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jasmines-library · 7 months

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Just forget about it.

WHUMPTOBER 2023: Prompt: ‘conditioning’

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: As part of the winter soldier program, all you’ve know is how to kill. After years of being left in cyrofreeze, you are finally let out and are given a mission; to protect. You follow it to the t. Until a certain familiar face shows up to get you out of there. (I suck at summaries ok?)

Warnings: Torture, mind control, fighting.

Word count: 2.8k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

The room was cold, and you couldn’t see anything besides the white fog that rose slowly in front of your face as your mind snapped back online. It hurt too, as your brain began to receive signals again from your pain receptors, your body lit up like it was being stabbed over and over again by a thousand tiny needles. They dug into every inch of your body, burning in your veins. Everything seemed too loud; your thoughts which raced at a thousand miles an hour, the harsh tones of the men surrounding you, the loud clunking of the machines. It made you miss the blissful silence you had been engulfed in for who knows how long.

When the door to the chamber hissed open, and the cold clouds of ice dissipated away, you squinted at the bright light which flooded in. When your eyes adapted, you stared grimly at the man before you. He was all too familiar, though he looked significantly older. It was the face of the man who had tortured you and shaped you into what you were; an unstoppable weapon. He smiled darkly at you as you tried to move away, though you were still restrained by the metal cuffs that pulled you tight against the back of the chamber. You had been in this position before, but something was different this time. This time you remembered. You remembered the feeling of the harsh grip on your arm as you were dragged back into where you would be put back into a deep, meaningless sleep. You remembered the cold and then pain- tenfold to what you were feeling now. But you also remembered a face. One with hard features; long dark hair and firm blue eyes, but often with gentle intent. Something nagged at you that you shouldn’t be able to remember that.

The man stepped towards you, the shit eating grin still plastered on his face. “Hello my lotus.” He spoke to you, his Russian thick and unmissable. “Oh how I have missed you very much. It was such a shame when we had to put you back in cryofreeze. I have missed your pretty face very much, but not to worry. I have a job for you, my lotus.” He lowered his voice. “Let’s just hope we don’t have another little mishap. Hmm?”

He leaned down towards you and you took it as a chance to spit in his face. “You fuck yourself.”

He blinked, wiping away the spit from his face before turning back to you. “You are going to regret that, soldat.”

There were more hands on you then, freeing you from the restraints and dragging you through the room. With what little energy you had, you squirmed but that only resulted in a kick to the ribs to settle you down.

They brought you to an open room, industrial looking of sorts. It was large with machines for all sorts pressed against the walls. In the centre of the room, raised on a circular platform stood a chair. The fabric of the chair was torn and frayed beneath the harsh light above it. You writhed as the men dragged you towards it. You kicked and screamed like a child as you struggled to get away. The chair held too many unwanted, painful memories. When you were forced onto the old leather and bound once again by metal cuffs on your forearms, the familiar man stepped before you and grinned, trailing his hand along your jaw.

“Let’s hope you learn to obey this time, soldat.”

With that, he turned to slam the heavy doors to the room. You heard the locks whirr as they clicked into place, as he moved away into some part of the room that you couldn’t see from where you were sitting, leaving you with another man whom you didn’t recognise. He stepped forwards, ensuring that you were secure.

“Begin.” You heard from behind you.

There was a shuffling across the room, followed by a whirring of the machinery you were strapped to as it started up. Then you were consumed by a blinding pain. You let out a blood curdling scream, which ricocheted off of the tiled walls. Thrashing and writhing, you tugged on the metal cuffs. They dug into your skin and you tried to escape the pain that radiated in your head and raced through your body. It was a thousand agonies at once. When you thought you couldn’t take any more, the pain amped up. Your head pounded and your eyes burned against the light. Your fingernails scraped along the leather as your back arched. Blood dripped from your nose and your ears. You could taste its copperness as it spilled over your chapped lips and into your mouth.

Then, it all stopped.

Your body slumped back against the chair with what little energy you had left. Your limp body heaved for air. You swallowed thickly; your throat was raw.

The man slunk forwards from wherever he had retreated to in the room. Your body froze when the string of russian words began to slip from his mouth.

“Purify.”

You tensed, eyes wide as you looked around the room.”

“Brass. Hang. Illustrate.”

You thrashed, trying to cover your ears with your hands, but to no avail.

“Noiseless, twelve, evanescent.”

“NO! No..” You cried. These words would be your undoing. Once they had been uttered there was no going back. You couldn’t go back.

“Illustrate, beserk.”

“NO! STOP IT!... Please.”

“Connection.”

Your mind went black. No feelings, just the urge to follow orders. Thoughts, but no control or freedom over what they were. Your bloodied body relaxing in the chair. Thousands of memories of your training and your experimentation flooded your head. You raised your head to look up at the grey haired man. “Ready to comply.”

