned back to look at Jing Yuan who was now miserably failing at holding back his laughter as his shoulders shook silently and he pressed his lips together.

“I hate you.”

Jing Yuan laughed and you pouted.

“I didn’t do anything, though?”

“You know exactly what you're doing, Yu.”

Jing Yuan smiled apologetically once again as you pouted while avoiding eye contact with him. He sighed fondly and picked up his chopsticks again.

“Strip Starchess, hm? Let’s finish dinner and begin.”

You huffed again and turned back to your food and soon enough, Jing Yuan started some casual conversation and the whole ordeal was pushed to the back of your mind.

. . .That was until after you both finished eating and cleaning up.

Shit.

You suddenly had very important things to do in your library so you quietly started walking towards it, hoping Jing Yuan had all but forgotten about your earlier conversation. Just as you were about to open the door, a familiar voice called out from behind you,

"Dear?"

You slowly turned around, trying not to look like you were caught committing a crime.

"...Yes?"

"Where would you like to play? I think the living room would be best since it is rather spacious. We can close the curtains but,"

Jing Yuan paused as he looked towards the box in his hands and back to you,

"I'm saying that while assuming that we will be taking off our clothes sooner or later. Am I wrong?"

He smiled innocently. This bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

"... Fine, let's go to the living room then, I'll explain the rules to you."

Jing Yuan hummed pleasantly as he walked behind you, setting the board down onto the hard wooden flooring as the both of you sat down facing each other.

He opened up the box and set up the game and looked at you expectantly.

There was no backing out now, so you might as well give it your best.

"It's in the name, you strip when you lose a pawn."

"Strip entirely? Or just an article of clothing?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

You gave an exasperated sigh as you stared at him with the grumpiest expression you could muster.

"I'm afraid I don't, love."

He gave you a cat-like smile as he patiently waited for you to explain.

"...Only a piece of clothing. The one who has the most clothes off at the end of the game is the loser,"

You made yourself comfortable, you need your initial confidence back desperately.

"We'll play 3 games and see who wins. I won't be going easy on you."

You smiled at him mischievously as he chuckled and re-adjusted his seating position before looking right into your eyes.

"Very well then, let the games begin."

You focused your eyes on the board and played your first move, positioning the soldier pawn in front of your king 2 steps ahead.

Jing Yuan’s eyes lit up as he countered it by moving the same piece on his side. He knew exactly how you were going to play and he was going to ensure he won.

The game progressed and you eventually lost your first pawn, you sighed in annoyance at the realization as you looked up to see your boyfriend with his cat-like smile and of course, he had the most innocent look on his face.

Damnit.

You sighed reluctantly as you cursed him under your breath and removed your jacket.

“Happy?” You deadpanned at him.

“Very much so. Don’t be upset, you still have a chance to win.” He smirked lazily as he waited for you to play your turn

You were more cautious now, not letting him take any of your pawns when you realized you had a safe opening to take his pawn!

You took the chance and took his soldier with your bishop. Looking up at him in triumph.

He smiled back at you casually as he raised his hands in surrender,

“You got me there,”

You watchedn him in anticipation as your mouth watered a little, sure you’d been living together for a few months now but, nothing beat seeing Jing Yuan’s body.

He place his hand on his shoulder guard and removed it before smiling at you pleasantly again.

You blinked once.

Twice.

Scanning him to see if he removed anything else while you were day-dreaming.

Nope, nothing.

"I said one piece of clothing, your shoulder brace doesn't count as one."

"You never specified if accessories were also counted."

You huffed at him, "You never asked!"

"I don't recall having to ask, I gave you the chance to explain everything to me." He smiled innocently again.

He was right.

He knew he was and continued to play his next move.

Bastard.

Suddenly, it dawned on you that he was still in his armor and work uniform, meaning it would take at least 15 individual games of Starchess to get even the first layer off of him. Your eyes widened in realization as he looked at you and stifled his laughter.

Well, you certainly weren't in your work clothes and barely had anything on in the first place but you might have a few accessories on your person if you looked hard enough.

