and i don’t know, i’m alone, i’m alone…

user1 OH EM GEE

pinkpantheress i had so much fun working with you! 🫶 your.username @/pinkpantheress we need to collab again soon!

user2 is swedish boy real? your.username @/user2 🤐

user3 ON REPEAT

user4 can’t wait for the album! your.username @/user4 who said there was going to be an album? 😉 user4 @/your.username is this confirmation???

yourbestfriend Y/N I LOVE THIS SONG AND YOU your.username @/yourbestfriend thank you for listening to it when it was a work in progress and bad yourbestfriend @/your.username baby you could never write a bad song

user1 oh she’s in LOVE LOVE

user2 what a breath of fresh air after the last album 😭 user3 @/user2 that album was so sad omg

user4 someone figure out what man made her write such a sappy looking album

yourbestfriend AHHHHHH i can’t wait to listen to it! your.username @/yourbestfriend girl you’ve already heard it– yourbestfriend @/your.username well yes but now you get paid for it yourbestfriend @/your.username i have to make sure my girl is well provided for 💪

user5 i call dibs on lover girl

user6 what song’s going to make me cry the most? your.username @/user6 my love all mine or come back, be here! user6 @/your.username oh i know i’m going to be adding those to my sad playlist

your.username has added to their story…

replies

eklund_72 kissing you in person real soon ❤️ your.username I CAN’T WAIT OMGGGGGGGGGGGG eklund_72 damn someone’s excited your.username i mean i guess that’s fine for you to do that eklund_72 my nonchalant girl 😘

yourbestfriend you were incredible!!!!!!!!

yourbestfriend i could watch you perform every day for the rest of my life

yourbestfriend can i follow you for the rest of the tour your.username @/yourbestfriend don’t worry you’re on my packing list already! <3 yourbestfriend @/your.username just realized i have work and can’t go your.username @/yourbestfriend maybe next time 😔

user1 BEST CONCERT EVER!

user2 oh i can’t wait for my concert your.username @/user2 which one are you going to? user2 @/your.username minneapolis!

user3 having so much fomo rn…

user4 praying she adds loves a waste to the set list, i miss that song your.username @/user4 oh you know ball

your.username has added to their story…

replies…

eklund_72 min äskling ❤️ your.username i miss you already 😘 eklund_72 i’ve literally never played better than last night, i think you have to come to every game now your.username but i have tour… eklund_72 cancel it your.username but…the world tour… eklund_72 is that a justin timberlake reference? your.username maybe…

yourbestfriend OMG EKY ON MAIN your.username can’t show his pretty face though 💔 yourbestfriend just hard launch him your.username no bc what if people are mean to me, or worse, HIM yourbestfriend then as the #1 fan of you and wille, i will fight all of them your.username and i’ll fight them all with you bc no one can be mean to my wille yourbestfriend “my wille” Y/N BABY YOU’RE SO IN LOVE your.username i’m aware i wrote a whole album about him 🧍‍♀️ yourbestfriend he’s literally your muse! your.username i guess he is!

user1 GIRL WHO ARE YOU HIDING

user2 IS THIS THE GUY THAT INSPIRED YOUR ALBUM

user3 y/n y/l/n is dating a san jose shark: confirmed?

user4 are you dating macklin celebrini?

eklund_72 has added to their story…

replies…

your.username blurry ahh photo omg eklund_72 all of the other ones had your face in it :( your.username that’s okay tho bc my tits look fantastic eklund_72 damn right they do your.username omg wille are you flirting with me? 🥰 eklund_72 yes? your.username good, that’s your job eklund_72 good boyfriend first, hockey player second your.username exactly!