“Good. We have a mission for you, Soldat.”

~~~

Shoot, kill, protect. Shoot, kill, protect.

That was all that went through your mind and you slunk around the corners of the base. It had been infiltrated by a group of highly-trained superheroes. They were hardly subtle, despite how much they tried to be. Your enhanced hearing allowed you to hear their footsteps echoing across the halls. Pressing yourself up against the wall, you waited until they had rounded the corner. You were lingering only a few feet away from where Zola had locked himself away to prepare for his escape. You were not only guarding him, but also the files that he possessed. Little did you know that that was not all that the Avengers were hoping to find.

When the footsteps rounded the corner, you were greeted with a redhead woman. Before she could move any further, you had your hand wrapped tightly around her throat, pinning her against the wall. You narrowed your eyes, pressing your gun to her abdomen. She delivered a harsh blow to your stomach, which despite your strength sent you keeling backwards.

“I’ve got eyes.” She muttered something else into her comms, making an advance towards the room, but you grabbed her leg and pulled her to the ground. Her head hit the floor.

Scrabbling for your gun, you were up on your feet in seconds before another two pairs of footsteps reached the end of the corridor. This time, it was two men that rounded the corner. Bucky’s heart almost stopped in his chest when his eyes landed on you. He felt as though he was going to be sick. Mechanically, you readied yourself into a fighting stance. Racing towards you, they both advanced towards you. You ducked under the arm of the taller one before using the wall to propel yourself towards the other. The small hallway became a blue of bullets and limbs as the three of you fought. The movement of one of them was well placed. He seemed to know all of the counters to your moves. It was the red star on his silver arm that caught your attention. And that small distraction was all it took for the man to knock you down and plaster you to the floor.

As you kicked, trying to get a good hit in on the man, he studied your face. It flashed with recognition. Your piercing eyes would never leave Bucky’s memories.

“Y/n?”

You flinched at the small mention of your name, but your programming was too strong. Shoot, kill, protect. Your fingers reached for your gun which he had knocked out of your hands. Your fingers inched along the floor, but then there was a firm grip on your wrist keeping it still. You squirmed.

Bucky tried again. He couldn’t quite believe that you were in front of him. Your face hadn’t changed much since the last time he saw you but you looked older, more tired. “Doll?”

You stiffened. The name cuts through your programming like a knife in butter. His face came flooding back to you, some memories good, some bad. He was there when you were at your lowest, you were there when he was at his. The two of you had been together through thick and thin, supporting each other through what little good and what masses of pain you had experienced. You furrowed his brow, scanning his face. His blue eyes were still the same, but he looked different. Kinder. Calmer.

“Bucky?”

“Yes!” The super soldier nearly cried. “Yes doll. It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

He eased his touch a little as you melted against him. His touch became tender like you remembered it to be as he cupped your face with his non metal arm.

There was a commotion behind you. The sound of bullets filled the air and your programing shifted to the front of your mind again. With Bucky’s loosened grip on you, you managed to wiggle out from under him and scramble towards the open door. The other man had managed to slip away and infiltrate the room where Zola had barred himself in. You raced in, your finger poised on the trigger. You raised it, aiming at the offender in the room. Though something was stopping you from pulling the trigger as you so normally would under the soldier programing.

Zola frowned angrily. “Kill him.” He spat.

Your hand shook as your mind fought itself. One part of you screamed at you to just pull the trigger. The other, more sane part of you told you otherwise.

A pair of hands wrapped themselves around your waist, pulling you away from the scene. You tried to fight against them, but also enhanced by the serum, Bucky’s strength was on par with yours.

“Get off of me.” You growled.

His grip was firm as it moved to your shoulders.

“Hey, Hey calm down.”

You tried to kick at him, but it was pointless.

“You’re ok doll. It’s me.”

You stilled, relaxing in his arms again.

“I’m gonna get you out of here Doll. I promise.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY EIGHT ⛤ DAY TEN ->

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fayes-fics · 10 months

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It Had To Be You: Chapter 6 - Just Somebody That I Used to Know

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x Kate Sharma, Modern AU

Summary: Exes cause some unexpected moments for both you and Benedict...

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: not much... swearing, propositioning for sex.

Word Count: 4.0k (longest chapter so far!)

Authors Note: Unbetaed. A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. In this chapter, Benedict runs into his ex-wife unexpectedly, and it throws him for a loop. Plus, Tom's sudden change in status causes a crisis of confidence for reader.

3 months later (15 months ago)

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you elbow him in the ribs, maybe uncharitably, but he’s being mildly irritating. ”Let’s just stick to practical stuff,” you argue, seizing his laptop and bringing it in front of you to take over.

“Come on, who doesn’t need an 18th-century replica cannon?” Benedict argues jovially, hooking his chin onto your shoulder and fluttering his eyelids in an attempt to get his way.

“I would argue your brother and my best friend,” you state pointedly, looking at him askance with a raised eyebrow, even as you secretly enjoy his silliness.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right,” he hums, sitting back up straight, “they’d probably just find a way to actually weaponise it during one of their fights.”

It’s three months later, and, just as she predicted on the first night they met, Kate and Anthony are engaged. Returning from a trip to Lake Cuomo two weeks ago, she had an enormous rock on her left hand and a grin like a Cheshire Cat, not just because of the jewellery. She claimed she orgasmed for thirty minutes straight even before she got the ring. You’re still in a low-key disagreement with her about whether that’s even possible.

Today is an uncharacteristically sweltering June day, so you and Benedict are taking refuge in the cool air-conditioning at Battersea Power Station, down the road from the gallery he’s exhibiting in. You sit on a sofa with iced coffees trying to cobble together a gift registry—a task Kate and Anthony have lumbered you both with as matron of honour and best man.

“Who has their wedding registry at Harrods and Fortnum and Mason anyway?” you grouse.

“Family tradition,” he states airily. Sometimes you forget just how rich the Bridgertons are.

“You’re far too fucking posh,” you roll your eyes. “What’s wrong with John Lewis, like normal people?”

“Tell you what,” one of Benedict’s arms encircles your waist and lightly tickles, causing you to squirm, a distraction tactic to wrestle back control of his laptop with his other hand, “if we get married, the registry can be at John Lewis, and you can explain to my tearful mother why you want to break Bridgerton tradition.”

You know it’s an offhand, meaningless comment said in jest, but the words ‘we get married’ seem to echo around your head, even as he cackles triumphantly to himself and clicks ‘add to registry’ on the ridiculous cannon. As revenge, you swipe his brownie and take a big bite which he attempts to snatch back. You are giggling and tussling, crumbs flying, when a sophisticated French voice cuts into your childish playfulness.

“Benoit!? Je pensais que c'était toi!”

Your giggles die out as you untangle from Benedict to observe a beautiful petite brunette woman with elfin features. She clings to another striking woman who can barely conceal her look of disdain.

You feel Benedict freeze up, his body suddenly tense. Defensive.

“Tessa,” he nods after what feels like an age of awkward silence.

Oh god. It’s her. This is his ex-wife. For some reason, here in London.

“It’s good to see you,” she switches to lightly accented English, her arm gripping the other ladies tighter.

“Likewise,” he says curtly, holding himself stiffly in a way that suggests anything but.

Tessa turns her doe-eyes to you, pointedly awaiting an introduction. It takes him a moment to realise it, and your chest suddenly aches in sympathy for the little-boy-lost expression you can see through the cracked veneer of civility.

“Oh right… Thérèse Durand, Tessa, meet y/n y/l/n,” he gestures flatly. “Y/n, this is Tessa… and Clarissa,” he sneers the other woman’s name, and instantly you know who she is—the one Tessa left him for.

You politely nod and make an awkward small wave gesture, unsure what else to do. Benedict appears to be in some form of shell shock; gently, you squeeze his arm until he blinks as if coming back online.

“Well… I can see you are busy,” Tessa nods at the laptop, “I will not delay you plus,” switching back to French for the last word, exchanging loaded looks with Clarissa.

With another awkward nod, they turn their heels and walk away.

‘She looked weird, didn’t she?’ he stutters as they retreat.

“I don’t know her, Ben,” you remind softly, “I just met her.” Mainly you are concerned by how utterly disconcerted he is by merely bumping into her.

“Trust me, she looked weird,” he affirms, still watching the space they occupied even as they turn a corner and disappear.

You just rub his arm in what you hope is a soothing pattern, unsure what to say.

“Ughhh. A continent of 745 million people… I was just bound to run into my ex-wife at some point, right?” his sarcastic humour flaring as he puts his head in his hands.

“You even tried to put a body of water between you,” you concur, attempting levity. “Seems bloody unlikely to happen… but then I’d say so is a replica cannon for a wedding present, but you insist on it,” you joke softly, bumping his shoulder lightly.

When he tilts his head up and cracks a tiny smile, you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

—

“Although marrying you may suggest otherwise, I have not had a complete taste bypass,” Kate barbs at Anthony as they stand around a coffee table the next day.

They are moving in together pre-wedding, and they definitely have strong opinions about each other’s possessions. You and Benedict have arrived to assist them in unpacking their fancy Kensington mews, but your primary role may well be as referee.

Kate turns to you. “Y/n, please, do you like this thing?”

You purse your lips, not wanting to offend.

“Be honest,” Anthony adds, hands on his hips, looking at your expectantly.

Sheepishly, you shake your head.

“What's wrong with it?” Anthony asks.

“Honey,” Kate loops her arms around his neck, “it’s so awful, I can’t even begin to tell you what’s wrong with it.”

Anthony rolls his eyes, but you can tell he secretly enjoys how she nuzzles his neck, and he pulls her into his arms. “Brother, what do you think?”

Benedict is staring out of the window; he doesn't even turn around, just mumbles. “It’s fine.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, concerned about his moroseness but say nothing.

“Look, I think it will be fine in your home office,” Kate offers conciliatory. “It will go perfectly with that ugly drinks hutch thing,” she suggests, wanting to sound helpful.

“Wait, wait….,” Anthony withdraws from their embrace. “You don't like my home bar??” he throws his hands up in a what-the-hell gesture.

Kate goes to answer but is interrupted by Benedict turning around to speak. “You know, we started like this—little disagreements about things. We thought it was so cute. Well, want my advice? Put your initials on your shit now, so you know whose is whose before it all gets jumbled together.”

“Ben …” you murmur a warning, seeing his irritation flaring. He ignores you.

“Cos someday, believe me, you will go twenty rounds on who gets this coffee table. This stupid, ugly, the-80s-called-and-they-want-their-glass-monstrosity-back will cost you five times as much as you paid for it in legal fees from the firm of I-don’t-even-want-this-but-I-want-you-to-have-it-even-less and Sons.”

“I thought you liked it?” Ant counters, frowning deeply.

“I WAS BEING POLITE!!” Benedict exclaims loudly before storming out.

Kate and Anthony gape at the doorway, shocked at the completely uncharacteristic outburst.

“He… he just bumped into Tessa,” you offer quietly as if to explain, then with a nod, go to seek him out.

“I want you to know something,” you hear Kate say as you leave, pulling Anthony into her arms and placing a kiss on his cheek. “I will always hate that fucking ugly eyesore you claim is furniture.”

You find Ben outside lingering on the pavement, kicking a loose stone into the gutter. Looking to all intents and purposes like he needs a cigarette to calm down.

The minute he sees you, he holds up a hand, an admission of fault. “I know, I know.”

“Ben…. you’re going to have to find a way not to express every feeling you have the moment you have them,” you point out, aiming for delicacy.

This morning he berated a kid in Costa for getting his tea order wrong, which is unlike him. You know that the only reason can be bumping into Tessa and all the residual anger and hurt about it bubbling to the surface.

“I just bumped into my ex fucking wife. So yeah, excuse me if I try to warn my brother what a shitshow their life could become,” he grumbles, confirming your suspicions.

“There are times and places for these things… and when they are just moving in together might not have been the time to bring up divorce,” you try to point out gently.

“Oh really? Well, next time you’re giving a lecture on being a fucking droid, R2, let me know, and I’ll be sure to sign up,” he snarks.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!?” you demand, hands on hips indignantly, your own anger flaring at his cutting remark.

“It means nothing bothers you. I never see you get upset about Tom. I never see you get upset about anything at all; in fact,” he derides. “Don’t you care your longest relationship ended? Don't you experience any sense of loss?!”

“I feel things; I just choose to deal with my break up privately, like a grown-up,” you volley back, aiming to wound as much as he did.

“Please,” he rolls his eyes witheringly. “Sleeping with a bunch of idiots doesn't mean you have dealt with your breakup; it just means you’re avoiding it.”

“Better than not fucking anyone, you coward,” you shoot back, hurt he would bring up your recent, mildly slutty behaviour.

For a few moments, it's just a nettled staring match; you are not willing to give an inch.

“Besides, even if we know relationships are more than likely going to fuck up, you don't wish it on your friends or family, right? You want to believe that it will work for them. I mean, I don’t fully get those two as a couple, but fuck they are so happy, Ben,” you gesture at their windows. “I want to believe it will work for them. I really do. And even that it will work for us again one day. That we will find our people.”

You see all the wind fall out of his sails, deflating before your eyes.

“Fuck, you’re right,” he sighs, “I'm so sorry,” he pulls you into a hug. ”I never want to fight with you,” he avows, his breath warm on your temple.

“I'm sorry too,” you admit into his jaw. “I didn't mean the coward thing,” you mumble, feeling guilty but enjoying the warmth of his embrace.

“No, but you’re right,” he concedes. “I need to get back out there properly. God, Tessa just really threw me for a fucking loop yesterday, and I didn't sleep at all. I’m taking it out on all the wrong people today.”

His honest confession feels like the Ben you know and, yes, love. You band your arms around him tighter and stay quiet for a few beats, knowing all is forgiven.

Just as you break apart, Anthony bursts through the front door hauling the coffee table with considerable effort.

“Don't say a fucking word,” he grouses.

—

“Could you come over?” you snuffle as the call connects.

It’s a month after Kate and Anthony moved in together, and you know they are out celebrating tonight, so you don't want to bother her.

“What’s wrong?” Benedict’s cadence changes as he realises you sound off. It appears he’s moving to a quieter spot, the loud background noise of wherever he is fading slightly.

“He’s getting married!” You wail, gesturing wildly so the wine almost slops out of the bottle you are swigging from.

“Who is?” You can hear his frown, even down the phone.

“Tom!” You exclaim over a hiccup as if irritated he can’t read your mind.

“I’ll be right there,” the reassuring promise in his sincere tone makes you clasp your chest. Good old handsome, sweet, reliable Ben. What a great friend.

Half an hour later, you answer the door with a tissue in hand, uncaring that you likely look a state—your hair half up in a messy bun and swamped by an oversized hoodie, concealing your pyjama shorts and vest.

You collapse into Benedict’s arms when he shoots you a sympathetic look.

“Thank you. For coming. Why are you so smartly dressed?” you hiccup into his fancy shirt.

“I was uhh on a date,” he admits reticently as you break apart.

“You left a date!?”

“Yep. I just said my best friend is having a crisis, and I had to go. It’s the truth,” he shrugs.

“Aw, I’m your best friend,” you pout with quivering eyes, which makes him laugh.

“You look like that silly emoji. And, of course, you are,” he says as if it's the most obvious thing. “I mean, I didn't tell her that my best friend is a woman—probably not a first date revelation,” he points out, slinging an arm around your shoulders and manoeuvring you towards your sofa.

“Oh god, first date?! Shit, I'm sorry. Go, go back to her!” You attempt to shoo him away, but he pulls you tighter under his arm and rolls his eyes as he surveys the mess that is currently your living room—so very out of character.

“You really did spiral, didn't you?” he chuckles, picking his way through the scattering of empty crisp packets and Cadbury wrappers to place you back on the sofa.

“She is supposed to be his rebound fling; she's not supposed to be ‘The One’,” you bawl, pointing at your laptop screen, still open to Tom’s wedding invitation.

Benedict takes the laptop and sighs, exiting the email window and smiling to himself as he sees your wallpaper - it's you and him in the novelty photobooth from last year's New Year party, heads together and grinning inanely. He closes the lid and twists to look at you, realising you have indeed not dealt with the heartbreak of your split with Tom at all over the last few months. You were just in denial about it all up until now. Knowing he has to tread carefully, he touches your shoulder.

“You broke it off because you wanted different things, remember?” he soothes. “Do you suddenly want kids?”

“No,” you pull a disgusted face.

“Then this is for the best,” he posits, brushing the hair from your cheek caught in your tear tracts.

“I’m difficult,” you lament, wallowing in a touch of maudlin self-pity now you have an audience.

“Challenging,” he amends with a crooked smile.

“I’m too closed-off and particular,” you throw out.

“You know what you want and refuse to compromise,” he argues, rubbing a thumb over your cheek in a comforting motion.

You look up from your self-indulgent tears and see his handsome face defending your worst qualities as positives, and you have never wanted another human more in your life. Perhaps the bottle of wine isn't helping, but right now, all you want - emotionally, physically, sexually - is the man before you.

“Fuck me, Benedict,” you murmur.

He barks a laugh. “Yeah, you've got yourself in a pickle,” he opines, bemused. And you wonder if he's being deliberately obtuse.

“No…” you clarify, placing your hand over the one curled around your face. “Fuck me. Please,” you stare into his eyes intently, making your request clear.

A thousand reactions ripple across his face, mostly surprise and confusion, but you also see how his pupils dilate, making your heart race.

“I don't think that’s a good idea,” he stumbles as his gaze flits to your mouth.

“That's not a no,” you point out, boldly swinging into his lap, straddling him, as you see him wrestling with so many thoughts.

“We are best friends,” he whispers, sounding almost afraid.

“And as my best friend, I am asking you to take me to bed and fuck me,” you state plainly, sliding your thighs wider until your core rocks over the seam of his jeans, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck.

“You've had too much to drink.” He sounds like he's trying to clutch at straws, but you don't miss how his hand is gripping your hip now, fingers warm through the cotton of your pyjama shorts.

“Enough to be emboldened, not enough to be unaware of what I'm doing,” you supply, attempting to alleviate any fear he may have of taking advantage. “You would simply be helping a friend in need, please.”

With your cards now all on the table, you see he is frozen, the conflict writ large on his face and part of your heart cracks. Oh god, maybe he doesn't want this, and he has no idea how to let an upset, vulnerable friend down gently.

“Fuck…” you mutter and drop your forehead onto his shoulder. “I never stopped to consider you may not want to fuck me anymore. I’m such an idiot. That was 11 years ago….”

The hand on your hip flexes.

“That's not the problem,” he growls, and your head shoots up to see the vein in his temple pulsing.

“Then what is?” you whisper, your limbic system alive with the idea he finds you attractive.

“You have just found out your ex is getting married, you drank a bottle of wine, and now you are propositioning me. I’m worried a large part of you will hate me tomorrow if I say yes,” he confesses, sounding almost vulnerable. “I’d prefer to keep you as a friend than fuck you and have you resent me for it.”

“But you want to?” you whisper, craving the affirmation to your fragile ego.

“Like you wouldn't believe,” he barely murmurs it. “But please get off me.”

You see the sincerity in his eyes and back down, feeling so many things in your tipsy heart—guilt you backed him into a corner, sad he turned you down, happy he respects you enough to do so.

Believing it is the grown-up thing to release him from this messed-up evening, you climb out of his lap and head towards your front door. The shame and embarrassment are starting to creep in; your need to hide and deny what you did ramping up.

“You are a better friend than me,” you acknowledge as he trails behind you. “And I apologise. Thank you. I guess I just needed confirmation that I'm desirable to someone.” you mumble, looking at the floor.

“Didn't you just have a date last week?” he points out as you both hover in the hallway.

“Yeah, but that's different….”

“How?”

“It's not someone who truly knows me,” you sigh, finally looking up at him again. His eyes are soft with understanding. He's so beautiful you almost want to cry.

“I need you to know something…” his voice even, but there's something awkward in the way he stares at the wall over your shoulder as he speaks, “....you are a beautiful, sexy woman. Anyone would be lucky to have you. I just….” He trails off, struggling for the right words.

“I understand,” you nod conciliatory. “I’m going to be mortified when I sober up,” you admit sheepishly, and you see his shoulders slump.

“I can’t leave you, not like this. I’d be a bad friend.” He takes a deep breath and steps aside into your kitchen. “Come on,” he coaxes when you just stand there staring at him. “Let’s get you a cup of tea and sobered up.”

You then watch as he potters around your kitchen making you toast and tea at 9 pm on a rainy Thursday evening. It’s such a wonderful, giving thing to do that you can only stand there and watch, mildly dumbstruck. It’s only when the inviting aroma hits your nose that you realise you haven’t even eaten anything except crisps and chocolate since yesterday.

He leads you to the sofa and then hands you a steaming hot mug of tea just how you like it and a plate with two perfectly toasted slices of bread slathered in butter. You tackle them greedily, murmuring your thank yous as he takes a seat in your armchair, a respectable distance, and queues up something brainless for you to enjoy.

You don’t talk as the next two hours unfold, him giving you space but also his presence so you don’t spiral into thoughts of how your rash moment may have ruined your friendship. Wordlessly telling you he is here as a friend and everything will be okay, despite the awkwardness. Bringing you another round of tea and toast, making himself some this time too. Even handing you paracetamol from your bathroom cabinet to pre-empt the muzzy head you can feel approaching. It's like he can intuit your needs before you can, making your heart clench even harder.

“I’m mostly sober now,” you confess quietly as an episode of the show you’re watching ends. “And I’ll be okay, honestly. Thank you for dropping your plans and coming to check on me. And I’m truly sorry for what I did. Propositioning you. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Let's consider it even,” he smiles mildly. “For the car ride from St Andrews?” he prompts when you look confused.

“Okay,” you giggle, heaving a huge sigh of relief, knowing somehow all is forgiven.

“Now, if you are truly okay, I shall get out of your hair,” he offers, slapping his legs before rocking to his feet.

“I'm okay,” you confirm quietly, a little pang in your chest that is not wanting to be alone but not saying it. Instead, you also stand up and drift again towards your front door to show him out. You want to ask him to stay but know it's a selfish request.

“Thank you, bestie,” you overenunciate and throw your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a bear hug.

“You are welcome, bestie,” he chuckles into your hair.