Two can play that game.

The game continued as you tried your best to defend your pieces from his attacks but he was too good… much to your displeasure.

By the end of the first game, Jing Yuan barely looked any different from how he was when he entered your shared home while you had to remove your own rings and piercings, putting them away in a corner neatly as to not lose them.

Jing Yuan won the first game by the rules of normal Starchess and the two of began your second round.

You were determined, but so was he.

Time passed rather quickly as you watched your boyfriend remove more accessories and you really wondered how he was able to walk or even fight with that much on his body.

You shook your head. Now's not the time for distractions.

The game progressed as you watched your pawns get taken one by one.

Rook, Bishop, a couple of soldiers and the list went on.

…You realized very late that you were going to lose.

You've never beat him in a game of starches, partially because he sneaks away your pieces but also because he's genuinely skilled at playing the game.

You were down to your last game, Jing Yuan in his shirt and pants along with some random trinkets of his uniform that you didn't even know the purpose of, you, however, were a different story.

You'd managed to get down just to your t-shirt and panties, shivering a little in both anticipation and the chill of the night.

“Do you need a blanket? You won't have anything to cover you soon enough, I'd hate to get you sick, dear.” Jing Yuan looked at you lazily.

Bastard.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“I'm good. This is the last game and by the look of it, you've lost more pieces than I have.”

He made a content noise in the back of his throat as if agreeing with you before looking down at the board and smiling.

“I'm afraid you are correct, I admire your confidence in the face of calamity. However,”

He moved his bishop in line with your king.

“Checkmate.”

You glanced around the board, trying to find an escape route but there were none.

There was no denying it, you had lost the third game as well.

But the rules were about clothes, you looked up at him and back at yourself.

“. . . Fuck.”

You sighed, reluctantly admitting defeat.

“Alright , alright. You win the 3 games and the whole game considering you have more layers on you than I do.”

Jing Yuan smiled in amusement as he crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly,

“So, what's my reward for winning?”

You were already packing up the board as you looked at him with a huff and stood up.

“I'll let you nap in the afternoon more tomorrow, that's your reward.”

But before you could move your half naked self away, Jing Yuan moved closer and swiftly knocked your knees back so you toppled down onto him.

“Jing Yuan! I almost knocked the board on your head!”

You had wrapped your arms around his neck, scared to lose balance and plop onto the floor if he were to drop you.

“I'm interested in another reward.”

“What?”

“I'm the winner so isn't it natural I get to pick my reward? Besides, no proper terms were set for it when you explained the rules to me.”

“You little shit, you knew this was going to happen.”

“Dear, I am the divine foresight for a reason.”

He chuckled as his hands slowly moved down your torso and to the hem of your t-shirt.

He grasped the hem as he leaned into your body and spoke lowly in your ear

“Of course, if you don't want this, we could just revert to my original reward.”

His hold on you was firm but gentle, indicating that he'd let you go if you wanted him to.

“But, something about the way you're trembling in my hold tells me you don't want to stop, do you?”

Your breath was coming out in shaky puffs now. You simply looked away in embarrassment before he pressed himself closer to you, you could feel the warmth of his body through the clothes he was wearing.

“Answer me.”

“. . . I don't want you to stop”

He smiled against your ears and you swear if he had a tail it would be swishing around in excitement by now.

“That wasn't so hard, was it?”

Kissing the red shell of your ear he moved your face towards him and kissed you deeply before pressing his forehead to yours.

“Now, allow me to claim my reward.”

He peppered kisses along your jaw as his hands finally, finally took your t-shirt up to your neck as you raised your arms to help him get it off.

You were down to your panties and bra now, coincidentally, you were wearing one of his favourite sets’.

His kisses continued downward, unbuckling your bra with one hand while the other appreciatively squeezed around your body.

He leaned down on your chest, taking a nipple into his mouth as his other hand tweaked with the other and you gasped, sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.