_willsmith2 this is why you had to leave after practice so quickly? eklund_72 please don’t tell coach _willsmith2 i won’t if you tell me who she is eklund_72 you’re not going to believe me but y/n y/l/n _willsmith2 you’re right i don’t eklund_72 believe me or don’t but it’s true _willsmith2 fine then introduce me and mack to her or i tell coach eklund_72 that can be arranged

mackcelebrini YOU’RE DATING Y/N Y/L/N? eklund_72 how’d you figure that out from one photo mackcelebrini i’m magic (i’m with will rn) eklund_72 i should’ve guessed 🙄 mackcelebrini okay so you're telling me she wrote tears about YOU? eklund_72 do you want me to be honest? mackcelebrini okay i'm gonna pretend i never asked, that's disgusting eky eklund_72 😛 mackcelebrini GROSS

your.username has added to their story…

eklund_72 has added to their story…

user1 and what if i kms?

user2 y/n being off the market is actually devastating news (she wrote a whole album about being in love, i should have seen this coming)

user3 mr. eklund you ain’t slick… user4 @/user3 AS IN WILLIAM? OR VICTOR? user3 @/user4 🦈

user5 it’s totally william eklund, he was at her show in chicago and she said there was a ‘very special someone’ in the audience user6 @/user5 plus she was especially emotional singing cbbh, i think long distance is really hard for her

user7 omg they look so happy! user8 @/user7 bro you can’t even see their faces user7 @/user8 yes but the vibes feel happy, plus her posts about him are cute 🥰

user1 it’s totally eky, he was at her concert and she visited san jose at the beginning of her tour/was at his game

user2 damn i thought she was dating macklin user3 @/user2 girl where did you come up with that idea? user2 @/user3 idk i guess they just look like they’d be cute user3 @/user2 she’s like three years older than him…

user4 william eklund you are mister stateside ❤️

user5 okay but what a power couple

user6 okay it’s totally eky, y/n just posted that she’s doing a european leg of her tour this summer and there’s a noticeable break right after she’s in sweden

user7 stop i’m so happy for them!

eklund_72 i’m so happy ❤️

eklund_72 i love getting to share my life with you your.username @/eklund_72 i can’t believe i’m a hockey fan thanks to you!

eklund_72 you are such a blessing min äskling your.username @/eklund_72 baby you cannot be real your.username @/eklund_72 like i have never been so in love with someone your.username @/eklund_72 my muse fr

user1 OMG I KNEW IT

user2 watch out lexi lafleur brown, a new queen of the wags has arrived your.username @/user2 omg thanks?

yourbestfriend Y/N AND WILLE HARD LAUNCH

yourbestfriend MY FAVE COUPLE EVER OMG

yourbestfriend MAMA Y PAPA FR eklund_72 @/yourbestfriend you mean mamma och pappa yourbestfriend @/eklund_72 MAMMA OCH PAPPA

user3 eky you can’t fight all of us eklund_72 @/user3 but i can try my hardest eklund_72 @/user3 and i’ll get reave-o to step in when i’m too hurt your.username @/eklund_72 help?

user4 i’m going to spontaneously combust

You and Nico Hischier were a story that began, not with a shared past, but with the catastrophic failure of a cardboard cup holder. It was your first week in Hoboken, a dizzying blur of unpacked boxes and the low-grade hum of being utterly, completely alone. You were juggling your keys, your phone, and a flimsy tray carrying two iced lattes - one for you, one for the moving guy who was currently ignoring your texts. As you pivoted to wrestle open your stubborn apartment door, the tray buckled. In what felt like slow motion, one of the cups launched itself directly into the path of an innocent passerby.

A dark, wet blossom exploded across the front of a pristine grey hoodie. You froze, keys clattering to the floor, a mortified “Oh my God, I am so, so sorry!” tumbling from your lips before you even looked up. You braced for anger, for annoyance, for the classic New Jersey scowl you were still getting used to.

Instead, you heard a low, breathy chuckle. You finally dragged your eyes up from the spreading coffee stain and met his. He was looking down at you, not with irritation, but with a look of pure, startled amusement that crinkled the corners of his dark eyes. A slow, disarming smile spread across his face, and in that moment, you had no idea you were staring at the newly-minted Captain of the New Jersey Devils, the city’s great hope. You just saw a very cute guy with a very wet sweater and an incredibly kind face.