His body is warm and feels wonderful pressed against yours, and you linger, just indulging in the feeling of being held, squeezing your arms a little tighter, burying your face into his neck and huffing his delicious aftershave. You know you are pushing the boundary of what is acceptable for a hug between friends, but he's not fighting you off.

You pull back a little to look into his eyes. “Thank you, Ben, for everything,” more sincere now, sotto voce.

“You’ll be okay,” he assures, smoothing down your hair with tender strokes. “Dorset was just a blip on your radar. There is someone much better out there for you. Don't let him be the reason you doubt yourself. He is not worth your tears.”

It's a beautiful, supportive speech, and on instinct, you push up to give him a quick peck on the lips as a thank you. Just like at New Year's, his lips are warm and plush beneath yours as you press into them. Except this time, he freezes, and instantly, you realise your mistake.

“Shit, sorry,” you murmur as you fall back to your flat feet, realising that was a foolish move after what transpired earlier.

Something feels charged, and you sense a change in him, in his breathing.

“Again.” It's almost a snarl, and you worry you have annoyed him.

“Yes, Im sorry again,” you confirm meekly.

“No,” his eyes pop open, blazing, and his voice has taken on a different tone, almost foreign. “Again.” You merely frown until he pitches forward, his breath harsh on your lips. “Kiss me again.”

“But….” you begin to protest, even as you do as he asks, heart in your throat. Your lips meet, and he kisses you back this time—ferociously.

And a firework explodes in your chest.

It's as if you have never been kissed before, your skin tingling all over with instant exhilaration. As your lips slide together in an almost desperate dance, his hands grab your face, tilting your head to the left. Then he is opening his mouth….

Oh fucking hell.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #it had to be you fic

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kooksbunnnn · 2 years

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Race me to happiness? Jeon Jungkook

masterlist

Summary: Your urge to beat Jungkook in a race makes you realize how deep you have fallen for him.

Word count: 1.7k Best Friends to Lovers

Ratings: 18+

Warnings: Just a fluffy drabble with Jungkook being the best boyfiee. They are in a relationship. Mentions of intimacy. Lots of kissing. Reader promotes the Spidey Kook agenda.

Authors note: Wanted to write some fluff before I post some smut.

______________________________________________________________

Okay, this is not what you signed up for when he asked you out. This man might have the cutest bunny smile, the perfect boyfriend behavior, and big strong arms to hold you up and down, he might even be the epitome of the word perfect but the only thing you would like him to dial down about himself is the urge to make you do athletic stuff, like, you are a very tiny human and he expects you to run towards the farthest pillar or the farthest lamp post in your sight in the Han river park?

Could you say no to him? Should you not run along? Would you not comply with all the wishes he makes with that puppy-like face of his?

No to all the questions.

How could you when he gets so excited and smiley making him look like a happy-jumpy bunny when he wins the casual-jogging-but-now-its-a-race? The fact that you don't like to lose too makes you make hasty decisions and then regret them later

Today is no different.

You sit on the grass with a sprained ankle which makes you want to smack your head to even think that Jungkook is unbeatable, for which you are thankful today, because if you actually had outrun him and then twisted your ankle? It was your face that would've been bruised, not the little scratch on your knee, along with the mind-wrecking sprain.

You see him jogging towards you with a cup filled with ice and you smile at him. He sees your hand caressing your ankle making his face soften he jogs up to you faster than before and up close, you can see, the guilt.

He stands in front of you with a frown and looks at you with his facial features all tense. Kneeling down in front of you he brings the ice in his hand to press softly on the sprain for some relief. When you hiss he pulls it away and looks at you with big round eyes, with concern and-

Is he tearing up? Oh no.

"Baby." You call for his attention in a whisper and he looks down in an instant pressing the ice so delicately as if you'd break.

"Baby. It's not your fault." You tell him, tilting your head to make better eye contact but he tries to hide his teary eyes by looking down and concentrating on your ankle. You take his cheeks in your palms and he looks up with a pout your hands created on his face along with his glassy eyes, he tries to move his face but you chuckle and pull him closer by the lapels of his jacket.

You spread your other uninjured leg to accommodate his big body closer to yours, him trying not to put pressure on your ankle. The evening sun gives an orange glow to his face when he comes closer to you, sitting in the grass, with your left shoe lying on the ground beside you with laces untied shabbily.

"It's not your fault, okay? I wanted to win this time. It was an adrenaline thing, baby." You tell him looking into his eyes and scratching his scalp with your nails while you speak, to which he closes his eyes and sniffs.

"I'm really sorry, princess. I should've been more careful." He says nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck, sniffling and you feel your insides melt from how cuddly and big and comforting he feels. The way he is not putting pressure on your body, staying away from your ankle, not before he positions the ice box on your ankle somehow perfectly making sure it doesn't fall, makes your heart swell.

"You literally fell down trying to catch me bun. I don't think you could've saved me from twisting my ankles even with your spidey senses. Especially in public? I can't risk people knowing, yeah?" You smile when he looks up at you with narrowed eyes at the spider man comment because of the recent childhood spidey underwear scenario.

"I could've saved your ankle if I was a real superhero though, and make fun all you want, atleast I didn't show up at the fancy dress in a banana outfit. I mean, what were you thinking-" he cuts his sentence with a laugh he lets out making his shoulders bounce, you vibrating along with him.

Cheeks red, you smack his shoulders embarrassed and he pulls himself back from your neck wiping the corner of his eye. Still chuckling he pulls back and you almost whine when he removes the slight weight you felt on your body he was so hard trying to not put.

"I was 9, Jungkook. Nine is a small age." You huff with a pout and he chuckles at your cuteness.

"It was just- there were three other kids with a banana outfit. It was funny, how you looked like a bunch of bananas when you grouped for that picture." He laughs looking at you but stops seeing your pouty face.

He smiles sheepishly and bends to pinch your cheek, "You looked adorable though, baby." You both laugh it out and enjoy the silence while he shifts back.

Sitting back he removes the ice box and changes its position not to make the skin feel numb. You smile at his thoughtfulness which makes your heart fall harder for him. Having been best friends since you were 6 you never knew you would know how much of a loving boyfriend he would turn out to be. Not knowing what forever meant with this man as a kid you thought he would be the best friend you saw in Disney movies or the bridesman at your wedding just like your aunt Ji-ah's wedding.

But neither did he turn out gay, nor he wants to cheer for the groom like a best friend. Instead, he wants to be the groom. You never understood how it happened but one day you're best friends (with one-sided feelings from your side of course) and the next day, he confesses. Since you had been trying to hide your feelings for the sake of the friendship, you felt overwhelmed and cried in his arms confessing your love too. Ending up sleeping on the couch, cuddled up.

He became your special person when you first saw his eyes look at you in a way he looked at the stars, his comfort, when you walked up to his car in a white summer dress for your first date, the memory of him telling you he wants to see you walking down the aisle in a white wedding dress for him just like that in future, is still engraved in your head.

"It would've been more convenient if I were a superhero you know? I could just jump and fly away with you. I think they would last longer than humans with the superhuman strength their balls would have."

How could he be cute and dirty in the same sentence?

"You are my superhero, Jungkook." You reach for his tattooed arm and say this with a smile and he looks up at you with wide eyes and a blush that he tries to hide, smiling. You chuckle at his baby-like behavior, all giggly and peachy, which contrasts his persona when he wants to fuck.

Double bunny, a name Taehyung gave him on one of those nights you and the whole squad plus their girlfriend hung out. Making fun of how he was trying to kill a waiter with a death glare for ogling you up and down but suddenly turned his head towards you with big puppy eyes when you excitedly called his name for showing him the new boba drink plushie you saw online.

You fell for his eyes the moment you saw him sitting alone on the swing. If thats were even possible for a 6-year-old kid.

Jungkook looks around and notices it getting dark, so he gets up, picking up the shoe and your phone beside you, seeing him getting up you try to do that too, but he suddenly speaks with his voice dropping to a lower octave, "Hey?!" You pause mid-movement at his voice, and he clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. Scoffing at how you thought he would let you walk.

"I was picking up your stuff, making sure you don't forget anything and you thought I would make you walk on your own? The audacity, I swear." he scoffs with a smile pulling you up in his arms. Lifting you in bridal style he makes you gasp when you notice attention drawing towards you two, you try to push yourself off him and tell him to put you down. He stands there like a sim with narrowed eyes on you and you wiggling in his arms, letting you calm down from the little protest show you were having.

You stop your movements when your movements cause a piercing pain in your ankle, and you wince. Looking up at him with big eyes, you give up and he chuckles shaking his head.

"You can be stubborn as fuck you know that?" He gives short chaste kisses to your lips, one time, two times, three times, and the fourth time you don't let him pull his head back. His grip on you tightens the moment your tongue pushes past his lips and he groans in the kiss.

You pull back and look into his already dizzy eyes. "Just for you to put me back in my place, Jeon."

"Fuck" he curses with his eyes squeezed shut, you can be a minx if you wanted to be, he thinks.

"Gonna note that for the time I fuck you when your ankle heals, baby." He gives a wet open-mouthed kiss to your cheek and walks you over to the car, smiling at how you blush when people look at you in your boyfriend's arms, placing you in the passenger's seat he bends further to put on your seatbelt. While getting back up you lock your eyes with him, and the love in them makes you snake your hands around his neck, kissing him, you smile in the kiss and he whispers a little 'I love you' in between. Your smile reaches your eyes when you hear him say that. Making your heart flutter.

"I love you too, baby" you whisper back to him, and at that moment, in that closeness, with his breathe on you, with the love in both your eyes and heart you realize you can fall for one person all over again, multiple times and that love can grow up to limits you can never measure.

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procrastinatorimagines · 2 years

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It's My Job To Worry

Fandom: The Rookie

Series: One Shot

Pairing/s: Tim Bradford x Reader

Warning/s: mugging, injury

Word Count: 785

Request: Could I request an angsty hurt/comfort Tim Bradford x reader?? Reader gets mugged one night walking a couple blocks home from a friends and Tim and John are the first to get there and they have to wait for an ambo. With worried Tim because she’s hurt pretty badly.

Heyy could you please write a Tim Bradford x Reader Story? Your previous ones are soooo goooddd

It happened so fast you could barely process it. One moment, you were turning a corner a couple of blocks from your friend's apartment in LA, a route you'd taken so many times before you didn't think much of it until you took the first step around and felt yourself thrown off of your feet.

You hit the ground hard before you realised what was happening, your head smacking the concrete. Blurry eyed and disoriented you felt your bag thrust from your clutches. You tried to rise, tried to keep hold of it, but the glint of metal in the setting sun had your stomach drop so fast you fell back to the ground, ice cold fear setting into your veins.

"Please don't-" you tried, the fight going out of you as you let your assailant take the bag from your fingers.

"Shut up bitch," came reply, a sharp kick to your ribs as you tried to push yourself up again using the wall to support you, sending you sprawling on your side. The boot came down again on the side of your leg as you cried out in pain, but it never came down again, shouts from off to the side causing your attacker to run back down the way you came.

"Hey! Hey!" You heard voices and footsteps approaching, friendly this time. "Oh my god, are you alright? Stay there, I'll call for help."

With a groan you rolled onto your back and pulled yourself up a bit, your core screaming with the added pressure on your ribs as you managed to lean against the bricks behind you. The effort made your vision swim, and a touch to your head came back red and pounding. Stretching your sore leg out in front of you, you sobbed, completely shocked by the turn of events your afternoon had taken.

You were vaguely aware of someone talking to you, and you replying, your name you thought, but the ringing in your ears was muffling everything.

"The police and an ambulance are on their way," someone told you, kneeling down and offering you a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"Thank you," you mouthed, voice not working properly. It was then you heard the police sirens.

The police car had barely stopped when you saw someone jump out the side door. You squinted, unsure who it was until the figure got closer, then you let out a sign of relief that turned into a sob. You'd recognise your boyfriend anywhere.

"Y/N," the neighbours who gathered in the street when the commotion began made space for him as he rushed to you. He crouched down beside you immediately, hands going to your head as he eyes examined your body, checking you over.

"Are you hurt? Are you alright?" He asked, not giving you time to reply before he got on the radio to check how long the ambulance was going to be.

"Tim," you said, grabbing one of his hands and causing him to stop. "It's not that bad."

"You never minimise a head injury Y/N," Tim said, his voice soft.

Nolan, who he had been riding with, was hanging back talking to neighbours about what they had seen. You saw some pointing in the direction your attacker fled and at you as they spoke.

"You're worrying too much, the ambulance is on it's way," you told Tim, putting on a brave face he saw through immediately as your forced smile made your bottom lip quiver. He kept his hand on your leg and rubbed your calf reassuringly where you sat while you waited.

You noticed a neighbour coming up behind Tim and shifted your attention. She was an older lady, with soft thin looking white hair and stern features.

"Excuse me, officer," she coughed to get Tim's attention, and he turned his head, still kneeling next to you, "don't you think you're getting a bit too friendly there."

Tim blinked, confused until you laughed. She'd seen the way he'd put his hands on you and come to make sure you were alright. It was sweet, but you laughed anyway, the craziness of the last, what, 15 minutes? combined with the pounding in your head, had made you a little crazy.

"I'm okay, but thanks, he's my boyfriend," you quickly explained to the lady, who huffed but nodded and walked off.

"Yes, I am," Tim told you when she was gone, the sirens of the ambulance being heard approaching down the street, "which makes it my job to worry too much, and you absolutely don't mind when I do."

You planted a light kiss on his lips before he helped you stand; "no, no I don't mind at all."

#tim bradford #the rookie #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford imagine #the rookie imagine #tim bradford imagines #the rookie imagines #tim bradford one shot #the rookie one shot #one shot

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spectorcomplex · 2 years

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HOW YOU GET THE GIRL ❀ s. harrington x reader

steve cannot fathom how he ended up in scoops after hours reading teen girl magazines with robin, max, el, …and dustin? but anything for you.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader (she/her pronouns)

warnings: cursing, mentions of cuts and wounds

word count: 6k words

my masterlist

“Hi! What can I get for you?”

“Hello, Robin,” Robin looks taken aback, seeing that customers usually ignored niceties and the worker’s name tags. “I’d like a vanilla with rainbow sprinkles. In a cone, please.”

Your manners were so nice compared to the others and Robin swears you look familiar. And it clicks as she hands you your change.

The dingus’ best friend.

“Right, we just need to get the sprinkles from the back. It’ll be just a sec,” Robin tells you as she grabs the cone.

You stand to the side out of courtesy but it was a Tuesday afternoon so the place wasn’t crowded with other customers yet.

The sound of door hinges captures your attention and it was as if all the air were stolen from your lungs. The once dull ache in your chest put itself front and center once again once you see him. Steve.

Steve who was once your bestest friend in the world until you decided to fuck it all up when your ridiculous mind thought he was going to die from a beating. He’s not your Steve anymore.

His hair was longer and somehow he looked taller but his face– cherub cheeks, pink lips, and beauty marks remained the same. Cute. The features that had most of the teenage girls of Hawkins kissing the ground he walked on. You would have laughed at his sailor-themed work uniform if not for the melancholy memories flooding your mind.

Unbeknownst to you, he was inspecting you just the same. Your hair was shorter, sunkissed cheeks, and an outfit he’s never seen you wear before: a tank top with a geometric design and light wash denim overalls that end mid-thigh. He nearly dropped the bag of ice cream toppings when he caught sight of you.

“Here we go,” Robin said with an awkward chuckle and a flare of her hands. “Rainbow sprinkles.”

“I got it.” Steve insisted with a voice that Robin knew not to argue with.

He grabbed the cone from Robin’s hand and frowned. Vanilla? You were always a chocolate girl. It was one of his favorite things to make fun of you about, in the most lighthearted way obviously.

“Thank you!” Your smile was so infectious that even the middle-aged ice cream man managed to return the expression despite the sweltering heat.

“You’re so weird,” Steve says with a shake of his head.

“For what? Saying thank you? Having manners?” You frown despite knowing that Steve was just teasing.

“No. For getting chocolate with rainbow sprinkles,” He replied. “The cardinal rule of ice cream is chocolates go with choco sprinkles and rainbow’s sweetness goes with others.”

“Says the boy with mint choco chip!” You retort, the corner of your lips fighting to lilt up into a smile. “You’re not convincing me with your made-up rules.”

“Well, I’m the exception,” Steve shrugs, his carefree smirk appearing.

But despite it all, he’d get you all the world’s supply of chocolate ice cream and rainbow sprinkles to keep you happy.

Maybe a lot has changed in the long months since you two drifted apart. Sure, he praised rainbow sprinkles going with vanilla flavors but having chocolate was what made you, you.

“Uh, Steve?” Robin called, wary.

“Right, yeah, sprinkles.”

You watched despite all the bones in your body telling you to look away. The right to gawk at Steve vanished the day he rejected your confession.

“Here you go,” Steve finally said. He even made the effort to walk nearer to you under the pretense of being careful with the ice cream.

You really try not to say the words, but all your life it has always been your heart and not mind speaking for you.

“Thank you.” Your fingers brush Steve’s and you felt like crying. It was warm, how it always has been, despite the cold temperatures of Scoops Ahoy.

His honey-brown eyes burned through yours and in the past this would’ve been the start of a competitive staring contest but now you surrender and look away.

“We have some tables if you wanna…” Robin suggested and you silently nodded before even letting her finish.

What?! Why were you staying? Just the thought of Steve was torture and now you decided to stay at his place of work. Where he was mere meters away from you even though your relationship with each other felt like you were oceans apart.

You made a mental note to leave the shop once you were done with your ice cream so you wouldn’t look like a freak. Not that you didn’t look like one already. Sadly licking away at your ice cream, sulking, and looking miserable at the corner booth. God, you wished you had brought your walkman and headphones with you but who brings that to the mall? It’s a crowded place where you needed to pay attention to your surroundings.

Another customer walked in and Robin inwardly groaned at the complicated order. Good thing she was working the cashier and Steve handled the orders itself. The customer walked away to wait at a nearby table and Robin rolled her eyes in annoyance as she turned to give Steve the order.

“Hey,” She said, snapping her fingers in front of Steve’s dazed eyes.

Still, that didn’t stop the boy from staring at the corner booth and her own eyes followed.

“I thought you two were like tight,” Robin whispered, unable to refrain from prying.

That seemed to grab Steve’s attention as he pushed himself from the table he was leaning on, “What? Who?”

“You and Y/N? I mean you two were everyone’s favorite couple,” She said matter-of-factly. “…Of besties.”

“Piss off.” Steve said, agitated. But for what reason exactly? He knows he’s just feeling that way to mask the immense sadness he’s feeling when you practically ignored him.

“I’m just saying,” Robin shrugged, indifferent to her coworker’s annoyed tone. “Everyone at Hawkins High saw you two together go from inseparable to well.. to this.”

She was right on the money and Steve didn’t want to validate that. Instead, he acted as if he was scooping up ice cream like he wants to be employee of the month. He even served the customer at their table instead of calling their attention to grab their ice cream at the counter. He took the risk of glimpsing at you as he walked back.

You left the store wordlessly and Steve hung his head down low. He’s never opened up about the two of you two to anyone and the prospect of confiding about it to Robin both terrified him and yet it felt like a release.

“I…” He didn’t even know where to start. “I fucked up.”

He was surprised at the silence. At this point, he was expecting a sarcastic quip from his friend but she genuinely looked concerned at what he had to say.

So tell her he did. About how you tended to the wounds that Billy gave him, sobbing and blubbering through your words asking him to stay awake and that you loved him; you loved him more than a best friend should. About how he didn’t say anything back and pretended to ignore what happened even as you called the following days to check up on him. About how a week later he said he was going to Senior Prom with somebody else. Like a fucking idiot.

It was gradual, slow— the way you slipped from his fingertips. The pain was like a bullet not having an exit wound and the pain had to be prolonged as someone tried to extract it from his body. He tried to backtrack and save your friendship. He clutched at the edges of what was left. Trying to pair up with you during projects or volunteering at your club but his efforts were in vain. He saw the way your eyes averted and how you faked your smiles when he was around. The hurt never faded and that metaphorical bullet was still in him.

“But,” Robin huffed, hesitating. “Did you love her back? Do you love her? In the way Y/N meant in her confession?”

That question nearly threw Steve off his balance. Of course, he did. He always has. In a platonic way, in a romantic way. In every way a person can love somebody.

He can’t count how many nights he laid awake thinking about you telling him through teary, earnest eyes I love you. I love you so much, Steve, you’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.

It’s his fault that you two were never okay after that night. He’s loved you for what he can only say his entire life. Ever since your moms set up a play date between their toddlers. He’s a coward who used the excuse that he needed time to think things through. At that point in time, he felt like he still had serious feelings for Nancy and he didn’t want to try something new with you before he had that sorted out. But still, he should’ve addressed it in a way. He knows that now.

“Yeah. Yes.” Steve replies with conviction.

Robin’s expression lightens at her friend’s admission. A plan was already brewing in her mind.

“Okay. Tell me when’s the next time those kids of yours come around.”

—+—

The day they came around was 3 days later, Friday. Another movie was released, called Back To The Future or something like that and of course, the kids wanted to use the employee hallways to avoid the usual Friday mall crowd.

Usually, Steve let them do it without a word other than his usual warnings but Robin asked him to let her talk to them first.

Lucas was ringing the bell, his other hand linked with Max’s. Perfect, Robin thinks.

“Alright,” She slams her palms down on the counter to assert her authority. The kids look on in curiosity. “I need to talk to you before you take advantage of our workplace access again.”

“Us?” Mike asks, impatient.