Your hands immediately found purchase in his soft hair as you closed your eyes and whispered his name.

Jing Yuan always , always made sure to lather extra attention to your chest, you never understood why but it had now become a sensitive spot for you.

He kissed and licked around your nipples, leaving little bites in between so that he can see them in the morning and fuck you all over again.

Deciding he'd done enough to your chest (for now) he moved his attention downwards, chuckling breathlessly at the small wet patch on your panties.

His large hand slid down as he started moving his finger up and down on your panties, making the wet patch grow bigger.

“You call me a bastard and yet have the nerve to be this wet for me, hm?”

“S-Shut up.”

You panted as your brain became fuzzy and warm, not being able to think of anything else except Jing Yuan touching you.

He smirked as he added pressure with his finger on exactly where your clit is and you gasped loudly. The fabric of your panties providing a weird but not unwelcome feeling.

“Do you think you can cum just from this alone?”

“I don't k-”

You cut yourself off with a loud moan as he pinched your clit and rubbed it.

“You don't know? Well, that's too bad. We'll just have to find out it seems, hm?”

You were gasping for air and moaning loudly at this point, thrashing and tugging at Jing Yuan’s hair like your life depended on it.

“I'm feeling nicer today, let's take this off, dear.”

He tugged at your panties and your hazy mind cleared for a second

“Jing Yuan! Don't I-”

A loud ripping sound echoed through the room as you stared in horror at the shredded remains of your panties but before you could utter a word, Jing Yuan kissed you and simultaneously continued to make circles around your clit.

You weakly slammed your fisted hands onto the hard planes of his chest but to no avail, he wasn't going to let up.

He continued flicking your clit at a faster pace before speaking into your ear.

“Be a good girl and cum for me”

You moaned as you clenched his (now crumpled) white shirt in your hands as your eyes rolled back and your orgasm flooded over your body in waves.

The general continued to make slow and gentle circles on your clit as you got down from your high, peppering your body with kisses and bites everywhere.

You were still breathing heavily when you regained your senses again.

“So, my hypothesis was correct.”

“You're gonna pay for that, Yu.”.

You said, not sure if youre referring to the torn panties or the fact that him massaging your clit was enough to get you to cum.

“Of course I will, and any other matching set you like so I can rip them all off of your body.”

His voice was so calm while speaking you'd almost think he was unaffected by the situation but that was far from the truth, sitting on his lap gave away that he was extremely hard underneath you.

He kissed you again, gently this time as he pulled back and bore his eye into yours.

“Do you want to continue?”

You didn't respond, only leaning in to kiss him before bringing your hands to the collar of his shirt and unbuttoning it.

“I'm not the only one that's going to be naked here.”

He helped you take off his whole shirt, watching you as you admired his sculpted and scarred torso.

“Turn around for me, love.”

You did as you were told, sitting in his lap with your back against his chest.

His hands suddenly came up on you again, going downwards to your pussy as he outlined your lips. Pressing gently on the soft flesh.

Your hands immediately found purchase on top of his much bigger ones, your breathing picking up again.

He inserted two fingers in you, pushing them in and out and curling them in just the right spot, hitting your already frayed nerves and stretching you open for him. Keeping the rhythm of his fingers up, slowly getting you towards the edge again when suddenly,

You were left empty as Jing Yuan retracted his hand and wiped it onto his pants as he unzipped them, before hooking both his hands under your plush thighs and lifting your slit above his cock.

“Tell me if you need a break.”

Before you could respond, he was already impaling you on his cock, pushing you down slowly as you reached back with your hands and grabbed his neck while arching your back.

“F-Fuck- too much-”

“You can take it, I know you can.”

He whispered breathlessly as he continued pushing you down until you met the base of his cock.

“There we go.”

Jing Yuan waited for you to adjust while rubbing gentle circles on your clit, watching intently as you fought to gain back your breath.

You were struggling at this point, mind in a haze at the feeling of being so full. Not knowing where to place your hands you blurted our the first coherent thought that came to your mind.