“Well,” he said, his voice warm and laced with a gentle Swiss accent you couldn’t quite place. “I guess I needed to cool down.”

The sheer absurdity of his line - paired with that smile - was your undoing. A nervous, bubbling laugh escaped you, so genuine it surprised you both. The sound seemed to delight him, his smile widening. “I’m Nico,” he offered, extending a hand that was not at all bothered by the coffee dripping from his sleeve.

You took it, his grip firm and reassuring. “I’m Y/N. And I’m a public menace. I can buy you a new hoodie. Or, you know, a dry-cleaning voucher. Or I can just give you all the cash I have, which is, like, seventeen dollars.”

He laughed again, a real, hearty sound this time. “Seventeen dollars? That’s a very specific offer. I’ll take a coffee instead. My treat, since you’re clearly having a day.”

The coffee was soon forgotten, your keys left on the floor, as you fell into an easy, immediate conversation, leaning against the warm brick of the building like you’d known each other for years. You learned he’d just moved to the area too, that he was terrible at navigating the city without GPS, and that he had a laugh that made you want to hear more of it.

_

In the beginning of his fast building friendship, everyone on the team just assumed you were dating. How could they not? They saw the way you clicked, the effortless chemistry that felt less like a performance and more like a perfectly synchronized dance. They saw the way he’d search for you in a crowd, the way his entire body would relax when you appeared.

But it never evolved like that. Instead, it naturally, beautifully, settled into something deeper and infinitely more precious. You became his person in this new, overwhelming city. The one he called after a tough road trip, his voice low and tired, seeking the comfort of your familiar chatter. The one who knew he took his tea with honey and hated mint gum. The one who could make him laugh until his sides hurt by doing a terrible impression of one of his coaches.

He became your anchor, the first familiar face in a sea of strangers, the one who made New Jersey feel like home. He was the one who showed up with pizza when your plumbing broke, who helped you build your IKEA furniture with a surprising amount of competence, and who never made you feel silly for being homesick. You simply developed a deep and meaningful friendship, a bond forged in late-night talks and shared laughter, which neither of you would ever, ever risk ruining.

But the truth wasn't in the grand gestures; it was woven into the small, unguarded moments that felt like secrets shared only between you. It was in the way he’d instinctively pull you behind him when navigating a crowded post-game press scrum, his arm a firm, protective barrier against the flashing cameras and shouting reporters. You’d feel the heat of his back against your shoulder, the subtle squeeze of his hand on your arm, a silent promise that he would always be your shield in a world that wasn't yours.

It was in the shared giggles over a terrible sci-fi movie on his couch, the glow of the screen painting your faces in shifting blues and greens. Your head would be on his shoulder, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your arm - circles, then lines, then back to circles - each touch a question he never asked aloud. The longing was a low hum of electricity between you, a constant, thrumming current you both carefully avoided touching, terrified of the shock.

One afternoon, at your usual corner table in a quiet café, you’d gotten a smear of whipped cream on your upper lip. He’d reached across the table without thinking, his thumb gently swiping it away. The touch was fleeting, but the jolt was seismic, a current that shot straight through you. His eyes met yours, no longer laughing, but wide with a sudden, stark awareness. For a heartbeat, you saw everything he was feeling reflected back at you. And then he pulled back as if burned, his hand dropping to his lap. The air crackled with a thousand unsaid words, a conversation so loud it was deafening in its silence.

For years, you were both masters at pulling away, at drawing the line just before it was crossed. A hug that lasted a second too long was always broken by a nervous, self-deprecating joke. A hand that found yours in the dark of a movie theater was quickly withdrawn, the sudden coldness a stark contrast to the warmth you’d just felt. It was a dance of exquisite, painful restraint, a friendship so precious and monumental you were both terrified of being the one to break it.