“No,” Robin rolls her eyes before pointing to Max. “To you.”

The girl frowns in confusion but lets herself be led by Robin towards the back.

“Uhm..? Is everything okay?” Max asks, crossing her bare arms to fight the cold.

“Yeah, totally. It’s just, I know you skate and all that but is it possible you have teen girl magazines? Like seventeen or others like that?” Robin lets out in a single breath and she’s thankful Max understood all that.

The red-haired girl flushes at admitting that yes, she does have said magazines but some she let Eleven borrow for the meantime.

“Cool. Are you allowed to go to the mall tomorrow? With Eleven and the magazines?”

“Uh. Sure?” Max answered, wary of Billy but she figured he was too busy going on dates with the public pool patrons.

“Hellooo?” Dustin barges in. “What is this? Some no boys club?”

“Don’t be a jerk.” Steve delivers a light slap to the boy’s head.

“You’re a jerk.”

“Whatever. You two done?” Steve asks the girls with a kinder tone. He needs to be nice to Robin for this one.

“Yeah, go on through,” Robin opens the back door for the kids with a flourish before she turns to Max. “The mags are for Steve by the way.”

“Dude!”

Max grins. She was a bit hesitant to say yes to Robin’s whims but now she was entertained.

“Me and El will be right on time tomorrow.”

—+—

The weekends were every mall worker’s nightmare. And since it was the summer, Scoops Ahoy Ice Cream Parlor had no customer shortage.

Steve was muttering under his breath, annoyed at the customer who argued with him for five minutes about spare change. He was about to glare at the person next in line when–

“Hi.”

Steve nearly spilled all the change in his hands at the sound of your voice. It was timid, a tone he didn’t like when used to address him, but still your lovely, lovely voice.

“Hello!” He could’ve stopped at that. “Ahoy!”

You giggled. You actually giggled.

Any trace of annoyance left his body in an instant. You looked different today. Not physically but with more how you carried yourself. Your sweet disposition that he loved so much was back. Gone were the sad eyes you had the last time you came into the store. Still, you were a vision in your sleeveless pink chiffon dress.

“What can I get ‘ya?” Steve asked in a cheery voice, doing everything he can in his power to keep that subtle smile on your face.

“A waffle cone, please. With chocolate ice cream.”

He felt his heart tug at that, “Any toppings?”

You shook your head no and he briefly glanced at the sprinkles container to the side, unsure what to feel.

You stood at the exact place you waited last time after paying.

“Robin! Cashier!” Steve called out, wanting to personally make your order and hand it to you again. Anything to feel your skin graze his once more.

You watched him work his way around the ice cream, just like you did a few days ago. He was magnetic. You always struggled to fight the urge to look away from him when he wasn’t looking back.

Despite the long line, Steve was sluggish in his movements. Based on the few moments you managed to observe his and Robin’s rapport, you wondered why she wasn’t scolding him for being slow in making this particular order. You willed your heart to slow down and your mind to avoid any delusions.

He walked to you again to give you the ice cream.

“Here you go,” His voice. So much sweeter than the dessert you were about to consume. You missed hearing it and you felt sad again, just like you did last Tuesday.

“Thank you,” You grabbed the cone from his hands, equally as slow. “Steve.”

You swear you heard his breath hitch but you didn’t want to feed yourself any more hope of rekindling what you had once with him.

“You’re welcome.” He said, eyes fixed on you with that heart-stopping smile.

You felt defeated when you saw that all the tables and seats were occupied. You really wanted to stick around… for the cold the store provided in this summer heat. Today was hotter than usual so..

“You can stay at the back.”

Robin’s voice startled you and you were thankful you didn’t drop the cone in your hands.

“No, no, that’s okay,” You eyed the customers, afraid they’ll get mad at your special treatment. “I’ll just find a spot at the food court.”

“And find even more occupied crowded seats?” Robin asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You hung your head. Robin noted it was oddly exactly like the way Steve does.

“Okay.” You bit your lip and followed her.

What were you doing? This was your best— ex-best friend’s line of work. The outside was already dangerous territory for your fractured heart and now you were invading more of his space. You needed to get away.

Almost like she could read your mind, Robin placed a hand on your shoulders and continued walking towards the back.

“Have fun,” Robin gave you a toothy grin with both her hands in thumbs-up before going back to work.

Have fun with what exactly? You gulped when you saw the familiar backpack strewn on a table. You were reminded that you didn’t bring your walkman again to serve as your distraction. Idiot.

You ate your ice cream in silence, the chatter from the customers outside and Robin and Steve’s voices greeting the patrons were what filled the empty back room.

You sat up in alarm when you heard Steve shouting at somebody.

“Don’t go in there!”

You squeaked in surprise when the door was thrown open and you thought it would be some angry manager but you were met with the sight of a kid, probably a pre-teen, carrying something that looked like a radio prototype. He was wearing a green and yellow hat and looked just as surprised but he was quicker to recover.

“I just need to borrow a few for batteries, Steve!” The kid shouted and you looked on in confusion. “And since you won’t let me get from the tip jar…”

The kid made a beeline towards Steve’s backpack and pulled out a wallet. It was still the same plain leather brown one Steve carried since freshman year. He opened the wallet and instead of grabbing any money, he turned to you with wide eyes.

“Oh my god, of course! You’re the girl in Steve’s wallet! You have longer hair here—“

“Henderson, I swear to God!”

Steve came barreling in and you looked like a deer in headlights and stared at him unabashedly. His eyebrows furrowed before looking at Dustin and he wanted the ground to swallow him whole right then and there.

“Hey, Steve, cute pic of you two,” The kid shrugged, as if his words didn’t affect the two older teenagers in front of him in the cruelest way. “I’m Dustin, by the way.”

“H-hello, Dustin,” You managed to blurt out, accepting Dustin’s outstretched hand.

“Nice finally meeting you, Y/N, even though I see you in school sometimes,” He talked as fast as Robin did. “Anyways, gotta go, I’ll pay you back, Steve!”

Dustin walked out of the room in a rush, meaning that he haphazardly dropped the wallet and it coincidentally fell at your feet.

Your manners were a big part of you and of course you bent down to pick up the item without hesitation. It felt as if you were kicked in the ribs when you saw the polaroid slip out from the wallet.

It was the summer before junior year, your birthday party held in the garden of your home. You may have slipped some tequila into the punch without your parents' permission but in your defense, it was just the right amount to give a baby buzz. Steve had wrapped his arms behind you in surprise. You should’ve known he was up to something when Tommy appeared in front of you laughing and holding his polaroid camera.

“Alright, lovebirds, smile!”

Your joyful expression was a result of Steve placing a kiss on your cheek for the photo and Tommy somehow managed to capture the exact moment your demure smile turned into a full blown grin.

On the white part below, yours + Steve’s initials were written in permanent marker with the word 4Ever.

He dated Nancy Wheeler shortly after that.

“I-uhm,” You stuttered, handing Steve his things with shaky hands. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Steve managed to let out in a whisper.

“I should go,” Here you go again, avoiding looking into Steve’s eyes. “Thank you for the ice cream and the seat or space or… yeah. Bye.”

You didn’t wait for his farewell when you rushed out Scoops Ahoy with tears already running down your rouged cheeks. You cried in the secluded area of the parking lot.

—+—

Dustin’s a persistent child. That trait mixed with his penchant for being nosy was the perfect recipe for giving Steve Harrington a headache.

“I told you nothing’s going on,” Steve groaned, hands on his hips.

Dustin raised an unimpressed brow, “Okay. Then why are you still here then? If it’s just the girls?”

“Because I need to make sure everything’s locked up.”

“Robin can do that, can’t she?” Dustin replied without missing a beat. “What magazines was she talking about yesterday?”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Steve asked, evading the question he was scared Dustin was going to get answers to. One way or the other.

“It’s summer vacation.” Dustin deadpanned.

A store nearby was finally closing and that caught Steve’s attention for a split second, but Dustin took that opportunity to make his way towards Scoops Ahoy like a slippery eel.

The mall was dark and devoid of its usual neon lights, the ice cream parlor being the only major light source left on. This better work, Steve thought, exasperated.

“What the shit? These are the magazines for you?” Dustin exclaimed, going through the pile while ignoring the glares from the girls.

“Hey.” Eleven scolded.

“This,” Steve said, pointing at the magazine pile. “Is all Robin’s idea.”

Robin scoffed, “You know, I think you need to be nicer to the ones helping you get the love of your life back.”

Dustin looked dumbfounded.

“Oh my god, is that why Y/N Y/L/N was here earlier?” Dustin gasped. “But if you two aren’t friends then why was she here?”

“Because I’m a genius. More than those who go to science camps,” Robin tugged on Dustin’s wrist so he could sit down. “Now, are we going to help this dingus get the girl of his dreams?”

“That’s romantic,” Eleven said with a breathy sigh and hands under her chin.

“I know just the pages,” Max muttered, still feeling a little shy about the teen girl magazine fiasco.

“My god,” Robin said in disbelief as her eyes roved over the articles. “This sounds like a marriage proposal instead of first stage boyfriend-girlfriend stuff.”

“What does it say?” Steve asked, ignoring Dustin’s inquisitive stare.

Robin pushed the magazine towards him.

How to apologize to your girlfriend after a fight

By Betty McCartney

Steve immediately cringed. He decided to only read the highlighted parts instead.

Say you want her and nobody else.

The following text mentioned something about having arguments over jealousy but Steve decided to nitpick that sentence.

He hasn’t wanted anybody else for a long time now but he does want you. He always wants you. There’s this void in his heart that was left hollow ever since you dissipated from his life.

“These are so corny,” Max huffed, reading a different magazine.

“Yeah but you want Lucas to do those too, don’t you,” El teased in a sing-song voice and Dustin joined in.

Max rolled her eyes, her freckled cheeks dusted with a light shade of red.

“We’re here for Steve and Y/N so here,” Max handed her magazine over with a page opened.

How you get the girl!

By Alison Alwyn

Steve couldn’t help but agree. They were corny. But the advice seemed heartfelt and he hoped that it was actually going to help him get his best girl back.

—+—

It was 10 pm, and the mall was already a ghost town. Steve decided that he better bring the kids back to their homes or else he’ll get the brunt of it all.

They all collectively groaned when they exited Starcourt and saw the pouring summer rain. It wasn’t a light drizzle; it was the one with terrifying lightning and thunder overhead.

Steve immediately thought of you. You hated thunder. This instinct to see how you were holding up overwhelmed him. It was ridiculous, your house is as safe as it can be but he’s been over at your house on more rainy days than he can count on both hands.

The last stop was Eleven’s, or technically Jim Hopper’s, house. She and Max ran in the rain giggling.

“Good luck,” The girls said in unison before exiting his car. He noticed they left two magazines in the back on purpose.

Steve actually felt warm at the support Robin and the kids gave him. They were truer friends than some of the others he hung out with back in school. He took their good luck with a genuine smile and waited to use that luck the next time you showed up in Scoops.

Thunder rumbled in the sky and try as he might to ignore his reckless gut, Steve decided to jump the gun and drive over to your place. Just to check up on you, he thought. Nothing less, nothing more. Although he did want something more he wouldn’t push it if it made you uncomfortable.

The streets and turns he had to take were familiar. He hasn’t driven here in a while but the roads were seared into his brain after years of picking you up and driving you home.

“Steve, my parents are going to kill me.”

“And me,” He said with a shrug. His sixteen year old bravado getting the best of him.

“Can’t you practice driving when it’s not raining cats and dogs outside?” You shrieked as he started backing up from your driveway.

He arrived at your place just as the first heavy raindrops fell. You told him he was crazy, going around in such conditions without a license.

“It’s still going to rain when I do have my license so this is actually good because I’m preparing for real-life situations,” He argued with that smug smirk of his. These were moments you found butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

In a blink, Steve found himself on your street. He can see that there were picnic tables littered in your front yard. That wasn’t there the last time he came over, which was probably six months ago now.

The rain was still pounding and Steve’s heart was beating the same in his chest. He could see the lights in your bedroom were still on but the rest of the house was dark. Your parents were probably on the same business trip his parents went on.

Steve cursed under his breath when he saw that the only place he was going to be able to park was across from your house. Although one of the girls did mention that the rain was quote-on-quote romantic.

He cursed once again when he saw that he didn’t have his jacket in the backseat. He has to ruin his Scoops uniform but thought nothing of it since it was his day off tomorrow.

Well, here goes nothing.

Steve rushed from his car to your front doorstep, the rain and cold wind hitting his skin like pinprick needles. He was shaking like a cat by the time he took cover by your doorstep and contemplated between knocking or pressing the doorbell. He decided to do both.

His entire body was drenched and his once voluminous hair was flat and dripping water down his forehead. He was shivering as he tried to listen in to your footsteps.

The door finally swung open and the sight of you filled him with so much warmth that the rain didn’t stand a chance.

“Steve?!” You exclaimed, obviously shell shocked. “What are you doing here?”

He tried to let out a reply but his teeth were chattering so much that he only managed to muster a shaky grin.

“Are you insane?!” Your voice pierced through the rain and your warm hand grabbed his wrist before pulling him inside your house.

You were a blur in his eyesight as you whizzed around, talking about grabbing towels and new clothes. Steve stayed standing on the welcome rug so he wouldn’t make a mess on the floor, your parents would probably be mad, although they didn’t do the cleaning of the house themselves.

“Here, here,” You panted, wrapping a fuzzy towel around Steve’s shaking form and you stood on your tiptoes to wrap a smaller one around his hair.

“Thanks,” Steve finally said and took in your form.

You looked adorable in your loose knit sweater, checkered shorts, and mismatched socks. Your hair was up and your angelic face devoid of makeup. He missed seeing that.

He’s seen you grow from a bare-faced child to a young lady. Steve’s heart practically stopped the first time you wore shimmery pink lip gloss in sixth grade.

“C’mon,” You whispered, tugging on his wrist again for a split second.

He followed you into the spacious kitchen. You told him to sit down while you make tea to warm him up and who was he to turn down being doted on by you?

The silence was palpable. The only sound in the kitchen was the boiling kettle and Steve was trying to find the courage to say something. He really needed the luck Max and Eleven bestowed upon him. You had your back to him and it was obvious that your posture was rigid. He could still read you well.

You quickly worked on giving him the steaming mug. He sat up, alarmed when you left the kitchen swiftly and without a word. Though, the sounds of you rummaging around sent a wave of relief through his cold body.

He was sipping on the hot drink when you entered again, this time holding a pile of clothes. Steve recognized his old athletics department shirt. You still had his stuff?

“Here’s all I can get, I don’t think you’ll like my dad’s clothes,” You bit your lip as you looked down, “Sorry, I don’t have any… knee high socks.”

It was a teasing jab at his Scoops uniform and Steve couldn’t bite back his smile.

“It’s fine, management has more,” Steve teased back and got up like it’s muscle memory. He still knows his away around your house.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks and looked back, this time he finally caught your eyes, “Thank you, Y/N.”

You didn’t look away when you gave him a minuscule smile.

That smile masked the different emotions you felt the moment you swung open your door. You didn’t know who to expect when you heard the series of knocks but Steve Harrington was last on your list. That didn’t mean you were disappointed. Confused but not disappointed.

You assumed he went straight to you after work since he was wearing that ridiculously cute sailor’s outfit. But why did he come over? Nearly midnight, his pale skin making the ever vibrant Steve Harrington look like a ghost in the rain. Somehow, you think he was a figment of your imagination, a result of being lonely in this massive house. Your lonely days a few years ago would quickly be eradicated by Steve coming over with no warning. Tonight, it seems that he has done the same. For nostalgia’s sake? Just because you came by Scoops twice this week?

Turns out, you weren’t hallucinating when he returned to the kitchen, wearing the clothes you gave him. Technically, it is actually his own clothes but just the ones you shoved to the back of your closet all those months ago when you decided to distance yourself from him. It had been one of the hardest decisions in your life.

You wanted to yell at him. Throw accusatory words about what the hell he’s doing here after breaking your heart. Steve has been with too many girls to not know when he’s left them lying in heartache. Your brain wanted to tell him to get out and don’t ever think about coming back, but then you would be lying to yourself.

Yet you didn’t say a word. Not when he looked like that. You swear he’d worn the same outfit back in Sophomore year. Only this time he was taller and his hair, though damp, was more beautiful than ever. You felt weak in the knees.

“Y/N,” He started. You knew that tone of voice, never forgot it really. Steve was about to say something important and serious, he was just really nervous about saying the wrong thing.

You looked into his eyes. It hurt your entire being to do so but you figured he needed a little encouragement and you really really wanted to hear what he had to say to you after showing up in the rain.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” Steve finally let out and he felt a flood open, “I was such an asshole– I’m such an asshole and a coward for… doing that to you.”

“Doing what, Steve?” You hated how your voice cracked.

“Breaking your heart,” He said with conviction and his shoulders slumped at the teary frown on your face. “Ignoring that you said you loved me because I was too afraid to tell you that I felt the same.”

Blood rushed into your ears and you could see Steve’s lips moving but you could barely register his words.

“What?”

Steve immediately stopped and took careful steps towards you until he was in your personal space. When you didn’t move away, he took that a sign to cup your cheeks in his hands. You only noticed that stray tears were falling from your eyes when his thumbs gently swiped them away– just like he always did when you cried.

“I love you,” He whispered and you felt your lips wobble some more. “I always have and always will.”

“Stop,” You sobbed but didn’t move away. “I barely had a boyfriend back in school while you dated so many girls. You can’t just barge back into my life telling me this.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve nodded with his own teary eyes. He lead the two of you to sit down. “I don’t expect anything, Y/N. I just want you to know how awful I feel. It’s haunted me since the day you said it.”

You could only nod. You thought you had your feelings in check but his words echoed in your head. Steve felt the same. He loved you– he loves you. You let out another broken sob.

“I miss you so much, Y/N,” Steve’s voice cracked just like yours did. You know he’s being truthful.

You let yourself be pulled into his arms and you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, undoubtedly staining the shirt with your tears.

“I miss you too, Steve,” His arms tightened around you. “But I don’t know where to go from here.”

You weren’t ready to jump from one phase of your relationship with Steve to another extreme. Treading careful grounds would be a precaution to avoid giving yourself whiplash and having another fall out with the boy you loved. Still love.

“I want us to be in each other’s lives again. If that’s what you want,” The words you dreamt of him saying finally came to life. More melodramatic but it was still the words you needed to pull you away from your misery.

“Okay,” You found yourself nodding. “I just don’t know if it will be easy for me.”

Now was the time to be honest. This was the start of reconciliation. This time you’ll forgive, despite the urge to fight. You miss him too much to be mad anymore.

“Then, let’s take it slow?” He suggested. “Like how I taught you how to ride a bike? Though I’ll be more patient this time around I promise.”

You giggled and pulled away from his neck to face him. Your heartbeat sped up when you saw his eyes light up.

In all the years you knew him, Steve never broke a promise he made you. So when he says this vow to you it reminded you of how the good times used to be.

His unintentional rejection of you was torment but you feel like half of that pain was caused by your own choice to ignore his attempts at making it up to you. It was hurt to an extreme degree but you always have space in your heart for Steve.

“Okay,” You repeated. “No rushing.”

“No rushing,” Steve said, hands reaching out to hold yours. You gulped when you saw his biceps strain against the sleeves of the old shirt. “I’ll be nice and wait. Even if it’s for forever.”

You smiled through snot and tears, “Did you get that from a magazine?”

When Steve didn’t answer immediately and the familiar flush rushed up from his neck to his cheeks, your heart felt so much lighter and you started laughing.

“Oh my god, you totally did!” You laughed more at the idea of Steve reading a magazine with cheesy advice. “You promise?”

He nods, “I want you in my life, Y/N. And this time no more running from problems, for worse or for better.”

And even though he broke your heart, you know that Steve will put it back together.

Steve knows that he would have to grovel and crawl on his knees to earn your forgiveness and he’d do that for the rest of his life just to make sure he wouldn’t make you cry again.

“Will I get a complimentary chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles next time I’m at Scoops Ahoy?”

Steve pulls you into a hug and mumbles the word forever into your shoulder. That’s how he got the girl.

steve as a taylor swift album would be 1989 i said what i said, please reblog if you enjoyed and comments are appreciated- seriously i’d cry tears of joy :’) this is my second stranger things fic and you could read the first one about our beloved eddie here

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things season four #stranger things season 4 #stranger things fanfiction #robin buckley #eleven #max mayfield #dustin henderson #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve and robin #eddie munson x reader

2K notes · View notes

fatuifucker · 1 year

Text

third stream: desire for approval

[art cr: kuroume_1024 on twt]

bratty trans! streamer! scaramouche x dom fem-sex reader (they/them pronouns used for reader)

SUMMARY = how far would you go for attention?

WARNINGS = please view the sucker series masterlist for the full warnings! smut, penetration (reader giving), brat taming, asphyxiation, boobplay, use of the word “cunt”, use of pet name "angel" + "cumslut" + similar language, scara has nipple and navel piercings, womb tattoo, lingerie, self-sexualisation, codependence, unhealthy relationship, suicide ideation, self-harm, gender dysphoria, transphobia, attempted self-mutilation, implied domestic abuse

W/C = 2.6k

A/N = my word count is getting higher and higher be proud of me!! i was actually intending on writing a valentine's fic instead but uh ig you can take this as the late valentine's day fic instead lol. this may be my last x reader for a while for i would like to focus on more character x character. there are some zines im interested in participating and i want to have fics that i can use for my portfolio bc i don't think character x readers do good for zines lol oh yeah also little shoutout to the usernames featured in scara's stream!!

TAGS = @midnxght-sweet-time, @barbatosfavouritenun, @edenialucas, @huboi, @nejibot, @yumixxn, @teallapril

P-chan should be cute, pretty, handsome. Appearance-wise, they are perfect. Their gender doesn't matter but I want someone with a body like mine. I don't like nuisances so they have to be calm and collected. They have to be rational so they can comfort me and stop me from making impulsive decisions.