“. . .Tie my hands, please.”

Now it was the general’s turn to be surprised, you were not one to beg usually. He smiled coyly as he grabbed your discarded t-shirt and rolled it up to form a makeshift knot.

“If i was aware we were going to this tonight, I wouldve prepared more.”

You pushed your hands out together in front of you impatiently, just wanting to move but not trusting your shaking legs to carry through.

Jing Yuan kissed around your ears again started working on binding your hands immediately. Securing it as tight as he could, he tugged on it before pecking you on the cheek.

“There. Is that better?”

“Yes.”

You were fully panting now, subtly grinding yourself on his cock.

Jing yuan took it as his cue to move and hooked his hands under your thighs again before lifting you off his cock.

The split second where you were left empty was enough for you to whine. He wasn’t a cruel lover, though, he thrusted back in, filling you instantly.

He kept the tempo of fast but deep strokes and before long you could feel your second orgasm approaching.

Suddenly, there was a change as he pushed you down onto the wooden floor face first and ass up, the angle making him reach in different areas.

Your tied hands were above your head as you got rubbed on the floor like a mop cloth from his powerful thrusts. Jing Yuan bent over and draped his larger frame over your back, holding down your shaking hands with one of his own and thrusting faster.

“Come on, come for me.”

He whispered into your ear, again, reaching his other hand down to play with your clit.

And that's all it took for you to orgasm, releasing over his cock as he kept his pace.

For a few seconds, you blanked out completely, caught up in the haze of your orgasm that you didn't even notice Jing Yuan continuing,

That was until you were brought back to reality by a hit of overstimulation, tears already collecting at your lashes as the pleasure soared through your entire body.

“Y-Yu-”

“Just a little more.”

He continued rubbing fast circles over your clit and you could feel the tendrils of your third orgasm creeping up on you as you clenched around him hard.

It pierced through you just as your boyfriend finally released inside you, hot liquid filling you up and you felt so full.

Jing Yuan panted as he rested some of his body weight on you, essentially pinning you in place and having no way to move. Just the way you like it.

He grabbed your hips with both his hands as he gently thrusted a few times to get the last few seconds of pleasure in, wrecking your already overstimulated pussy.

“. . . I think my reward is incomplete.” He said after a few beats of silence.

“Absolutely not.”

Jing Yuan laughed breathlessly as he pulled you back onto his lap and rested himself against the sofa, wrapping his hands around your waist and putting his head on your shoulder.

The both of you relished in the afterglow for a bit with him still stuffed inside you, just enjoying and soaking each other’s presence, you were the first to speak.

“Horny bastard, you really piledrived me on the floor of our living room.” You laughed while pecking at his cheeks.

“Me? I’m the horny one now? You were the one that suggested this game in the first place!”

Jing Yuan feigned hurt as he tightened his hold on you, eyeing you cheekily as your ears turned red.

“I didn’t proposition sex! It was a game to-”

“To what? Play house with each other?” Jing Yuan asked in an amused tone before continuing,

“You wanted it to end like this, didn’t you?”

“Not on the goddamn floor! I’m gonna have bruises from this tomorrow, I hope you're happy.”

You pouted and held your (still bound) hands close to your chest, hearing Jing Yuan snicker and feeling his chest shake.

“I’ll give you a massage right now, on the bed this time, to make up for it”

“And then what? Escalate it into having sex again? I need to walk tomorrow, Yu.”

“You know me too well.”

You looked at him into his eyes and he simply gave you a crooked smile

“Untie my hands, we need to clean up and get to bed”

“Hmm… How about I let you go now and you let me enjoy my reward in the shower again?”

You sighed before nodding in acceptance, you weren’t going to feel your legs tomorrow.

This is the price you pay for provoking the sleeping lion.

“Horny bastard.”

#jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #fem!reader #god i am not your strongest soldier #i am coming up #i just need him inside me #i had to let the demons out #send help #first fic #can i even call it that #in god we trust #i hope someone finds this ok #jing yuan smut #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut

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