_

The Devils saw it, of course. They were a pack of hyper-competitive predators whose entire existence depended on noticing every subtle detail, every twitch of muscle, every shift in momentum. It was second nature to apply that same laser-focus to their Captain, and by extension, to you.

They saw the way Nico’s entire posture would change the moment you walked into a room. The tension would melt from his shoulders, the hard line of his mouth would soften into a smile that was so private, so genuine, it looked like it belonged only to you. They saw how you could disarm him with a single look, how a stupid joke from you could pull him out of the darkest post-game funk. They saw you know his coffee order better than he did - black with one sugar, never two - and how he’d instinctively slide the last piece of his post-game pizza across the table to you, a sacrifice of sacred carb territory that spoke volumes.

But they said nothing. It was the unspoken rule, the one commandment more sacred than any system their coach could draw up. Nico was their Captain, and you were his sanctuary. They saw the invisible line you both were so carefully toeing, a fragile boundary they had no intention of crossing. They’d just exchange knowing glances over the tops of their water bottles, a silent, bro-nod of acknowledgment for the epic romance playing out in slow motion right in front of them.

What you didn’t know was that the silent acknowledgment had evolved. It had started with Jack Hughes muttering in the weight room, “Ten bucks they don’t make it past Christmas without cracking,” and had blossomed into a full-blown, illicit betting pool with a detailed spreadsheet managed by Dougie Hamilton and a pot of cash that was becoming embarrassingly large.

The categories were absurdly specific. There was an entry for “First Accidental Hand-Hold,” another for “First Publicly Questionable Hug.” Jesper Bratt had money on “A Drunken Confession at Team Dinner,” while Jack was holding out for “The Obvious, Painfully Public Kiss.” They all watched, they all waited, and they all placed their bets, convinced they were the only ones in on the joke.

_

The catalyst was a loss. Not just any loss, but a brutal, gutting overtime defeat that felt like a physical blow. They’d been up by two with five minutes to go. The locker room was a morgue, the air thick with the scent of stale sweat and shattered hope. You waited for Nico in the quiet hallway, your back pressed against the cool concrete, your own heart aching in a sympathetic rhythm with his.

When he finally emerged, he looked hollowed out, the familiar weight of the ‘C’ on his chest seeming to drag him toward the floor. He didn’t say a word. He just walked up to you, his movements slow and heavy, and wrapped his arms around you. His face buried in the crook of your neck, his body trembling with a silent, exhausted tremor. You held him tight, your hands stroking up and down the rigid planes of his back, whispering useless platitudes about next games and bad bounces. He was a statue in your arms, absorbing none of it.

“Let’s get you home,” you said softly, your voice barely disturbing the heavy silence.

The drive back to his apartment was suffused with a quiet that felt different. He slumped in the passenger seat, his head resting against the cool glass, watching the city lights smear past him like watercolor. You could feel the distance between you, not in inches, but in the vast, lonely space he’d retreated into.

Inside, you moved on autopilot, performing the familiar rituals that usually served as your comfort language. You put the kettle on, the whistle a sharp, cheerful sound that felt jarringly out of place. You pulled up his favorite comfort playlist, the soft indie folk filling the spacious apartment. You did everything you always did. But tonight, it was like trying to bandage an open wound with wet tissue. It wasn't enough.

He was sitting on the edge of his couch, still in his sweats, just staring down at his own hands as if they belonged to someone else. You moved slowly, kneeling on the rug in front of him, taking his cold, limp hands in yours and chafing them gently.

“Nico,” you whispered. “Talk to me.”

He finally, slowly, lifted his head. His eyes were full of a deep, weary sadness that went far beyond a single game, far beyond a single season. It was the accumulated weight of a thousand unspoken moments.

“I’m so tired, Y/N.” His voice was a raw, ragged thing.

“Of what?” you pressed gently.

“Of this,” he said, his voice cracking on the words. He gestured vaguely between you, at the comfortable, suffocating space you’d built together. “Of pretending this is enough. Of pretending that this… friendship… is all I want. Of wanting… more.”