I want them to be independent but not too independent. They'll need me to command them like a pet. Maybe like a bunny? They could be that innocent-looking type but is secretly horny for me hehe. I'll have to work out the details later. But it's fine even if they are unsure about their personality. People like that tend to rely on the self-assured more. Maybe I could even dress up in the clothes I can't wear.

They won't be able to live without me.

—

“Ohh…it’s soh gud,” Scara moans, her tongue trailing up the melting popsicle before sucking on it. “Mmm…I might get addicted...”

The stream chat floods with comments; majority of it being provocative remarks. Just the reaction she intended. Although Scara hates to be sexualised by her fans, she knows that suggestive content rakes up the viewer count the fastest.

Almost halfway to a month, yet she hasn’t even reached half a million yet. She doesn’t have much time so even if that means that she has to whore herself like this…

“Mmm it’s sticking all over my fingers…” Scara licks the vanilla cream off her fingers, exaggerating her noises as she continues sucking on the popsicle. “It’s a good thing I took off my gloves. Or else it would have been allll over me.”

cauldron-of-anon: you know what else is creamy and drips all over

eunchaeluvr: I LOVE ICE CREAM

bubiblossom: god Im so happy I was born

cinshaberu: big…

leefrfr: that looks good

yourmomsucksme: YESYESYESYESYES

vermillionbun: THANK YOU SCARA

Scara giggles as she licks a strip up the popsicle. Hm, but it’s about time she ended the stream. All this sugary sweet stuff is cloying…ugh. She finishes the popsicle sensually and cleans her hands with a wet wipe.

“Thank you for the meal, it was delicious. I have to meet up with a friend so I’ll respond to the superchats another time.” Scara blows a kiss, mouse hovering over the ‘end stream’ button. “So long suckers!”

—

You’ve reached another milestone today. It’s funny how the other day, both you and Kunihiko were worried about his stagnancy. Today, he has surpassed 50k subscribers. Since this genre of streams garners the most viewers, maybe it’s okay to ask him to do more sexy streams. Probably not too much though. You don’t want Scara to come out as just another female streamer selling her body for clout. Conspiracy theories seem to do well…that goes for her ‘Scara Tries Things’ series. You’ll have to make her work harder these upcoming days, especially since she’s been slacking off lately. You’ve been trying not to push Kuni too hard but—

You blink as your phone is snatched away from you. “You’re still doing work?”

“Yes, that’s my job as your producer.” You stare at Kuni.

Your boyfriend scowls, grabbing your forearm. “Right now I need you to do your job as my partner.”

You don’t make any effort to resist as Kuni drags you like a ragdoll, grunting when he tosses you onto the bed. You sit there, waiting for Kuni to finish changing and give you your orders for the night. In the meantime, you occupy yourself by looking around.

Kuni didn’t have any requests for a themed room so you chose a classy one. The room was laden with rich reds and blacks, a jacuzzi and a drawer stocked with condoms, lube, all the essentials. In truth, it looked like any expensive hotel room, except that the fee for this one was much cheaper that any 5 star hotel. The good thing about love hotels is that they are soundproof — meaning Kuni is going to make you fuck him all night so he can savour the experience of moaning as loud as he wants without alerting the neighbours. Speaking of which, he wanted you to wear something, didn’t he? It should be the one on the table…

Unveiling the contents of the paper bag reveals an angel-themed lingerie set. The bodysuit is made out of fine white satin, decorated with ribbons at the shoulder straps, tulle around the hips, and etched with cloud patterns. Matching the set of white ribbon garters are sheer cloud-covered unattached sleeves that look like it extends past your elbows, looping around the middle finger to partially cover the top of your hands and leaving the rest bare. Without batting an eye, you shed your clothes off and dress yourself in the gifted outfit.

“Are you done?” Kuni calls from the bathroom after a few minutes.

“Yes.”

You sit on the bed, watching as your boyfriend exit the bathroom. A devilish grin rests on his carmine-lined lips as he sashays in black stilettos. He’s dressed head to toe in black leather — from the bodysuit, to the arm sleeves and stockings — but the bodysuit specifically emits a sort of polychromatic glow, shifting to a shimmering purple under the fluorescent light. The whole outfit hugs his body tight, squeezing his body in certain areas that pulls attention to the exposed skin spilling out his thighs and his chest… Your gaze darts back to his eyes, heart thumping upon realising that he is right in front of you.

Kuni chuckles. “What? You embarrassed?” He takes your hand, placing it on his chest. “Don’t be. I wore this just for you, you know?” Entranced, your eyes follow the movements of his other hand, watching as he unzips the zip on his waist, pushing down the waistband to display the pink, heart-shaped tattoo on his pelvis; resembling those typical womb tattoos you see in hentai. “You’re my sweet, obedient angel. And you’re going to reward this naughty succubus for working so hard for the both of us.” Kuni shoves you down on the bed, letting you sit in your state of shock as he purrs into your ear. "Get your toys. They are on the bedside table."

Sure enough, there's your bullet vibrator and buttplug; the ones Kuni asked you to bring today. You turn the motor to its maximum speed, goosebumps all over your skin as it makes contact with your sex. Next goes the plug, which you make sure to lubricate before inserting it into your puckered hole. When you lift your head, Kuni’s stinging violet gaze is locked upon you, a smirk on his carmine lips as he plays with his covered clit. You immediately turn your attention down, removing his underwear with hurried fingers and latching onto the swollen bub.

Soft thighs wrap around your head as your tongue switches its focus on his leaky cunt. Juices drip all over your tongue as you dive into him, eating him like a gourmet buffet. The whir of the vibrator reverberates off the insulated walls, rousing the fire in your groin that stupefies you into shaking your ass, savouring the sensation of your hole squeezing around the plug. Your eyes flit back up to your lover, his lust-filled eyes fixed onto you. His cunt oozes with ambrosial nectar, and you lap it up like a starved creature, goaded by his saccharine moans. A squeal reveals the arrival of his high, manicured nails digging into the sheets before vitality deserts him, leaving him laying limp on the bed.

The strained, rapid breaths becomes the only source of sound in the room once the motor is turned off. What fills the space of silence is rustling, followed by a click and then followed by a wet noise of viscous liquid. Kuni spreads his legs as your body hovers over him, a tired look on his face. He senses your hesitation.

“Don’t give that look,” he sneers. “I already gave you permission to ruin me. Unless…” he juts his bottom lip out, eyebrows lowered in a display of mockery. “you’re backing away now because you realised you can’t do it. No matter how cool, calm and controlled you think you are, I’m the one who holds dominion over you. Without my orders, you’re hopeless. You don’t know what to do because I’m the one who holds the power. Without me, you’re— ah!!”

His back arches into a crescent as the strap spears him without warning. Without giving him time to adjust, you’re grinding your hips against his, slamming the cock in and out while he cries in pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes! Use me! Break me! Fix me! Oh god, please, please, please—!”

The force of your thrusts jostles Kuni against the bed, incandescent light shifting the polychromatic purples of his collar that just beckon you to wrap your hand around the thin neck. The added pressure around his neck makes him mewl in delight, hands guiding your free hand up his hips, past his navel piercing, and landing on his chest.

“Touch my boobs…” he rasps.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to order me around,” you say with a bite in your voice, tugging on one of his nipple piercings to make him squeak. “Do I have to punish you for your insolence?” Nonetheless, you turn your attention to his chest, peppering it with kisses and hickeys, suckling on his nipples, all to make the little brat writhe under you.

“(Name)...” he whines. “Punish me, ruin me, I don’t care! I don’t care about anything as long as you need me— aah…think of me and no one else! Want only me, love only me, love me, love me, love— haaah~!! I’m cumming, I’m—!”

His orgasm is signified by a shower of translucent strings streaming out of his soaked cunt, essence staining the floor and sheets in splatters. Kuni wheezes for air once you release the hold on his neck, arms wrapping around you as he basks in the momentary peace.

“Are you okay? Was I too rough?”

“I…I can do it again…” he says in between breaths, pushing himself up with his elbows. “Come on, I’m your…I’m your succubus, aren’t I? You…you have to punish me…”

You shrink back. “Kuni, I really think you need a break—”

A sudden weight thrown onto you interrupts your monologue. You blink, seeing your smirking boyfriend has switched positions with you; with you now underneath him while he’s on top of you.

“Oh I’m much stronger than you think. This body is curated for you…for all of your desires and wants. So, do your worse,” He cusps your cheek, lips covering over yours. “and dig in.”

Kuni kisses you with fervour, determined to infect you with his lust. An unwelcome sense of unease churns instead.

—

The sharp pain makes Kuni's body tingle with adrenaline, foggy eyes watching scarlet sanguine spill out the wound. His chest rises and falls as he pants, shaking fingers bringing the bloodied blade to slash an untouched portion on his wrist. He lets the high consume him, a penumbra that suppresses the emotional turmoil threatening to boil over the messed up pot that is him. Yet that high is all-consuming, and it begs for more. Cloudy indigos flit up to the mirror, a blurry figure reflecting back his ugly existence and that ugly chest that proves of his inferiority as a man.

"Cut your hair? But you’re the most beautiful with long hair."

"Where did you get those shorts? A pretty girl like you should wear dresses."

"Why does she dress like that?”

"Huh? But…you’re a girl."

Shut up, shut up.

”Kuniko, do you really think that anyone in this world will accept you as a boy?”

Shut up, shut up, shut up shut up shut up—

"Do you want to bleed out?"

Kuni ignores the way his raised hand trembles, grumbling as he glares at the person standing by the door. "Wasn't intending to. But if I die from blood loss, it wouldn’t be a bad thing either."

"I would be upset." You take a step forward, stopping when he inches the razor closer to his chest. "You know, if you wanted to get rid of them, we could always visit a professional. Surgery would be safer–"

“Do you think I give a shit about my safety?!” Kuni screams, beads of tears pouring like a waterfall. “I want to die! I don’t want to exist anymore, why don’t you get it?!”

“What makes you think that I don’t?”

“You…you…” Kuni swallows, his dry mouth making speech a burden.

“Maybe I don’t want to live either," You say. "but I still want you to survive.”

Kuni laughs dryly. “How selfish of you.”

“How ironic of you of all people to say that."

He doesn’t respond to that.

“I need you just as much as you need me. We can’t survive without each other.”

“I know.”

“I’m here because you want me to stop you. You want me to make you feel better.”

“...Yes.”

“How do you want me to do that?"

“...Hold me."

A trace of warmth swathes him; barely there but still enough. Kuni leans against the cold wall, quiet sobs echoing through the tiny room, caged in this claustrophobic space. The air is cold and suffocating, but he knows it will be okay because you’re here. It will be okay, because (Name) is here. (Name) is always with me. (Name) can never leave me. He closes his eyes, letting your gentle scent waft into his nose. He takes apart the scent: an amalgamation of lavender, sandalwood and sage, like the aromatherapy candles he lights. If he focuses, he can feel your warm, calming breaths brushing against his ear, reminding him that you’re there. You’ll always be there for him, and nothing will change that. It takes a while but slowly, his breaths even out, settling into a steady cadence.

You let go of him. His eyes are fixed on the floor.

“Are you okay?” You ask, caressing his dishevelled locks.

His gaze doesn’t leave the floor. “I can handle more than this.”

The sound of muffled shouting interrupts the quiet conversation. Kuni winces, looking at the direction of the disturbance. He recognises the voices but tunes out the repetitive string of words, palms cupping his ears while his back slides down the wall. The voices get louder and louder, accompanied by clashes of porcelain and the collide of wood against other household objects. He doesn’t register that he’s shaking until the familiar warmth surrounds him again.

“Let’s watch KAngel.”

—

[You received a text from Kuniku<3!]

Kuniku<3: (name)

Kuniku<3: ur asleep right?

Kuniku<3: couldnt sleep so i went out for a walk lol

Kuniku<3: i brought along the switchblade u bought me

Kuniku<3: in case a perv wants to catch a case hehe

[Kuniku<3 is typing…]

Kuniku<3: hey

Kuniku<3: you know i hate being alone right?

Kuniku<3: whenever you leave me for too long

Kuniku<3: im afraid that you realised you dont need me after all

Kuniku<3: i have to rely on you

Kuniku<3: but do you still need me?

Kuniku<3: or do i have to make you depend on me more?

[Kuniku<3 is typing…]

Kuniku<3: i want to disappear

Kuniku<3: i want to die

[Message Deleted]

Kuniku<3: hope my favourite cumslut got a good rest <3

Kuniku<3: i’ve been doing a good job right? sooo u will give me a break right?

Kuniku<3: i took the liberty of picking date ideas so what do u wanna do??

[Your answer]

#genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin smut #genshin scaramouche x reader smut #scaramouche x reader smut #genshin scaramouche smut #scaramouche smut #genshin wanderer smut #wanderer x reader smut #genshin wanderer x reader smut #wanderer smut #trans scaramouche #afab reader #sucker au #sucker series #needy streamer overload au

215 notes · View notes

feelylix · 2 years

Text

some kind of a sleepover

member: felix x fem!reader rating: explicit word count: 4.6k warnings: unprotected sex featuring: one shot, idol!felix, switch!felix, mostly dom!felix, shy!felix, friends to lovers, “good boy,” praise, leo back at it again with the hand kink, dirty talk, tiddy sucking uwu, vaginal fingering, brief blowjob, mutual masturbation, finger sucking, oral (receiving), ass slapping, doggystyle, choking, body worship, rough sex, fluff near the end

synopsis: after a long day, your long time friend + crush felix dozes off on the car ride home, which leads to the two of you having a so-called sleepover at your apartment.

✧ read on ao3 here!

A/N: please wear condoms ppl!!!

While watching him brazenly, he closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair, free hand locked around his iced coffee. The freshly trimmed black hair sits neatly around his face, unstyled but well-kept. His nose nudged against the matte black mask, you can’t help but appreciate the way his upper lashes fan out as they hit his face when his eyes are closed. Sitting comfortably in a black hoodie and black skinny jeans, he opens his eyes, gaze settling on his drink.

Felix takes a swig of his coffee, taking in the ambience of the cafe, oblivious to you gawking at him. He swallows quickly before saying, “Uh oh.”

“What?” you wonder, head swiveling to pin down what he’s pointing to with his line of sight. A teenage girl with a SKZOO keychain on her bag standing in line. Felix’s SKZOO, BbokAri, to make matters worse.

Since you know Felix, you figure it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy interacting with fans, but just that he doesn’t want to interact with them every time he’s out. Head parallel to the floor, he’s rushing to gather up his things and you follow suit. It’s almost 9 PM — you decide to help him out a bit, knowing today was a particularly long day for him.

“Here, put these on,” you tap his arm and thumb through your bag, pulling out a pair of black shades.

Felix’s eyebrow lifts but he doesn’t question you, taking the sunglasses and sliding them on. “They look alright?”

“Yeah, you look hot,” you say as dryly as possible, rolling your eyes in what you hope is a convincing jest, “Can we go now?”

The two of you rise from your chairs, their wooden feet making unpleasant screeches as they drag across the hardwood floor, and make a beeline for the door. “Lead the way, bodyguard.” he faintly chuckles, arm sticking out as a gesture for you to step in front of him. You try not to roll your eyes again, suppressing a smile.

On the car ride home, the sun begins to descend, and you turn down the radio as to not wake Felix, whose head droops against the window, fingers curled around your sunglasses in his lap. It doesn’t feel good to remove the key from the ignition and rattle the sleeping angel awake, but you have to. Felix’s eyes flutter open, and he lifts his head, silently unbuckling himself. The way up to your apartment was quiet, too. You fish through your bag once again, pulling out the keys when there’s a thump against your back. Felix rests his head against you, pulling focus from the task at hand. Motionless, you shake yourself from the current moment and hurriedly open your apartment door. Luckily, you won’t have to disturb Felix this time as he hoists his head up, removing the pressure from your upper back, following you in.

You explain you can take the couch tonight, and you get little objection from Felix, who protests, but can barely keep his eyes open. Having shut down his opposition very quickly, you lead him to your bedroom. A new toothbrush is brought to him, and seeing as tonight’s sleepover is impromptu, you even offer the use of your toiletries. He thanks you and heads to wash up in the sink of the connected bathroom, and you do the same, finding more toiletries in the other bathroom across the apartment.

Once you’re settled, you head back to your bedroom to locate a suitable outfit consisting of a big t-shirt and pajama pants, aware that given the company, your usual sleep getup of an undershirt and nothing else would be unseemly. After ping-ponging between your room and the spare bathroom, you make way for your bed to check on Felix before calling it a night.

Felix lies back on the bed — your bed — legs tucked under the sheets, still in his day clothes, scrolling on his phone. The phone lowers, and he peeps at you for a brief moment before speaking, “Can you search under the bed?”

You let out a snort, “Er…for monsters?”

“For fangirls,” he himself laughs and shrugs, “you never know.”

You position yourself to inspect underneath the bed frame, catching sight of some dust bunnies and forgotten hair bands. Making a mental note to do some cleaning in the coming weekend, you say, “Nothing under here. And nobody.” Felix lets out a dramatic sigh of relief, chuckling, before you march to the door. You turn to see him sitting on the bed cross-legged, watching you.

“Well, goodnight.” you bid him, turning on your heel and reaching for the doorknob.

“Wait,” the sheets shift behind you, “there’s something else I need you to search.”

You sigh, beginning to feel a bit exasperated, and spin around to face him, just wanting to go to bed, “What?”

His fingers find your hand, his brown eyes watching you closely. Gripping it, his fingers begin guide your palm downwards, before hesitating, and then ceasing completely. Felix’s head drops and he sighs softly.

You gape at him, bewildered, “What?”

“I was going t-...” he’s now holding onto your hand with both of his, pads of his fingers dancing nervous circles around your knuckles.

Still completely perplexed, you decide to mimic him, searching for an answer to his odd behavior, your head falling in broken, awkward increments, as if being hand-cranked.

You can’t miss the tent in his pants. Jesus Christ. Well that woke you up.

“It’s okay,” you say at once, pushing your hand down; all the while his grip isn’t loosening.

Upon contact, the fabric of his jeans crater around fingertips, and catch under your nails. Head unwaveringly lowered, Felix is cowering like a baby animal under your attention. Your heart flutters, taking in the sight of your friend at your mercy, the desire to be taken by him and take him yourself coinciding. What as Felix unleashed? The tips of your fingers press around the bulge, and Felix lets out a puff of air. Taking this as a good sign, you press your entire palm to his clothed cock. In response, Felix sighs and finally loosens his grip on your hand, his fingers finding your free hand. His digits slide down yours, and you hold them as if carrying birdseed for a starving stray bird.

You find yourself leaning into him, both heads gliding past each other as your lips halt, hovering over his neck. Felix curves his head to the side, silent, still, as your palm presses harder into him. Gently, you press your lips into his supple skin, his hot breathing in your ear. He says your name softly, voice the color of a deep red wine. Fingertips dancing their way to his waistband, you find the button and zipper. “Is this okay?”

“Fuck, yes.” he lets out a fraction of a chuckle, the cool air hitting your earlobe. After undoing the zipper, you take two fists full of his jeans, gently pushing them down. Felix steps his way out of them, shaking them off the ankle they’re caught on.

You catch a glimpse of his plum-colored boxers, before the tip of your finger finds its way to his chin, lifting his face upwards, forcing him to look you in the eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” you tell him, watching the light in his eyes brighten and a smile paint its way across his lips. You inspect his pointed cupid’s bow, admire the shape of his bottom lip, drink in their dusty rose color. Before you can appreciate him any further, his mouth is on yours. His tongue swiftly snakes its way past your lips, and the contrast of his searing hot spit in comparison to his bashful demeanor hits you like a freight train; sends a shiver through you from head to toe. Unable to hold yourself back anymore, your arms wrap around his neck, and he moans into you, hands finding your waist.

Felix parts himself from you, hot breath hitting the tip of your nose, gaze flickering to your shirt, “Can I take this off?”

A simple “yes” is all you can say, and his hands grip either side of your oversized shirt, lifting it over you more gently than expected. When he leans back slightly to marvel at you, you’re reminded that you have no bra on. “Even better than I pictured,” you can see his chest rising and falling rather quickly, the gust of his shallow breaths not even reaching your bare skin. The thought of Felix imagining what you look like naked sends heat to your cheeks, and your nipples harden. You had imagined what he looks like, too, and the realization that you would soon find out makes your stomach do backflips.

“I can show you more,” you say, and in response, he closes the gap between the two of you, reaching for the waistband of your pajama pants before you catch both his hands with yours. “I didn’t say when.”

Wide eyed, he stares at you with an unreadable expression on his face, seconds of silence passing. “So,” Felix’s intense gaze searches all over your face, “tell me what to do.”

Raising an eyebrow, a smile plays at your lips, “Beg.” There’s something on the tip of your tongue that you’ve been keeping under your belt — something in the cards you’ve been holding for a while. Leaning closer to him, your eyes settle on his delicious lips that hang open, exhaling hot, heavy air. You decide to show your hand. “Be a good boy and beg.”

His lids slam shut, lips press together. This flagrant attempt to keep his composure nearly has you begging for him. “Fuck,” he sighs.

Just as you suspected, he’s playing into your hand.

A soft gasp leaves his lips as he speaks your name, startling himself. Almost instantly, blush blooms across his cheeks. “Please let me see you.”

Not good enough. “Try again, sweetheart,” your fingers push his black hair out of his eyes before tracing the sides of his face. As your fingers withdraw from him, he watches them in desire, and for a second you think he may cry from the absence of your touch. In a blink, his demeanor changes. He’s hungry. For everything. Anything. Felix steps closer to you, pinning you down with a dark look that nearly has you in shambles.

If eyes could fuck.

“Please. Let me see your tight pussy.” he almost snarls.

Your heart skips a beat; he’d never hurt you and yet you feel somewhat fearful. The influence he currently has over you is alarming; it makes you want to surrender. Don’t crack, you tell yourself. Ignoring his occasional ravenous glance at your kissless lips, you swallow a lump in your throat and harden your stare. “Take them off for me.”

Right away, he’s kneeling on the carpet of your bedroom floor in his boxers, hands perched atop the cotton of your pajamas, antsy fingers wiggling over the waistband of your underwear before he glares back up at you.

Like he’s angry you have this much control over him. That you didn’t come to check on him sooner. That he isn’t already fucking you. Maybe all of the above.

Understanding that he’s looking for permission, you nod, watching him peel them off of you. In the midst of the few seconds, you’re standing completely naked in front of your friend, who is lasciviously drinking in the sight of your bare thighs. He clasps one hand over the other, placing the knotted hands in his lap. Felix looks back up at you, eyes wide and pure, as if they are untouched by what is unfolding in front of them — he’s waiting for his next instructions.

You reach your hand down to caress the side of his face again as he watches you, still — all the while wondering if he can tell you’re barely keeping it together. “Good boy,” you tell him, reaching up to pet his hair. Felix’s icy facade cracks before your very eyes, unable to suppress the tight-lipped smile, bashfully looking down in hopes of erasing what you’ve already seen. “You like it when I tell you you’re a good boy?”

“Yes,” he laughs softly, embarrassed he wasn’t able to keep up the act longer.