Your breath caught in your throat, a sharp, painful little gasp. “Nico…”

“I pull away because I’m scared,” he confessed, the admission tearing free from him. “I’m terrified of losing this, of losing you. But I think… I think I’m more scared of never really having you.”

The line you had so carefully drawn for years, the boundary you had both treated as sacred, simply vanished. There was only the truth, standing in the space between you, naked and vulnerable and more real than anything you had ever known.

“Me too,” you breathed, the words a surrender. A single, hot tear finally broke free, tracking a path down your cheek. “I’m so tired of being scared, too.”

He let out a shuddering breath, a sound that was half-sob, half-pure relief. He raised a hand, his thumb gently catching the tear, his touch impossibly tender. Then his fingers cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to his. He leaned in slowly, giving you time, giving himself time, savoring the last few seconds of the unknown.

The kiss was the softest thing you had ever felt. It wasn’t fiery or desperate; it was quiet and certain. It was the taste of salt from your tears and the clean, warm scent of his skin. It was a question and an answer, a beginning and an end, realizing you’d been standing on the doorstep the entire time.

_

The next day at practice, the atmosphere was different. The lingering gloom from the loss had been completely vaporized, replaced by a strange, electric energy that hummed just beneath the surface. It radiated from their Captain. Nico was smiling - really smiling - as he led drills, calling out encouragement with a lightness in his voice that hadn't been there in years. He was flying across the ice, not just going through the motions, but truly playing.

During a water break, you were waiting by the glass, as you often did. Nico skated over, a little sweat on his brow, a huge, unguarded grin on his face. Instead of just nodding, he skated right up to the barrier, leaned over the partition, and, in front of God and everyone, pressed a quick, soft kiss to your lips.

The entire rink went silent.

Every single player on the ice stopped what they were doing and stared. Pucks clattered to the ice. Sticks dropped from slackened hands. Jack Hughes’s jaw literally dropped, his mouth a perfect ‘O’ of disbelief. Jesper Bratt, still gliding backward, was so distracted he skated directly into the empty net, the mesh swallowing him with a comical thwump.

Nico pulled back, his eyes sparkling with pure, unadulterated mischief. He shot you a quick, private wink before skating back to join his teammates, who were now staring at him with a mixture of utter shock and unrestrained delight.

After practice, you were waiting in the lounge when the entire team trooped in, a chaotic, giggling mass of hockey players. They formed a semi-circle around you and a freshly showered Nico, who looked far too pleased with himself. Jack stepped forward, holding his phone up like a trophy.

“Alright, that’s it,” Jack announced, his voice ringing with triumphant glee. “The bet is officially closed. The pot is mine!” He turned the screen to show a ridiculously complex spreadsheet with color-coded tabs. “Dougie had ‘accidental on-ice kiss,’ but I had ‘public display of affection before the end of the week.’ Pay up, boys.”

Timo groaned, dramatically pulling out his wallet. “I really thought they were going to wait until the summer. I had ‘slow dance at the end-of-year party.’”

Nico just laughed, a deep, happy sound that resonated through the room. He pulled you into his side, his arm draped securely around your shoulders, tucking you against him. He looked down at you, his eyes full of a love so bright and true it made your chest ache.

“You’re all ridiculous,” he said to his team, but his voice was full of undeniable warmth. He looked back at you, and the entire world faded away, the noise of his teammates fading into a dull roar. “But they’re right about one thing.”

“What’s that?” you asked, smiling up at him, your heart so full it felt like it might burst.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate whisper meant only for you.

It had been building up all day. He had woken up a little later than he would have liked. Practice that morning had been a shitshow of disconnecting passes and tension fuelled by a three game losing streak. The hot water had stopped working in the apartment when he got back. And now, he was standing in a crowded bar with some of the other guys on the team and their partners because Nico had stupidly been the one to insist on team bonding exercises outside the ones planned by the team. 

His final straw was coming back after waiting in a long line at the bathroom to find some guy standing beside you at the bar, smiling in a way that just made something in Nico twitch. 

Again, he was usually a friendly guy who stayed calm and collected. He trusted you beyond anything else. He knew it wasn’t that big of a deal and, if it were any other day, he would make his way over, wind his arm around your waist to prove a point and politely introduce himself. 

It was kind of hard to remember to be polite right now. 

He took a step forward, no plan in mind beyond just wanting to shove that man at least five steps away from you when he felt a hand clasping his shoulder and roughly tugging him back. He let out a noise of surprise, whirling around to shoot Timo a betrayed look. 

“What the fuck?” 

“Only stopping you from doing something you’ll regret in the morning,” Timo replied with a shameless shrug. “Calm down before you get yourself thrown out.” 

His jaw twitched. “I wasn’t going to do anything.” 

“Uh huh, and I’m the king of Mars,” Timo retorted blandly. “Calm down, tiger. The last thing you want is walking into the game tomorrow with a black eye for the media to obsess over.” 

Nico puffed his chest out. “That guy would not be able to give me a black eyes.”

Timo’s eyes flickered over his shoulder before patting Nico on the back. “We’ll both pretend to believe that, bud.” 

Nico didn’t get a chance to throw another retort at him before he disappeared back into the crowd. He turned on his heel, some tightness in his chest easing once he saw you were alone again and quickly made his way over.

“Who was that?” He asked in lieu of a normal greeting.

Your face instantly brightened, a glassiness to your eyes that was aided by the couple of drinks you had so far. “Nico, baby! You’re back.” 

Nico’s expression softened slightly. “Yeah, m’back,” he murmured, his hand resting on the small of your back as he leaned closer. “Who was your friend?” 

Your brows furrowed together in confusion before it seemed to click. “Oh. Him? I don’t know.” 

Nico blinked. “You don’t know?” 

“Didn’t bother asking for his name,” you shook your head, smiling slightly. “And he didn’t tell me. He got sick and tired of hearing about you, I guess.” 

Nico swore his heart was thumping loud enough for the whole bar to hear. “You talking about me?” 

“I always talk about you,” you replied easily with a scoff. “You’re, like, my favourite topic. M’proud of you.” 

“So sweet,” Nico murmured, leaning down to press a lingering kiss on the top of your head before he could stop himself. “Wanna get out of here?” 

“God, please, these heels are killing me.”

Nico snorted. “I’ll carry you, baby.”

Jason Todd had been tailing a weapons deal all night, dressed in full Red Hood gear, helmet and all. The scum he’d come to intercept were already zip-tied and unconscious in the back of a stolen van. Meanwhile, you had told him you were going out with your girlfriends and had stopped texting him about an half hour ago much to his worry, so instead of going home like he planned he decided for Red hood to make a pass by the club you had went to.

Which was why he was leaning against his bike, by the alley across the street watching the people entering and exiting. He straightened up as you stumbled out giggling with your friends and he huffed both annoyed and amused at the sight. You were in the middle of saying something, hands waving animatedly when you suddenly paused at the sight of him.

You said something to your friends before you began staggering towards him.

“Reeeeed!” you sang—sang—as you stumbled closer, high heels clacking on the wet pavement, your dress slightly askew and hair tousled from what looked like a hell of a night out.

Jason froze. “Y/N?”

You beamed, oblivious to his tension. “Youuuu know my name,” you hiccuped, staggering toward him with a grin that could short-circuit every neuron in his brain. “God, its not fair that your voice this hot.”

He coughed, straightening. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s late. And dangerous.”

You only grinned, as you staggered closer hand clutching his arm as you pressed yourself up against him. “Mhmm good thing I have a big bad crime lord to keep an eye on me.”

Jason cleared his throat unsure whether he should be amused or offended that you were flirting with him—well Red Hood.