Figuring you can push the envelope just a little further, you narrow your eyes at him, a mischievous grin playing at your lips, “Say thank you.”

Pressing his forehead to your thigh, he mumbles an obedient reply, “Thank you.”

“Such a quick learner.” you pat his head again, black hair slipping its way through your fingers, smooth as silk.

“How do you want me?” he asks, pressing a lingering kiss to your thigh.

“Like this.” you seductively hook a leg over his shoulder, watching his eyes darken as he takes in the image of your cunt. With your hand still in his hair, you take a fistful of it and slowly guide him to your core. His mouth drops open immediately, tongue sticking out, eyes still glued to your pussy. At first touch, Felix moans deeply into your folds, eliciting a whine from you. Gripping his hair tightly, your gaze falls to him, watching in admiration as his tongue licks and snips across your wet cunt.

“Good boy.” you exhale. Cheeks rosy and eyes closed, Felix growls into you, eyebrow lifting when your other hand comes up to grab another fistful of his hair. After his lips move to your clit, you cry out for him. His eyes flutter open, looking up at you innocently, not even flinching when you begin moving back and forth against him. His tongue moves back to your open cunt, his hand taking its place on your clit, middle finger rubbing ardent circles. You ride his tongue forcefully, trusting that he can take the roughness. Seconds away from cumming, he doesn’t let up the pace, and neither do you, a bead of sweat forming on your brow. The pressure in your abdomen escalates, another whimper leaving your lips before your lids clench shut, Felix slurping up your juices while you burst from every seam.

You’re left panting, head thrown back while Felix’s tongue slows down, still consuming what remains, like a cat whose head buried is in its food dish — licking up every last bit. Swallowing the lump forming in your throat, at last you look down to see Felix. He pulls away from you, leaving a line of what looks like saliva still connecting his mouth to you before it breaks and dribbles down his chin.

You swipe two fingers across his chin, as he watches the motion, gathering up the remnants and pushing it into his mouth, “What will your reward be?”

Felix takes your fingers without hesitation, and sucks the digits dry, tongue circling them while his eyes narrow, piercing through yours. Withdrawing your fingers from his mouth, you take one suck of them yourself, just to put on a show. He swallows audibly, before tilting his head to the side and fixing his eyes on the ceiling. “Mmm...” He’s so cute. “Can I touch you?”

This answer leaves you blinking, astonished. You plop yourself onto your bed, catching the black of the night through your half-open shutters. Felix follows suit, sitting next to you, two sets of knees slightly turned towards the other’s. “You don’t want to...?”

“No, no, no, I do,” right away he says, shaking his head, hand nervously massaging the other one sat in his lap, “Eventually. Really. I just... I have an oral fixation at the moment.” his gaze falls to your tits. Oh.

As if his eyes penetrate your chest, your heart beats hard against your chest. Fiercely, you grip his hands, placing one on your tits. Felix’s unrelenting desire to pleasure you is sending you over the edge, and you can already feel your cunt aching for more of him. You lift his other hand, empty and waiting, to your mouth. Intuitively, he folds his pinky and ring fingers, and you guide the remaining digits past your lips. You bring your feet up to the bed, readjusting as gracefully as you can so that you’re kneeling. He watches you, mouth open, breathing heavy. Gathering up all your spit, you deposit it on his fingers, withdrawing his hand and leading it to the empty space between your knees.

Steady fingers waiting, you slide yourself over him, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes, whining. With little time to process this sensation, his fingertips begin to trace circles around your nipple, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Next, scorching hot kitten licks on the other. Felix is lost in focus when you look down at him; eyes and mouth closed around your nipple, eyebrows pulled down, wordlessly pleading for more. While he enthusiastically sucks, squeezes, and licks, you think it can’t get any better just before his fingers begin pistoning in and out of your cunt. In no time, you’re cumming again, Felix’s index and middle fingers unflinchingly fucking you through your high.

After your high, you’re slumped against him, open mouth panting and moaning against his ear. “Holy shit, Felix.”

“That was incredibly hot.” he chuckles, breath hitting the nape of your neck. He withdraws his hand from you, and you can only hear him sucking on his fingers, loudly enjoying the taste, “And delicious.”

You laugh into his neck, and you two just stay there a while. Breathing. Listening to the sounds of the air conditioning and trailing your fingernails up and down the sheets. You lift your head from the warm crook of his neck, silent for a moment as you both stare at each other before Felix brings his hand to the back of your head and pulls you in for another wistful kiss. His lips trail from the corner of your mouth to the side of your neck. “I can’t take it anymore,” he whispers between kisses, “I need you on my cock.”

“Which part of me?” you moan when his tongue flattens against the base of your ear.

His fingers snake their way up to your face from your hips, two digits lightly pressing against your lips. He tears his tongue from you and tilts his head, gaze locked on you. “I’ve been wondering if these lips would like something in them, as well.”

You try to hide your desperation after your hands come up to settle on his boxers almost immediately after he says this. Either more horny than you, or less interested in humiliating you, Felix takes no notice of this rash action. “I’ve been good, haven’t I?” he invites, playful eyes twinkling.

You’re not even looking at him anymore, you’re just staring at his hard, clothed cock, boxers in your grasp, wishing they were already off. “Yes,” you say robotically, paying him little mind.

He chuckles, slowly removing both your hands with his before standing up. Fully aware you’re giving his cock your undivided attention, his fists ball up at his sides, gripping the fabric, and yank the clothing downwards.

Blinking slowly, you absorb the view of his light brown cock, erect at his abdomen. Moments pass as you just ogle at it; Felix heaves his shirt off over his head, fabric flattening when it hits the carpet. Catching a glimpse at his defined abs sends your eyes trailing all over his body. He stands there, arms suspended at his side as you admire them, until one of his hands reaches for his cock. He sighs when his hand wraps itself around his shaft, looking downwards; and for a moment you see the shy, foolish, baby animal you made out of him earlier.

He ever-so-slightly lifts his head, and you meet his gaze. The reality of this all hits you finally, making your heartbeat quicken. Delicately, your hands find your tits, and they slowly pinch and squeeze them, as both of you watch one another. Felix’s hand is picking up speed, pulling on his fat cock as his desperation peaks. Mindlessly, you find yourself lowering yourself to the floor, coming to kneel on the carpet, hand reaching for his dick. He throws his head back, pulling his own hand away from himself. After you grab a hold of him, licking one long stripe from base to tip, he jerks away from you, dodging the next lick. “Fuck this,” he huffs.

Both of Felix’s hands grip your shoulders, pulling you from the floor, and then pushing you with near absurd force onto the bed. Your calves hit the edge of it, scattering all your wits as Felix places a hand on either side of your dangling calves, crouching, lightly biting his lower lip, eyes drilling holes into yours. Crab-walking your way backwards on the mattress, he follows after you, like a frightening wild animal sizing up its prey, a predator on the hunt.

Amused, the horniness has turned off all your modesty, coming through strong and clear. “Are you going to fuck me now?”

He nods slowly, his eyes still fixed on your own, burning holes through you — through your resolve, “Until you can’t think straight.” Felix presses his lips once more to yours, running the tip of his cock through your soaked folds.

“Look at me,” you command him between the kisses, content when he obeys. His nose brushes against yours before he backs away a few inches, glancing at his cock before pushing the head in slowly. His eyebrows pull together, a lewd moan escaping from his lips. He cries out like an arrow’s been shot through him. You, you are the arrow. Your hands come up to cradle both sides of his face, placing a quick, encouraging kiss on his lips.

You, too, cry out when he suddenly thrusts his entire cock into you. Your cunt stretches to accommodate all of him, shocked someone of his size could have a cock this thick. Hovering over you, he watches in awe; you can feel his piercing gaze even with both eyes closed. Once your breathing calms, he places both hands spread apart in the space above your head. Propping himself up, he jerks into you messily, uncontrolled groans leaving his throat. Over time his thrusts become more composed, as your outstretched hands tightly grip the skin on his ass.

A series of cusses leave his lips, and you can’t help but notice how he’s slowing down, the redness in his face blossoming with each passing second. “Take me from behind,” you say, grip on his ass loosening. Felix nods quickly, trying to regain his breath before he comes to a kneel. Swiftly, you turn over, making it to your hands and knees in record time. When his dick slips inside you again, a slap on your ass accompanies it, a strained moan leaping from your throat beneath your widened eyes.

“All those times you thought,” he huffs, powering through each thrust, “I couldn’t tell you were looking at me,” a hand creeping up your skin to settle on your lower back, palm pressing on the swell of your asscheek. “I knew.” This confession elicits a weak moan from you, the sounds of skin slapping together nearly drowning it out. Felix’s finger trails up your spine, coming to a halt between your shoulder blades. Through this adjustment, you notice his pace slows. Pushing yourself up from the mattress with both hands, you come to a kneel, his hand still attached to you. The same hand snakes around your side, giving your tit a firm squeeze before wrapping around your throat. You had plans to gather up your hair so he could hold it while in doggystyle, but this was much better.

Felix kisses your shoulder, hot breath on your neck, “You like it when I choke you?”

Your eyes roll back just as he begins leisurely thrusting again, “God, yes.”

His fingertips press against the sides of your throat, “You’re so lovely, like an angel.” He kisses just below your earlobe, “And the perfect fit for my cock.” He alternates between squeezing and releasing pressure from the sides of your throat. Pulse throbbing around the cage of his palm, you think about what it must look like from his point of view, his cock disappearing below your ass, pressing into his pelvis with every thrust.

“Felix,” you whine, enjoying the picture in your head, your pussy involuntarily clenching around him.

“You’re gonna make me cum so hard.” he groans in that tantalizing, rich, deep voice of his, before taking the tip of your ear in his mouth and sucking it gently.

These words make you cum instantly, almost ashamed that that was all it took — a few of words — but hoping that it’d be enough to send him over the edge soon. You cry out, repeating Felix’s name like it’s the only word you learned, the only word you need, until you’re out of breath. Too wrapped up in your trance, you barely register when Felix takes both of your hands and places them behind your back, grasping your wrists tightly. Your lips fall open in an “Ah,” and you continue singing this vowel, voice bouncing up and down like you’re driving over a million speed bumps while he thrusts into you vigorously.

You’re fucked out and tired, still recovering from your orgasm, mumbling something to him about being on the pill, willing to let him finish inside of you. And that’s what he does. Felix cries out loudly, pouring his hot cum into you. His muscles stiffen against you, and gradually, he loosens his grip on your wrists. Slowly folding over, you examine the angry red tiger stripes on your wrists, fading away too quickly for your liking. Collapsed against the mattress on all fours, Felix presses a kiss to the middle of your back.

“Wanna lean back?” he mumbles into your skin. An exasperated “okay” is all you can manage.

Back leaning into him, you follow his lead as he sits back, spreading his legs, supported by the headboard of your bed. His thumbs rub gentle strokes on the sides of your thighs as you settle, your back propped against his chest. On your shoulder rests his chin, and you can feel the soft skin of his throat contracting against you as he breathes. With the last of your energy, you bend to tug the sheets upwards, sighing in relief when they cover you from the chilly breeze of the air conditioning. Licking your lips, you close your eyes, imagining the roof of your bedroom gone while the two of you bask in the starlight.

“You’re so perfect.” he kisses your shoulder. You lift your palms at your side, fingers spread, and he follows suit, hands hovering underneath before pressing his open palms against yours. Curling his fingers around yours, you turn to your side, eyeing him in your peripheral. He presses another kiss to your shoulder.

“So what now?” you ask, voice almost a whisper.

“We sleep.” Felix replies, digits unraveling from yours, opting to wrap his arms around your midsection instead. Your fingers slide to his legs and rub gentle stripes.

Scared — the word pops into your head. But drained of energy, you’re unable to fight or challenge the word. “I’m tired but I don’t wanna sleep,” you murmur, “What if this was all a dream?”

Felix takes a second to think about this, head turning to gaze out the window before he nuzzles himself into your neck, “I’ll be here when you wake up.” Your eyes drift shut. “I promise.”

And when you wake the next morning, he is.

#felix #felix smut #stray kids #stray kids smut #skz #felix lee smut #lee felix smut #lee felix #skz smut #leo wrote this

1K notes · View notes

rowdyhughesy · 1 year

Text

Meet me in Toronto - Jamie Drysdale

part one

“ love, love isn’t having butterflies all the time. I think love is calm. Love is comfortable. I could sit in silence with you for the rest of our lives and it would mean more than a thousand words with anyone else “

- anon

Word count: 707

It felt unfamiliar, odd for the girl to be back in Toronto. To be back in the streets she used to call home, buildings that held so many memories from her childhood. Summers spent eating ice cream at the small parlour down the street from her old house, movie nights in the basement with her best friends.

The summer with Jamie.

There is a life before Jamie and a life after Jamie, she longs for the life before. When she didn't feel so hollow and restless.

Maybe it's the need for closure that brought her back to Toronto or to torture herself even more with the ghost of Jamie, it's hard to tell at this point.

So she lets herself practically be dragged by the collar of her T-shirt by her friends. They're giggling and talking amongst themselves. Not paying attention to her falling behind, gaze far away and stuck inside her own head.

It's not until one of the friends throws her arm around the girls shoulder leaning her head on hers. Skin sticky with sweat from the summer heat and the small amount of wind doing bare minimum to cook them down.

"So tell me Y/N/N, is secret Canadian boy still in town you reckon?" Y/N's body goes rigid at the mention of Jamie. She's never told any of the friends she made after the move his name, who he is really. Only telling the reason why dates never worked out or why she doesn't have interest in boys being a boy she met when she was younger. Someone that took her heart and nobody had compared since so she just stopped trying.

There was no point in trying to replace Jamie when nobody could. Nobody will.

"No he isn't, I haven't talked to him in years you know that. Doesn't matter anyway." It's a lie and they both know that she's just saying it to brush off the hurt that lingers. Hidden between the words leaving her lips.

The AC blows against her face as the group steps inside the smoothie shop. To focused on their conversations Y/N doesn’t notice the dark haired boy sitting in the corner.

Brim of his hat covering most of his facial features, engrossed in some video his friend is showing on his phone. He barks out a loud laugh, this making the girls ears perk up at the sound.

Her head turning in his direction so fast she’s surprised she doesn’t get whiplash from the force. Eyes wide as she finally sees the boy she’s been missing for years. Mouth opening and closing as she tries to find the words, will he even remember her?

“Y/N?” Jamie stares back at her with the same shocked expression as she adorns. Stumbling out of his chair Jamie blinks his eyes repeatedly. Wondering if she’s a hallucination or he’s making a complete fool out of himself and it’s not her. Maybe it’s just a look alike and he’ll leave the shop mortified.

“Hi Jamie.” The hockey player towers over her, he’s so close she can smell his cologne mixed with laundry detergent. Apples and pine wood with a hint of a spice she can’t place.

Jamie lifts a shaky hand, gauging her reaction before placing his hand on her cheek. Caressing it with the pad of his thumb. She leans into it, eyes watery and bottom lip wobbling as she tries to hold back the tears. The happy tears because he’s here and she can feel him. It’s no longer just a memory or ghost haunting her in her dreams.

“I missed you, shit I can’t believe you’re standing in front of me right now.” Shaking his head in disbelief as a watery laugh bubbles up from his throat.

Y/N just smiles at him before she throws her arms around him. Hugging him as tight as she can and Jamie is quick to reincorporate the hug. Burrowing his face into her neck.

Neither of them thought they’d ever be here like this again. Holding each other, hear the rhythm of matching heartbeats.

After years of being lost they finally took the right turns and found their way back.

They found their way back home.

#jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x reader #nhl imagine #hockey blurb

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nouies · 8 months

Text

hello and welcome to this month’s fic rec featuring my favourite works from what i’ve read during the past weeks. as always, please check tags before reading. if you liked the fics please reblog their posts, leave kudos and write a nice comment. happy reading! 🔒 = only for ao3 users rec tag | more rec lists

— harry/louis —

໑ 🔒 Ice, Ice, Baby by cherrylarry / @beelou (G, 1.1k, ice skating) Figure skater Harry takes Louis out on the ice for the first time

໑ Love is Limitless by @rockstarlwt28 (NR, 2.8k, canon compliant, married couple) Louis is counting down the days, minutes and seconds until he can throw his arms around Harry, kiss him passionately and inhale his distinctive aftershave that smells like cinnamon and pine needles. It's hard enough being apart from his beloved husband, but it seems equally and if not more unbearable and difficult, for Harry, because he breaks the two-week rule - the unwritten and unspoken rule.

໑ unaware of the fall, unaware of my fate by @thepolourryexpress (T, 3508, psychic louis, fortune tell) Apparently Harry's birth chart isn't doing him any favors.

໑ In Shining Armour of Trackie and Trainers by @ladyaj-13 (T, 9.1k, canon divergence, famous/non-famous, read tags and notes) Online dating isn't exactly working for Harry. In fact, it couldn't really be going much worse. But then the door of the bar opens, and the pack of friends walking in parts and - that’s Louis Tomlinson.

Louis fucking Tomlinson.

໑ defying stars by localopa / @waterloux (T, 9.2k, marching band au, enemies) the marching band au only one person (and that was me) asked for.

໑ It’s Only Sunny Cause the Planet’s Dying by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28 (E, 13.6k, con artist louis, detective harry) Or the one where Louis is a thief and a con-artist who’s used to getting what he wants, using any means necessary. And Harry is is the straight-laced detective who might just be tired of always doing the right thing.

໑ Not Safe For Work by bluegreenish / @greenblueish (E, 23.2k, a/b/o, coworkers, psychic abilities) or, the one where the boys work at Niall's fashion start-up 28 Programme Designs, and omega Louis has a lot of not safe for work thoughts about his colleague Harry, but little does he know that the alpha can read minds.

໑ Lullaby Garden by @rockstarlwt28 (G, 29.2k, astrology, kid fic, foster home) Tarot reader Louis Tomlinson and fortune teller Harry Styles, better known as the Tomlinson's, are the proud owners of a children's home, Lullaby Garden; in the heart of the hilly town of Scarborough. With eight children to keep them on their toes, the pair aren't short of good-hearted family fun.

໑ science & faith by @soldouthaz (M, 36.4k, enemies to lovers, uni au, stem major louis, philosophy major harry) louis tomlinson is a science major who's dedicated his life to proving that love doesn't actually exist.

harry's the philosophy major determined to prove him wrong.

໑ Suddenly Last Summer by @disgruntledkittenface (E, 44.7k, american au, the hamptons, mystery elements) Louis is bored, rich and lonely. He has no reason to expect that this summer in the Hamptons with his friends will be different from any other – until he meets Harry. Suddenly he has someone who listens to him and cares about what he thinks. Someone who really sees him. But their happily ever after is forever marred by an incident at a party during Labor Day weekend, and Louis is left with a choice to make.

— rare pairs / categories —

໑ My Home Is Your Body by edensrose / @holdingthornsandroses (louis/henry cavill, E, 15.3k, a/b/o, exes, model louis) ...where Louis is a successful omega model and the last thing he expects is his ex to become the co-partner of the new company he works for....

໑ Don't Take Love Off the Table Yet by harriet_vane (louis/liam, T, 26.2k, wedding planner louis, emotional cheating) A wedding planner AU, in which Louis plans absolutely fucking flawless weddings, until he tries to plan Liam's wedding to Danielle.

#28th appreciation #1dficvillage #1dsource #hlcreators #hljournal #hlficlibrary #trackinghome #ficsfor4am #*#*rec

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worksby-d · 2 years

Text

𝙲𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍

Pairing: senator!Steve Rogers x senator!Reader

Summary: Steve’s convinced you have ulterior motives when you show up to his office unannounced.

Warnings: Implied smut

Word count: ~500

──── •◦ ✪ ◦• ────

Approaching his office, you can hear his voice carrying. It’s not clear enough to decipher what he's seemingly so heated about, but you'd place a hefty bet it has to do with the vote you're gearing up for this evening and making a last-ditch effort to get a few more colleagues on his side.

“Senator Rogers?” Your polite knock on the open door gets his attention and his features instantly soften seeing you. If it were anyone else, he probably would have snapped.

“Senator soon-to-be Rogers,” he teases, greeting you back.

Fiddling with the ring on your left hand out of habit at the mention, you roll your eyes at him. “I have a press release you need to proofread.”

Pushing off the desk he's leaning on, he raises an eyebrow and steps toward you to grab the packet you're holding out for him.

“That's not your job to bring to me.”

“I don't do enough around here,” you joke. “Thought I'd help out the poor interns.”

He laughs at that knowing damn well it's a lie; you're one of the few people that actually seem to accomplish anything lately.

He lets the poor man he was going in on a few minutes ago go, settling on offering a final Just think about it as he walks out.

Keeping your place next to Steve in the doorway, you awkwardly wait for him to make it far enough down the hall that it's not weird when you hurriedly shut the door, giving the two of you some privacy.

“So what did you really come all the way to my side of the building for?” He tosses the papers you gave him on a chair and backs you up against the wall.

“Nothing,” you shrug, resting your hands on his chest and leaning forward to give him a quick kiss. “No ulterior motives today. Just offered to bring you that when I overheard someone saying they were coming this way. Wanted to say hi.”

Even though you don't push him away, he pulls back a bit to look at you, gauging whether or not you're fucking with him. He does a double take at the papers–it really is a press release.

“But you used the code word,” he pouts.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you laugh. “Just so happens that's actually what it was this time.”

“It's not nice to tease and then deprive me, sweetheart.”

As soon as his lips are on your neck and his hands are roaming your body, slowly pulling the bottom of your dress up around your waist, you can't think straight.

“Steve,” you whine. “Committee meeting in 20 minutes.”

“I'll be quick,” he winks, sinking onto his knees. “Or not. But I'll deal with anyone who gives you shit for being late, dear.”

──── •◦ ✪ ◦• ────

Tag list: @chris-butt @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @thummbelina @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @princess-evans-addict @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @la-cey @turtoix @katiew1973 @harrysthiccthighss @tvckerlance @bluemusickid @rocketrhap3000 @mrspeacem1nusone @murdcox @geminievans1 @doozywoozy @americasass91 @dwights-new-plague @wwwmarissa92 @redhairedfeistynerd @whxre4cevans @aubreeskailynn @white-wolf1940 @melchills-j @xoxabs88xox @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @before-we-get-started @chrissquares @christowhore @ice-dtae @mariestark @justile @andy--barber @rogersdrysdalebarber @dilfbarber @livstilinski @payperhearts @vintagestarlight @gitasor @chaeycunty @miss-ariella @bemysugarbean @t-stark35 @seitmai @reginaphalange2403

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfic

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liz-allyn · 2 years

Text

heat of the moment, pt 4 - it's a wonderful (horrible) life [tasm!peter x reader x groundhog day au]

summary: the five stages of grief, times infinity. angst; fluff; humor; final destination vibes; and yes this is in tribute to my favorite episode of television ever written - "mystery spot"

words: 7.6k

warnings: death. a lot of it. repeatedly. in this chapter: tw gore, blood, burns, smut (but not really graphic), references to drug and alcohol abuse, references to sex, body horror, s*lf h*rm, su*c*de

a/n - I know I promised this would be done in 4 parts, but once I hit this word count I decided that we needed a break. whooops sorry.

STRONG CONTENT WARNING: SELF H*RM - SEE END OF CHAPTER FOR DETAILS.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

“You’re in what now?”

“A time loop.”

Peter sat slack-jawed across from you at a diner booth. The restaurant was humming with the hustle and bustle of the breakfast crowd, filled with chatter from diner patrons and the smell of freshly roasted coffee. You pitched your fork into a short stack of peanut butter and chocolate chip banana pancakes, topped with whipped cream. And birthday sprinkles, because why not.

Scooping the sugary chunk into your mouth (which really resembled a cake at this point), you moaned a noise that would’ve normally gone to a primal part of Peter’s brain. Instead, he was distracted by the side dishes of strawberry and mascarpone French toast, a “breakfast burger” featuring Portuguese linguisa sausage and muenster cheese, and a “Tuesday special” skillet of bacon mac and cheese featuring two over-easy eggs and thick-cut pork belly slices marinated with paprika and brown sugar.

You reached over to take a sip of your caramel-drizzled, iced coconut latte, then waived your fork to signal your waitress. The plump, red-haired woman wearing a traditional diner dress and apron approached your table with a cheery smile.

“How’s everything, darlin’?” she grinned warmly. She had a “friendly aunt'' vibe about her that you adored. At least that’s what you told Peter when you insisted on coming here for breakfast. Or whatever this “feast” was called.

“Oh, it’s sublime, Doris,” you gushed with a charming flutter of your lashes.

Peter considered for a moment that he hadn’t heard the waitress mention her name before.

You add with a singsong voice, “But I think my boyfriend and I would like to try something refreshing. Something fizzy...” You pick up the menu and scan over it quickly, although you already knew it by heart. “How ‘bout a beer?” You glanced at Peter. “I could go for a beer, how about you? With orange juice, maybe? A beer-mosa?”

He lifted his brows in surprise, stumbling over his response. “Uh... it’s... like... nine in the morning?”

“Ah, of course,” you respond sheepishly, then flick your eyes back to Doris. “I’ll take a Bloody Mary, then.”

The waitress nodded, somewhat impressed with your bold, Tuesday morning audacity, but said nothing as she turned to leave.

“Wait!” you called after her. “Actually, make that a Bloody Maria. Jalapeño-infused tequila. Top shelf. Please.” You punctuated your sentence with an endearing wink, and Doris might’ve respected you even more as she headed for the bar.

Now left alone, Peter surveyed the table incredulously, masking his concern. He glanced down at his plate, thinking he was overindulging himself by ordering the $21 avocado toast. As if you could read his mind, you pushed the plate of pancakes towards him.

“Have a bite of this,” you insisted, before slamming back the iced latte and emptying the glass. “I’ve got another short stack of pineapple upside-down pancakes coming.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “I thought you were allergic to pineapple?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, licking whipped creme off your fingers. “Not the worst way to go.”

“Wait a sec. Can we just— rewind it back... to the—”

“Time loop,” you supplied. You scooped a bite of the cheesy macaroni onto your fork and leaned across the table, directing the fork towards his mouth. “Open,” you said— an endearing order.

With a blush, Peter opened his mouth as you fed him the bite. “Soi’m jus’ confoosed...” he mumbled through the gooey food, “s’you’re sayn moo’ve w’ived ‘dis day mef’fore?”

“Yes, we’ve had this conversation before. Don’t talk with your mouth full,” you gently admonished. “It’s a dumb way to die.” You reached over and took a massive bite of your burger, chewing thoroughly.

“A time loop,” Peter repeated, thoughtfully. You could hear the sound of his signature skeptical smirk, usually right before he makes a reference to...

“Like in—?”

“Groundhog Day,” you finished. You then added, pointedly, “Which—frustratingly, doesn’t even bother to explain why Bill Murray’s in a time loop in the first place! I mean, how stupid! How can you just not have an explanation like that? Is it a gypsy curse? Is it aliens? Is it the goddamn groundhog? Who knows! Complete bullshit.”

He batted his head from side to side, considering your perspective. “Um, well, I mean... it’s... not a documentary?”

“Well, it did have some good pointers,” you replied, signaling to the buffet spread across the table. “Like—it doesn’t really matter what I eat,” you stated with a bit of pride. “I don’t need to exercise. Ever.” You picked up a slice of French toast and shoved it in your mouth, savoring the creamy mascarpone. “I don’t even need to brush my teeth. Or floss. It doesn’t matter how much sugar I eat. I’ll never get a cavity.” You took a strawberry in your fingers and sucked the delectable mascarpone from the fruit before popping it in your mouth. “I don’t even remember the last time I shaved.” You couldn’t help but sound giddy in your nonchalance. “The other day I even tattooed my face. It was awful. But then I woke up and it was like it never happened!”

“Wait, when?” Peter blinked at you, overwhelmed with confusion.

You rolled your eyes. He wasn’t getting it. He’s not getting it.

You turn to Doris as she brings a highball glass with a Tajin-seasoned rim, filled with red liquid and ice. “You’re an angel, Doris,” you fawned over the glass, raising it towards her in a toast. “We’re going to need some boxes. Like ten of them. Please?”

Doris nodded dutifully and was off again. You glanced at the tall glass, removing the straw (a choking hazard, at this point), and brought the rim to your lips, tilting your head back. Peter gawked as he watched you gulp down the tequila cocktail in mere seconds. You exhaled a spicy breath, your tongue burning, the acid surely searing the lining of your stomach. It would kill you, eventually. But not today. Probably.

“We gotta run,” you told Peter, who was still struggling.

“I agree,” he replied with a more serious tone. “I know I’m supposed to be paying attention right now, but honestly—”

You took your index finger, swiping it through the whipped cream on your plate, and dragged the digit through your lips. You locked your eyes on him, teasing him as he absorbed the lewd gesture with an open mouth.

“You’re realizing that watching me shove stuff in my mouth gets you hard?” The finger slips out of your mouth with a loud pop.

He blinked. His face turned pink. Brain shorts out. “Uh.. how did you—?”

“The same way I know that I can make you lose your mind beneath this table before she comes back with the boxes,” you wink at him fiendishly.

He blinked again. Several times.

“But not today,” you cheekily wink.

You moved briskly down the sidewalk as the sounds of the city rang out around you. Peter watched as he followed, hurriedly, with a stack of takeout boxes piled up to his chin. He noted that you were swift, but not rushed. You moved down the street like a dancer, every step choreographed. You seemed to know where you were going, although he didn’t have the slightest clue. When he asked, you’d only speak in riddles.

He noticed you slow down as you approached an alleyway, glancing the side of the buildings up and down. You carefully jump over a crack in the sidewalk, surveying the uneven surface, and avoid crossing beneath the ladder of a fire escape, before coming to a stop near a dumpster.

Peter spotted an elderly woman, hair in disarray, wearing a tattered, stained overcoat several sizes too big. Her once-pink fuzzy slippers were caked with months of mud. She held the lid of a garbage dumpster open, peering down at the options inside.

“Morning, Gina,” you greeted her pleasantly as if you’d known her for years. The woman was startled as she turned towards you. You took one of the styrofoam takeaway boxes off of Peter’s hands and offered it to her. “Here you go, still nice and warm. I asked them to put clean utensils inside, and one of those little hand sanitizer wipeys. Bon appetit!”

The woman took the box of hot food with a cautious expression but was quickly entranced by the delicious smell.

With a kind wave, you were off again. Perplexed, Peter glanced back and forth between you and the woman, leaving her with a kind smile and nod, then promptly returned to your side.

“Nice lady,” you remarked, continuing on your path down the sidewalk. Your eyes darted from corner to corner, thoroughly scanning the busy street. “You know she used to be a concert pianist?”

“Okay, slow down—you’re not giving me all the details here,” Peter anxiously pleaded, confused by your actions all morning. “Why does it seem like you know... everything?”

“I’ve been down this road before,” you sigh. “Figuratively and literally.”

Before Peter can respond, you place a protective hand on his shoulder, slowing him to a stop. Your eyes lifted towards the sky as you stopped near an active construction site. He glanced over at you, your eyes fixed warily on the scaffolding of the half-built tower. He heard you groan with frustration. In an instant, you took off in a different direction towards the front gate of the construction site. Peter followed you, watching carefully, as you march towards the foreman.

“Excuse me!” you harshly shouted as you approached. The foreman, who was in mid-phone conversation, glanced over at you, baffled and annoyed at your interruption. You reached up and took the phone right from his hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you snapped, pulling his phone away. Eyes widening with alarm, Peter hurried towards your side immediately, placing himself between you and the foreman.

The foreman sized you up from head to toe indignantly. “What the hell—?”

“No phones on the lot when heavy machinery is in motion!” you admonished, pointing to the cherry picker parked nearby.

The foreman glanced over at the hydraulic crane and its operators, then sneered at you with a side-eye. He shifted on his feet, planting his hands on his hips, fixing you with a ‘now-look-here-little-lady’ look. He sighed deeply, “Ma’am—”

“Don’t ma’am me,” you sneered, putting a finger in his face. “My name is OSHA and I’m your worst fucking nightmare, ‘kay? And where’s your hard hat, asshole? What is this? Amateur hour?”

The man’s face began to flush, with either anger or embarrassment—Peter wasn’t sure.

You pointed up towards the scaffolding, continuing your rant. “You got one guy up there not wearing his harness the right way, not to mention the toolbox next to the leading edge! You need a tape measure or something? Three feet is three feet!”

The foreman took a step backwards, glancing around with embarrassment as your tirade drew snickers from his crew and curious eyes from pedestrians. Peter held his tongue uncomfortably as you shoved the phone into the foreman’s chest.

“Here’s your phone back,” you spat. “You might wanna call somebody in who knows how to run a goddamn construction site. Maybe Bob the Builder.” You took Peter by the elbow and marched away, leaving your stunned, thoroughly-eviscerated victim behind.

(You hadn’t an ounce of sympathy for him. You’d been eviscerated. Fuck his fragile masculinity.)

Peter followed your lead, letting himself be pulled by you. And for the first time in his life, perhaps—experienced what it felt like to feel dumb.

He stuttered incredulously, “What in the—?”

“Did you know a penny dropped from a high enough distance can lodge through your skull?”

“I... am... so confused right now.”

“It’s okay, it’s hard to understand, I know,” you explained. “You’ll get it.” Peter turned towards the bright yap of a corgi pulling on his leash towards you. “Don’t make eye contact,” you gravely warned.

“What?”

“Eyes on me,” you ordered, alarmed dread in your voice. “Don’t engage. Don’t make eye contact. Gouda can’t see you if you don’t move.”

With a quirked brow, Peter followed your instructions, despite how baffling they were. The both of you stood motionless, staring at each other, and avoiding looking at the dog as it dragged his owner down the street. Once it was safe—whatever that meant—you moved towards the sidewalk curb, pausing for a five second count, then proceeded to walk across the street.

“Bug, you’re really starting to freak me out,” he called after you, trailing behind you in more ways than one. “Now if what you’re saying was even possible, which it isn’t, because it would break every law and notion of what we perceive as physical time that’s ever been theorized—”

Your eyes narrowed on a tall, stone-chinned, moderately-handsome young man with gelled-over hairplugs, wearing an expensive camel wool coat over a finely-tailored suit. He marched forward in the opposite direction, as he approached you and Peter on the sidewalk.

“Uh huh....” you replied, only half-listening.

“I mean, science fiction aside, time loops don’t just happen, because that would suggest that time is a linear construct anyway, when it’s actually more of a fifth-dimensional, state of reality—”

Your wealthy target held the latest smartphone device outwards in his hand, while wearing a bluetooth earbud in his ear, while simultaneously shouting into the speakerphone for everyone to hear, “—swear to fuckin’ god, you can tell McKinsey to shove it up her cunt. Tell her I said that! Tell her she can shove the whole SEC up in her cunt and get fucked! She wants a hostile fuckin’ takeover, then we'll go to war—”

Idly, you sidestepped and slammed into his shoulder as he passed. Despite the bump and the overwhelming stench of cologne and sweat, you kept walking without making eye contact. From your periphery, you saw him spin on the heel of his leather soles and hiss in your direction. “Fuckin’ watch where you’re goin’, yeah?!” he bellowed, with an aggressive tone that was enough to make Peter puff up his chest.

You saw your boyfriend begin to engage and you calmly intervened. “Don’t bother,” you shrugged.

“Tough guy, eh?” Peter called after the man. “He’s a prick!” His voice echoed and was loud enough to be heard by the offender. It didn’t matter, as the stranger was already marching along to concern himself with more important things.

When Peter turned back to you, you were holding a thick wad of hundred dollar bills. Proudly, you pocketed the cash.

“Did you just steal that?” Peter exclaimed, scandalized.

“No...?” you replied, somewhat offended by the completely accurate description of events.

You thought he’d break his neck by how taken aback he was. “Really?”

“You gonna arrest me?” you snickered deviously. Peter stared at you, open mouthed. “Now’s your chance!” you added playfully.

He watched as you sprinted ahead of him, bounding towards two uniformed, New York City police officers strolling out of a bakery. Lost in their own world, in the middle of a lively conversation, they were on their way towards their parked police cruiser when you called out to them.

“Oh, my god, Officers! Officers!” you breathlessly wailed as you rushed towards them. The hairs on Peter’s neck stood up as he witnessed your dramatic performance. You looked flushed, with tears coming to your eyes, chest heaving and breathless. The two cops—the rookie Officer Cage and the more senior Officer Conner, stopped mid conversation as you approached them.

You threw yourself at Officer Cage, pressing your full chest into him and fluttering your lashes above your distressed eyes. The younger officer looked down at you, flustered, and shot a nervous glance towards his partner.

Peter stood back with a brow raised as Officer Cage attempted to keep his hands visible as you threw yourself at him. “Please, you’ve got to do something!” you declared, sounding like you were on the verge of hyperventilating. Cage began to sweat.

“Alright, just calm down, ma’am,” his more senior partner ordered. “What’s the matter?”

You gripped Cage by the collar, so distraught you struggled to stand upright. Anxiously, the rookie cop fought the urge to grab you by the hips to steady you.

Peter did not like it at all.

“You’ve got to do something!” you repeated, fanning your face with your fingers as tears threatened to break through. “There’s a-a man at the con-construction site back there!” Still holding Cage’s body towards yours, you turned and pointed down the street in the direction you and Peter had just come from. The officers followed the end of your finger, past a food delivery truck being unloaded into the bakery. They angled their heads around the truck to see your line of sight. “There's a worker who’s dangling from a rope! He’s going to fall!”

Cage and Conner glanced at each other with growing alarm, and they both took off down the street towards the site of the impending trouble. You watched them go with a self-satisfied smirk. It technically wasn’t a lie if it hadn’t happened yet.

Peter watched the officers rush off, then turned towards you with a mix of confusion and annoyance. His eyes grew three times bigger as he saw that you had Cage’s pistol in your hand.

You dutifully disabled the weapon like a seasoned pro—unloading the magazine, ejecting the first bullet from the chamber, and smashing the firing mechanism against the edge of a metal garbage can, before tossing the weapon down a storm drain. The bullets you took with you, pocketing them right next to the cash.

“Who the hell are you?” Peter exclaimed, barely able to speak coherently. “When did you get so terrifying? How did you learn how to use a gun?”

You responded with a careless shrug. “You should see the other way I unload it. It’s way more fun.”

Peter stood speechlessly as he looked down at you, with a disappointed tilt of his head that did the same.

“Hey, I’m not the bad guy,” you retorted, offended by his apparent judgment. “Trust me. That cop needs a few more hours of training time on the range— not to mention years of therapy— to address some deep-rooted childhood trauma.”

Peter looked back over his shoulder past the delivery truck, sizing up the retreating officer.

“And that Wall Street Douche?” you added. “The only reason he was carrying that cash for was to buy some cocaine party favors for a big ‘rager’ tonight. I mean, what better way to celebrate a successful insider trading payout, amirite?” You used haphazard air quotes to match your cruel tone. “Too bad he doesn’t know the coke’s laced with fentanyl. Guess you shouldn’t try to cheap out on your drug dealer.” Your boyfriend stared at you, his brow furrowed. “I just saved that guy’s life!” you spat pointedly, with a bravado tone, your voice bellowing throughout the busy street. “Him and the Blockchain Gang.”

You retrieved the roll of cash, holding it up for Peter to see. “Let’s just call this a ‘thank you’ for my service.”

“So that’s it? That’s what you think saving lives is about? That’s what it means?”

“Everybody dies, Peter,” you sneered coldly, shoving the cash back in the pocket of your coat. “Who cares what it means?”

He gazed at you with tight lips, jaw locked in place. “I do,” he softly replied, after several long moments. His face was elongated with a sour expression. “I care.”

A long beat passes as you stare at him—the poor, pitiful fool— and you remember that he hasn’t seen what you’ve seen. By contrast, you haven’t survived in the same way he has. You recalled the way death has been a constant presence in his life. Between the death of his parents, his surrogate father, and his high school sweetheart, grief was just a condition of his being.

You breathe a heavy sigh, and recognize that while you may not be the bad guy, you are an asshole.

Dying was making you bitchy, and there were few things that could adjust your attitude when it soured. Your eyes land on the parked police cruiser, and they lit up like a Christmas tree.

“You wanna fuck on the hood of this cop car?” you grinned deviously, as if you were suggesting something as innocent as swiping an extra handful of Halloween candy.

He leveled a stone-faced, deadpan look at you.

Your devilish smile only faltered slightly. “No?” You tried to reel it in, sombering yourself. “Some other time, then.” Displeased, he rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, still carrying the pile of takeout boxes in his long arms. You gritted your teeth and groaned.

He doesn’t get it, you thought. “Peter, just wait up.”

He paused.

“I’m sorry, okay?” You kick your toe into the sidewalk. “I just feel like... like maybe— We shouln’t take all of this too seriously, y’know?”

“All of what? Life?”

“Yes!” you exclaim, but agreeing with him doesn’t ease his growing frustration. “I just think that in the grand scheme of things, none of this matters.” The ‘this’ you were referring to was all around you. It was everything. Everyone. All the days had become the same, and every event in them—including your death—had bared the same dreadful monotony. Time was meaningless. Time is meaningless.

He glared down at you, quirking an offended eyebrow. “How couldya say somethin’ like that?” His accent rears back to life again.

“Maybe you need to hear it,” you state matter-of-factly, with a shrug of your shoulders. “Your entire world is built on the foundation that you need to save everyone, and that’s somehow going to make the world a better place. But if any of us dies, Peter, it doesn’t matter. If I die, it doesn’t matter.”

“Shut up.” Even over the sound of traffic, you can hear the pain in his whispered reply. He jutted his finger out towards you, warningly. There’s a quiet intensity in his voice, and all the humor had drained from his demeanor. “I don’t wanna hear any more.”

“No, Peter. I’m gonna die.” You’re bold with your statement. Confident. It’s an edict. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop it. I don’t know if God even exists, but regardless, you’re not him.”

“Stop it,” he seethes now, inching closer to you. He looks like he’d web your mouth shut—right there in front of everyone on the street. Maybe you want him to.

There’s venom in your voice, not certain who its reserved for. But you serve it to the love of your life anyway. “You. Cannot. Save. Me.”

And it’s right about that time when the delivery truck driver emerges from the back carrying a giant sack of flour. The wind picks up, and the fine, white powder is carried with it. The cloud wraps around the both of you.

The static electricity of Peter’s dry hands across the surface of the styrofoam food containers creates a spark. The dust cloud in the air ignites, a fireball erupting in midair. The grease-soaked food containers go up in flames, reduced to a burning pile in seconds. Peter is stunned, dropping the burning food containers on the sidewalk, and now you both are alarmed by the burning pile. Both of you start kicking at the fire, in order to put out the flames, but it just creates more of a flaming mess.

The embers of bacon-soaked styrofoam fan up and catch on your coat. You’re quick to recognize it, and shed yourself of the garment just as it starts to burn. You slink it off your shoulders and drop the coat to the ground, just as Peter renders a stunned look of horror on his face.

He gazes up at you over the small bonfire, amazed beyond belief. “Time loops are real?” he squeaks out.

At about that time, the bullets in your pocket ignite in the flames. It sounds like popcorn— if it were made in a steel vat with the volume turned up about 100 times.

Peter flinches at the sound. You jolt as your body becomes riddled with bullet holes, tearing through your flesh like swiss cheese.

You were getting warmer. And colder. You followed his line of sight down and gaped at a whirlpool of crimson torn through your chest. You watched your life force drain out of you, spilling onto your feet and across the floor.

By far, the most nightmarish of visions was the dread you saw in Peter’s eyes.

You watch. His light extinguishes. Swallowed up. Drowned in anguish. Cue darkness.

TUESDAY, 7:00am

Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT...”

The ceiling. You stare. Still. Motionless.

Your eyes sting with tears that are fighting to be shed. Some days it’s harder than others to keep them back.

“Mornin’, Sunflower!”

He pokes out his head. His expression naive. Serene. Joyful. Alive.

You wonder how many times you have to die before you’ve evolved.

Before you devolve. Into something less than human.

You glance over at Peter. Despite being half dead, your heart flutters at the sight of him. A glowing freckled face. Sparkling amber eyes. A beautifully-mischievous smile.

His smile.

“We need to talk,” you respond quietly. His expression falls, confused. “Take me somewhere with a nice view?”

It’s quiet on the roof of the high rise that overlooks Central Park. You appreciate the view, and how the sun hits the vertical, towering, puffy clouds just so, threading golden rays of sunlight into their indigo plumes.

It’s not Peter’s first choice, but there’s a rainbow out and you can see it better from here than from the Empire State Building.

There was something poetic about rainbows, you’ve come to decide. Something about a pattern of refracting light, laid out into a pathway that could only be seen if you’re in the right place at the right moment. You chuckle quietly. Rainbows really are magical.

Peter paced anxiously beside you, muttering a monologue, mostly to himself. It didn’t bother you much. He would get this way, and you found that his nonsensical mumbling actually soothed your nerves. Almost like a white noise machine.

You sat on the rooftop listlessly with your back against a wall. Your eyes would follow him sometimes, lids heavy with apathy.

By contrast, Peter was a livewire; synapses firing, his eyes alight as they tabulated variables and ran through formulas. He looked like one of those internet memes with greek letters and roman numerals circling his head, rummaging through the endless, note-scribbled index card catalogue of his mind on quantum mechanics and chaos theory.