You, meanwhile, were utterly unbothered.

In fact, you leaned closer, pressing up on your toes like you were about to tell him a state secret. “You know,” you whispered conspiratorially, breath warm against the edge of his helmet, “I think about you. Like… a lot.”

Jason swallowed. “Is that so?”

You giggle. “Mhm hm,” Your wandering fingers begin to trail up under his shirt, smile growing as you felt his muscles tense. “All those hard muscles, that sexy voice, you’re like every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make all rolled into one.”

Jason sucked in a slow breath, jaw tightening behind the helmet. The feel of your fingers skating up his abdomen sent a jolt through him, and he hated—loved—how easily you could fluster him like this. Especially dressed like that. Especially talking like this.

You took advantage of his frozen state, your grin downright wicked as you nudged him backward, step by step, deeper into the alley’s shadows. His back hit the brick wall with a dull thud, but he didn’t resist. He just watched you, tense beneath the armour, like a predator unsure if he was about to pounce—or be devoured.

Your fingers slipped out from beneath his shirt, nails grazing down his chest plate before trailing lower—lower still—until they flirted with the waistband of his tactical pants.

“Y/N—” His voice was a warning. A plea. A prayer. He wasn’t sure which.

“Just relax, Hood… no one’s gotta know,” you purr, voice velvet-draped sin, your smile all teeth and temptation.

Jason’s jaw clenched, his breath catching as your fingers danced at the edge of his restraint—and his patience. He had fought crime lords, torn through ambushes, taken bullets without blinking…but you? You were something else.

The second your fingers brushed against him, Jason snapped.

In one fluid, furious motion, he spun you, pressing you up against the cold brick wall. His chest pressed hard into your back, the weight of him pinning you effortlessly in place. One gloved hand flattened against your stomach to hold you still, and the alley suddenly felt claustrophobic with heat and tension.

“Is this what you want?” he growled against your ear, voice rough and ragged. “To be bent over in a filthy alley and be taken by a criminal like some cheap whore?”

You let out a soft, breathless noise in answer—needy, aching—and pushed back into him deliberately, rubbing back against him. The sound he made in response was low and guttural, somewhere between a curse and a prayer.

The hand not holding you still began to unbuckle his belt as he unzipped himself just enough to set his throbbing length free. Then he gripped the hem of your dress and shoved it up with no patience at all, his fingers trailing fire against your bare skin. You felt the sharp tug as something tore, heard the hiss of his breath as his hand disappeared into his pocket of his jacket—where he stashed your now-ruined panties like a trophy.

The cold air brushing your exposed pussy had you whining, your voice breaking into a desperate whimper. “Please,” you breathed, unable to hold back. “Please.”

One gloved hand reached for your throat while the other wrapped around his hard length, lining himself up before thrusting into you in one smooth motion. You were dripping wet and offered no resistance as he slid inside you with ease, your eyes rolling back as a low groan rumbled from his chest. He was was so long and thick that he filled up every inch of you.

A loud whine tore past your lips and his hand moved to muffle your mouth as he pulled out. “You gotta be quiet doll, you don’t want everyone hearing me ruin you now do you?”

You tried to say something through his hand, but he chose that exact moment to thrust sharply back into you. Whatever words you had died in a needy moan as your cunt clenched down around his cock. The last of his restraint snapped at the sensation, and he began pounding into you in earnest.

Part of him knew how wrong and fucked up this was—you were technically cheating on him with the Red Hood. But at the same time, he was the Red Hood. So were you really cheating? The complication of it all only made him thrust into you harder,  taking you rougher than he usually did.

He might’ve felt guilty—might’ve—if not for how much you seemed to love it. His hand shifted from your mouth, gloved fingers curling at your lips. You didn’t hesitate, taking them in eagerly, sucking around them, gagging and drooling as he pushed them deeper.

“That’s it, doll. Take everything I give you,” he groaned, voice low and cooing—a gentle contrast to the brutal pace of his thrusts. “Such a good girl, lettin’ me use your holes.”

The sounds echoing through the alley were utterly obscene—from the wet squelch of your pussy to the sharp slap of skin on skin, and the broken moans spilling past your lips as you begged for more.

“Mmmf—feels… s’good—fuck…” you mumbled around his fingers, the words wet and barely coherent, spit trailing down your chin where his hand kept your mouth stretched open.

“Look at you… so fucked out on my cock” He groaned, “You’re such a little slut taking it so well.”

The bruising grip around your waist shifted to your clit, his fingers rubbing fast, harsh circles that made your hips jerk as you cried out. But with his cock still buried deep inside you and his strength anchoring you in place, there was nowhere to go—no escape—as he worked you toward your orgasm.

It hit you hard and fast—your head falling back, your entire body tensing before collapsing into trembling aftershocks as stars danced across your vision. He kept pounding you through it, relentless, until he finally followed, burying himself deep as he came with a broken curse, emptying himself inside you.

For a long moment, the only sound that filled the silent alley was the sound of both your heavy, ragged breathing as you both fought to catch your breaths and calm your racing hearts. Your palms pressed flat against the brick wall, still trembling, while his body remained close behind—forehead resting against your shoulder, chest rising and falling against your back in rhythm with your own.

Neither of you spoke. Not at first.

Then, finally, the quiet was broken by the low rasp of Red Hood’s voice, “You know,” he drawled, still breathless, “I don’t think your boyfriend would approve of what we just did.”

You let out a breathless, incredulous laugh, your head tilting back just enough for your eyes to find him over your shoulder. “Oh no,” you murmured with mock concern, “you think he’ll be mad?”

Red Hood huffed as he carefully began to pull out of you, his cum immediately dribbling from your well-used hole. “Well, he certainly won’t approve.”

You turned to look at him, your eyes wide with faux innocence, lashes fluttering like you hadn’t just been thoroughly fucked against a brick wall. “Really?” you said, voice light, teasing—dangerously sweet. “Even after the mind-blowing orgasm we both just had?”

Jason froze. “What.”

You tilted your head, your grin only growing. “I know it’s you, Jason.”

Silence.

He blinked, eyes searching yours, as if he’d misheard. “What… how—”

“Baby,” you cut him off with a laugh, soft and incredulous. “You seriously thought I wouldn’t figure it out?”

Jason just stared at you, lips parting slightly. You could see the moment it fully registered, the sharp shift behind his eyes as his mind caught up.

“You knew this whole time?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

You huffed and rolled your eyes as you tug down your dress. “I wouldn’t cheat on you, Jason. Come on. I’ve known for months. You’re not exactly subtle.”

His mouth opened, but you kept going, voice now edged with affection and amused exasperation. “You leave your gear everywhere. Under the bed? Really? That’s your big secret hiding spot?”

Jason let out a groan and dragged the helmet off his head, revealing sweat-mussed hair and a flushed, stunned expression caught somewhere between impressed, exasperated, and undeniably aroused.

“You are such a menace,” he muttered as he pulled you in, his voice low and full of something torn between amusement and affection.

Your hands came up to cup his face, fingers brushing along his jaw, thumbs stroking gently across flushed skin. His eyes flicked shut at the touch, just for a second—like he couldn’t help but melt into you, even after everything.

“Yeah,” you murmured, a soft smile tugging at your lips, “but I’m your menace.”

Your lips met softly, a gentle contrast to everything that had come before. When you finally pulled away, your expression shifted into something sheepish.

“You’re gonna have to carry me,” you mumbled, still breathless. “I don’t think my legs are working after how hard you fucked me.”

He snorted, the sound low and amused, as he smoothly lifted you into his arms without so much as a grunt of effort. “We still have all night,” he said, glancing at you with a wicked glint in his eye. “And trust me… you won’t be walking properly for a week.”

And with that, he carried you off to his bike, so he could take you back to the apartment to get started on round two.