It was exhausting.

You wished that he would just sit down next to you, so you could rest your head on his shoulder again. Maybe close your eyes and sleep.

Dying was exhausting.

You continued to watch him dig a trench with his Spidey-clad boots. You considered not saying anything at all this time. Then, you opened your mouth, “Pe—”

“I’ve got it!” Peter said triumphantly, with a ‘eureka’ vibe. He turned to you, his amber eyes glittering with hope. “It all makes sense now. The temporal loop limited to less than 24 hours. The blatant disregard for the Novikov self-consistency principle—”

You rolled your eyes.

“This all sounds like that presentation from last winter at Horizon Labs!” Peter blurted out, half still talking to himself, mostly. “Who was that guy? He was theorizing the possibility of quantum computation with a negative delay—”

“You know I have no idea what you’re saying, right?” you deadpanned.

“Time travel!” Peter explained. “He was talking about time travel! I bet Horizon is tied up in this time loop thing somehow. That-that guy must be behind this—”

“What guy?”

“Agh,” he gripped his head, squeezing his eyes shut, “what was his name? The chunky guy with the mullet? That guy!”

You nodded your head once. You knew exactly who he was referring to. “Grady.”

He pointed an index finger at you. “Yes!” Then, he paused, letting his arm drop. “Wait, how do you know—?”

“It’s not him,” you declared simply, picking at your nails.

“What do you mean it’s not—”

“It’s not him.”

“How do you know—?”

“Because we asked him. Interrogated him. Ripped his research apart. Tore Horizon Labs down to the studs, and it wasn’t him. Same with Oscorp. Tricorp. Alchemax. They’re all busts.”

He locked his jaw, looking down at the ground, fingers digging into his hips. “You know, this smells like Quentin Beck—”

“Not Mysterio either.”

His shoulders dropped. “Okay. Then what about Fisk?”

“Nope.”

“Kraven, then.”

“Not Kraven,” you shook your head.

Peter bit his lip, gritting his teeth, his frustration building. “How can you be so sure?” he argued.

“Time loop, remember? Nothing changes, Peter. Ever.” You shrugged your shoulders and picked at your nail again, bored. Or did you shrug your shoulders and pick at your nail? Time was meaningless at this point. At every point. “This isn’t a problem you can solve by punching it.”

“You know what—you’re right! I can’t,” he spat, indignation hot. “I can’t solve any problem! Not with your attitude! Or would it actually kill you to try to be helpful?

You chuckle again, without lifting your eyes from your cuticle. “That was a good one. New.”

“Is there something funny about this to you, huh?” he raised his voice, shutting you up. You look at him, seeing a fury in his eyes he usually reserved for someone at the end of his interrogations. You stilled your movements under his steel gaze.

Way to go. You pissed him off. Again.

“You’re telling me that you’re gonna die today,” he glowered darkly, voice thick with aggrevation. “Why are you acting like this is a fucking joke?”

“No,” you sigh regretfully. “No, I’m… I’m sorry. Look—please. Let’s not fight this time.”

“This time?” he snapped. “Stop saying that! Stop saying that you’ve had this conversation before!” He leaned in, pointing down at you in the way he does, veins bulging in his neck. ”Stop saying that you’ve lived this day before!” He lowered his voice, but lividness still punctuated his words. “I’m sorry,” he spat viciously “if this is getting repetitive for you, but for me this is a goddamn nightmare and you’re telling me I can’t do anything but—”

He stops. Chokes on the words. “No,” he declares, more calmly but with the same resolve. “Not gonna happen.” He wags his long finger, shaking his head furiously. “I won’t watch you die.”

It is an edict. You unpurse your lips. “Peter,” you softly, tenderly try to argue, “you can’t—”

“I’m trying to save you!” his voice erupted from his throat. He sounds so angry. So much anger in him. Angry and betrayed. “Why won’t you let me?” he pleaded.

“What’s your plan, huh?” you question. “Take on every bad guy in the city at once?” You take a beat, dropping your frustration back down to a manageable level. You add, bitterly, “I’m not gonna let you massacre everyone at Ryker’s Island in some futile attempt to save me!”

“Seriously?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. “What makes you think I would ever do something like that?”

You remain still, your brow furrowed. Eyes locked on his.

“Because you have.”

A beat passes as he just stares at you, struggling to understand. Your voice was now quiet. Nothing louder than a whisper, and dark with a cold absolution. You take no satisfaction in being right.

You swallow on a dry throat. “It’s not Grady, not Beck,” you explain with a little more sensitivity. “Not Fisk. Not Toomes. Not Kraven. Not Lin. Not any of your enemies.” He blinked at you, and you watch his heart sink. “I know that because you killed them. All of them. And it didn’t make any difference.”

Your words settled in like a snake slithering into his bedsheets. He watched you, as if he was waiting for the punchline. Dread filled him as he realized there wasn’t one. Your word choice echoed in his mind. Face paled. Eyes glazed. A shudder ghosted down his spine.

Massacre.

Then you saw it. There was that look. He was terrified again, of what you’ve come to realize was perhaps his worst enemy: The monster he was capable of becoming.

Massacre.

Your eyes said it all, and then you watched him shift to his next reaction. All of this a rerun of an episode you’d seen before.

He looked sheepish. Exposed. Embarrassed. He didn’t know where to place his eyes. You could see he was running the math, scoping the variables. Calculating. Formulating the most likely outcome.

How far gone would he have been to do... ?

How crazy, out-of-his-mind...?

—Not only to be capable of that savagery— but to let you see it?

He would have to be mad, he decided. Absolutely unhinged.

Forget having occasional commonality with his enemies. Forget being the un-Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. Forget not “pulling his punches.”

His jaw locked in place, lips curving downwards. He looked like he swallowed glass. It would be a volatile mix. A fatal combination. Absolute power, meeting absolute desperation. Resulting in his absolute corruption.

Massacre. Everyone.

He looked over at you, just as you wiped away a stray glimmer of a tear. You cursed yourself for letting it slip this time, but it’s too late. He saw it, and now he knows. You’ve witnessed him do the horrific. Unforgivable. Unimaginable.

Tears formed in his eyes too.

He could imagine it. If he was desperate enough.

If it meant that he could save you.

You shook your head somberly, as if you could read his thoughts. Maybe you could, he wondered. To him, this day just kept getting weirder.

He pulled his gaze away from you, and that’s when the cable snapped. He’s overwhelmed by a deluge of cries. You watched him grab his hair and pull, the bridge of his sanity buckling and collapsing under grief.

He turned his face towards the skyline, letting out an animalistic noise. A yowl. Something between a groan and a scream, erupting from his soul and threatening to break through his teeth.

Now he’s getting it, you think.

It never hurts you any less, no matter how many times you watch it.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice as gentle as a lullaby. You know if you try to touch him, he’ll wrench himself out of your hold, as if he can imagine blood already staining his gloved hands. “It doesn’t always end like that. With anger.”

He lifted his gaze but refused to look at you. He stared at the city, thinking. Deciding.

“No,” he replied, barely above his breath. “It doesn’t have to end like that.” His calm puts you on edge. When he finally turns towards you, a renewed energy puffs up his chest. Fire in his eyes.

“But it’s gotta end some way, right? Some time?”

He sounds lighter, with a callous laugh in his tone.

You don’t like it at all.

He leaned back, standing straighter. “So we just end it now.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Both of us,” Peter explains grimly, with a dangerous resolve. “You go, I go.”

You stare at him, taking measured breaths. It’s important not to overreact here, you try to remember. You purse your lips, then began your objection, “Peter—”

“If you’re right about this—” he cut you off curtly, “—if there’s nothing I can do to save you— then none of it matters!”

His eyes were furious and razor-sharp, he pointed at you as if to silence your protests. As if his mind is already made up. Chest heaving. His eyes fall to his wrists, and without a second thought, he claws at them.

You quietly observe. He ripped the small web shooter devices from his wrists, crushing the watch-dial-looking machines in his palms with a crunch. He carelessly tossed them aside.

“How ‘bout that?” he spat, glaring at you challengingly. As if you were somehow responsible. You’re hurting him again. You always do.

You try to keep still, frowning as you watch him. Your stomach twists.

He glanced back at the edge of the roof, before stepping up on the ledge, peering anxiously down at the street below. Even for a superhuman, eighty stories is enough to crush him. You already were familiar with the sensation, but it’s not worth bringing up right then.

“It’d be over quick,” Peter called to back you with a tense shrug of his shoulders. “Straight shot down from the side. I’d be Jell-O in six seconds!”

The callousness of his voice tears a new hole in you. He’s being more cruel than he intends to be—you know that. He can’t help it. But it still hurts to hear.

You should be used to the pain by now.

His anger has given way to determination. He wants to provoke the gods. He wants the universe to open up and make this day never happen.

You’re motionless. Watching. Eyes glued to the crimson logo on his back. A symbol of everything opposed to what he’s saying now. That heavy fucking spider. It never left him. And never will leave. It clings to him, like a parasite. Like a Grim Reaper, trailing death behind.

He lowers his head, and the careless facade starts to crack. A quiet sob escapes his lips, betraying him.

“There’s no saving me if there’s no saving you,” Peter declared, his voice buckling. Breaking.

You consider how this never gets any easier. Witnessing the undoing of a person. Their unmaking — a murder while their heart is still beating.

Tears form in your eyes as you mourn him. “That won’t help you, Peter.”

“What won’t help me?”

You gazed at him, just shy of forever. Not nearly long enough.

“Bargaining.”

He glanced back at you, confused.

You swallow back your upset, finding your voice. “It doesn’t always end with anger,” you explain tenderly. “There’s the whole spectrum. Denial. Bargaining.”

The corners of his mouth pitch down again, and he turns away from you, gazing sorrowfully at the street below.

“You never go through with it, Peter,” you softly add. “Because that’s not who you are. Because you know it doesn’t change anything.” You speak up, loud, and clearly enough for the words to resonate with him. “It doesn’t make the world better. Having it go on without you.”

The tears return to his eyes, full force. Big, fat tears that threaten to drown him.

It’s time for you to stand. Your arms ache to hold him again, and it’s just about time for him to let you. Like the pull of a magnet.

“The pain you feel—the grief,” you explain, taking soft steps towards him, “I can’t imagine how awful it is. There aren’t any words. There’s nothing I can say that’ll make things make sense. Or make it feel like it’s all a part of some plan.”

You tread close enough to fall into his shadow, peering up at him as he gazes down at you like a statue of disdain, weeping furious tears.

“All I can say is that I’m sorry. I wouldn’t wish that agony on anyone.” You glance down at the busy avenue, cars and headlights moving about like ants. A fitting description of life outside of your timeless bubble.

“I wish it was me instead of you,” you declare, and it is the first time you’d done so. “If that makes sense.” You feel that familiar throb in your chest as you gaze up at his towering form. “I wish I was the one that had to be left behind.”

“Don’t.”

The gentle word slips from his lips, like a prayer. Like a crack in a dam. He shakes his head slowly, peering down at you.

His eyes beg. “Please, don’t...”

You reach your fingers out towards him, gathering his defeated hands into yours. Pulling him down from the ledge, he folds immediately, collapsing into your grip. He falls to his knees. Arms around your waist. He sobs into your belly, unleashing furious, wretched cries.

“Please, don’t leave,” he sputtered, shoulders shaking. “I won’t do this again. Please, I can’t...”

Again. It shatters your heart to know he’s not talking about last Tuesday. You bite your tongue, choking back a sob, your fingers carding through his hair.

You don’t say it, but this is the last stage that you get to witness. Pure despair. Unrelenting and unkind.

You don’t want to tell him that you’ve seen him like this so many times. Just yesterday you saw it — was it two Tuesdays, or two hundred Tuesdays, or twenty years of Tuesdays?

You don’t know.

Time is meaningless.

Except that it always ends with despair. Just shy of the final, blessed stage of acceptance that you wish for once you could catch a glimpse of.

But that kind of thing only comes with time — time you don’t have.

Except when it resets.

You let him cry into your flesh and you know that eventually, he’ll scoop you up in his arms and carry you gently back to the apartment. And when you get there, he’ll use a backup pair of web shooters to seal you inside of your home.

When you protest, he’ll web you inside of your room. To the bed, maybe.

He’ll say it’s the only way he can protect you, if you’re trapped in there, with every inch of space covered in the rapidly-dissolving, steellike cable he’s spun.

He’ll apologize, but he’ll say it’s for your own good.

You don’t mind. It gives you a few more minutes together.

Before a fire starts in one of the outlets in your room. The web catches quickly. It’s like dryer lint.

Or it’s carbon monoxide, his web having cut off the flow from the furnace. That way hurts less.

Or maybe it’ll be quick. Like the time you realized your fire extinguisher was faulty, and ended up with a handle lodged in your chest.

Time is meaningless. You have all the time in the world.

You close your eyes tightly, squeezing him to your body, just as the low rumble of thunder echoes in the low-hanging canopy of clouds above.

TUESDAY, 7:00 am

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT…”

“Bug, you’re really starting to freak me out,” Peter grinned with a light chuckle, moving in tandem with you in more ways than one.

The two of you strolled down the sidewalk. The mid-morning crowds parted around you. In one hand, Peter held a paper bag at his side, stuffed full of takeaway boxes. In the other, he held tightly onto yours — devotedly, with a deep passion, and lightheartedness of a man enthralled in love. Filled with hope for the future. Blissfully unaware of how this day would inevitably end.

“Now if what you’re saying was even possible—which it isn’t, because it would break every law and notion of what we perceive as physical time, that’s ever been theorized—”

“Maybe it’s not a science thing,” you replied, even though you still were wildly unfamiliar with the physics of his discussion, you were sober enough to follow his logic. “Maybe it’s just fate.”

“Babe, c’mon, everything is a science thing,” Peter countered. He spoke coolly and calmly, confident in his musing, comfortable in this element. “Science is everything. The real question is: what’s the inciting action? There’s not a single outcome in physics that’s attainable without some kind of initial source. I mean, that’s basic. That’s Newton.”

“But remember Nana Manners?”

“Right,” he nodded his head, recalling how you’d mentioned your great-grandmother earlier that day. He grinned, teasing, “Your crazy great-grandma told you she could see the future when you were a kid and now you think you’ve inherited some kind of clairvoyant superpower?”

You shoved him playfully.

“Hey, I’m just sayin’! Who are you gonna believe?” he turned to you with a charming smirk. He sparkled like a diamond in the sunlight. “Me, or a fortune teller?”

You barked out a laugh. “I actually did go to a fortune teller first,” you remarked.

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “No, you didn’t!” he giddily laughed. “What? Which one?”

“All of them. Well, all the ones in the boroughs that I could find, anyway.”

He took a moment to measure your words. “Geez,” he replied, taken aback. “How many Tuesdays have you had?”

“Who knows,” you laughed. “Enough to know that the fortune teller in the Village—the one from the commercials—has a fake accent and her husband’s cheating on her with someone who runs the crystal shop down the street.”

Peter snorted, amused. “Wow,” he remarked. “Wonder why she didn’t see that coming.”

You froze. Peter stopped walking when you did, turning towards you, unaware of why you stopped. He gazed at you, the adoration in his eyes cooling into concern.

You feel every goosebump on your body rise. Hair standing on end. Fingertips tingling. A sharp sting at the back of your neck. A shift, not just in your center of gravity, but in your soul. Your pulse quickens. Eyes wide. Chest tight.

“Bug?” he asked, wary of the way your face paled.

Ten millenia of evolutionary instinct passed down through your DNA was buzzing. Whirring. Screaming at you, even.

If you could imagine feeling “the tingly sense” that Peter spoke about—his mysterious enhanced ability—this must be it.

The question dawns on you:

Why hasn’t Peter’s ever worked?

Continue to Part 5

CW DISCLAIMER - Strong cw for su*c*dal ideation and discussion, as well as sensitive themes about death. The ideas expressed in this chapter are based on a science fiction scenario, by characters who are not of stable or sound mind. If you or someone you know is having difficult thoughts or experiencing a mental health crisis, please reach out to somebody because you're not alone. Dial 988 from any phone in the U.S., or go to 988lifeline.org

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oldybutgoody · 4 months

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dri exodus body count featuring ice muthafuckin t

#phoenix theatre

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siasthoughts · 3 months

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« SOFT SERVE »

CONCEPT; VIOLENCE FIEND AND KOBENI GETTING ICE CREAM AFTER WORK.

TOPICS/CONTENTS; GALGABENI . KOBENI X VIOLENCE . FLUFF . TENDER KISSES . COMFORTING

SOMEBODY GET THEM OUT OF MY HEADDD I LOVE THEM SO MUCH 😭😭

WORD COUNT; 645

they just got off work, and kobeni's stress levels were off the roof. violence picked up on this, and asked if they wanted to get some ice cream. kobeni looked up at him with pitiful eyes and smiled, "yes, of course..."

they walked to the front of the usual store they go to, and entering to be met with the sugary smell of sweets. "do you want to try something different aside from vanilla today?" violence asked, taking the table next to the window first. kobeni follows, "s-sure!" she smiled nervously as she kept her body closed together, her shoulders cautiously raised with her fists against the seat.

"mint chocolate? cotton candy? there's a lot!" violence gets the menu and brings it to their table, "doesn't have to only be ice cream either, you can get anything, it's on me!"

"but... you're the one who's always treating me to things..." kobeni looked down at her lap in shame as violence sits down, pushing the menu toward her, "and? it's out of sincerity! don't worry so much." he said enthusiastically. kobeni pursed her lips together, swallowing her words and nodding softly. "o-okay... i want to try the- uh..." her eyes scan the menu, looking over the many varieties of sweets and pastries and feeling overwhelmed with the options, "i'll try the red velvet cake!" she beams, looking at him and realizing her sudden burst of energy and apologizes.

"why are you apologizing? it's adorable! smile more, it suits you." violence slightly tilts his head, smiling under his mask. kobeni's eyes widen at the compliment, getting flustered and failing to hide the smile painting her face. "t-thank you, and i also want to have a... mango smoothie for a drink." her finger stops at the smoothie section of the menu. "alright, red velvet and mango smoothie it is!" he says, standing up to head to the counter to order.

kobeni's eyes follow his movements, "violence can't eat because of his mask and power..." she thinks, feeling sorry for him as she fidgets with her fingers. after a quick minute, violence comes back with the beautiful, moist cake and mango smoothie in his hands, placing it in front of her. her eyes glimmer with excitement, and this was enough to make violence feel full. her eyes speak to him in some way that fulfills his needs, though he wishes he could do the same for her, to speak to her through his expressions. his head lowers a bit at the thought, "violence, is something wrong?" kobeni questions, looking at him empathetically.

"no, nothing, it's alright. go eat!" he voices, watching her smile and go on to eating. she was beautiful, he was grateful for having experienced even just being with her, this was better than not having met at all. as she eats away at the sweetness of the cake, his eyes eat away at her presence. observing her features, the two moles marking the under of her left eye, the way her hair falls just above her eyes...

kobeni raises her head to meet his eyes again, "thank you so much for treating me again! one day, i'll hope to repay you!" she joyfully said, a velvet crumb and frosting sticking on the corner of her lips, "you don't have to!" violence quickly replies, taking a tissue from the box on the side of the table, reaching for her face to wipe off the frosting and crumb. her face heats up at the sudden action, "d-do you want a bite? i mean lifting your mask just a bit won't cause any trouble right?" she suggests. "i'd... rather not risk it." he softly states, "i appreciate the offer though!"

she finishes the cake and drink just as they talk and laugh, they both slowly, and silently realize that this is the closest they'd get to peace. being with eachother.

THIS IS QUICK AND RUSHED AGAIN BCZ I WANNA MAKE A RAFAYEL FIC SO BADDD

#chainsaw man #kobeni x violence #csm kobeni #galgabeni #csm #fanfic #Spotify

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morganitering · 5 months

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Tie a Cherry (Toji x fem!reader) part 1

Rating: T (future E)

Contains: Alcohol/cigarette usage, crude language, no beta, eventual smut, Porn with plot, no usage of y/n, i'll update this list as i go

Word count: 3,1k

Summary: You don't completely hate your job at the club, it's okay money and it keeps you afloat, but it has its downsides. One of them being your customers. As you struggle with your mundane life as a young adult, you meet a dark featured man, who is almost impossible to read. He has some red flags, but unfortunately, it's your favorite color.

A/N: I wanted to write about Toji, a longer fic perhaps! Here you go, enjoy!

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The rain whipped the asphalt and the drops turned into puddles. The parking lot was almost empty besides some older cars from the 20th century littered streets. Fall had come with a full force coloring the view into yellow and orange and finally leaving behind only stubby trees and almost decomposed leafs.

The concrete block of a bar was located in one of the seedier urban areas, host clubs, massage parlors and karaoke bars fighting for the highest spending anonymous clients. You worked in one of the rowdier establishments where music was mind numbingly loud, leaving your ears ringing every time you went back to your studio apartment. Silence after a shift felt almost as painful as the noise at your work.

The customers were men and women of various ages. They were usually well off, new money, judging by the designer they loved to flaunt. If they weren’t rich, they were in debt or spending someone else's fortune. The whole place smelled like expensive cologne, weed and sex.

It was repetitive work. Grab glasses and take them to the dishwasher, bring out new stockpiles of citrus, berries and herbs, talk to men who in a group setting became dumber than dumb. Easy, eight hours spent swimmingly.

Your make up was practically stuck on your face, eyeliner almost tattooed on your lids. The little dress you wore had made you initially uncomfortable, not due to the revealing nature of it, but because it was simply ugly, but for what men liked to see, they were willing to tip, making up for the emotional damage of wearing a complete fashion disaster.

“There’s going to be a birthday group coming to table six. The client wants a bottle of champagne to share and make sure they keep drinking.” That’s what your shift manager had told you earlier this evening, when you were still perfecting today's look.

Every so often you kept eyeing the wall that had big tacky plush seats in the shape of a semicircle. The floor was slightly raised up, almost to make fun of the normal customers, who were forced to sit on uncomfortable bar stools with a backrest made out of translucent plastic that bent every time they moved an inch.

“Hey, I think your clients are here,” your coworker leaned towards your ear, a smell of pungent perfume almost suffocating you.

“Oh shit,” you cursed under your breath, holding a tray of dirty glasses in your hands.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll handle that. You go and do your thing,” she said, grabbing the tray to her hands, glitter sparkling as the deep blue lights crossed her face for the tenth time.

You picked up a clean metallic container and shoveled ice in it, enough to keep a body cold. You buried a bottle of champagne in the middle of it. You could have as well stuffed hundreds of bills down your throat with the amount of money one bottle cost.

Picking up your pace, you felt your heels set on the hard flooring as you took confident strides towards the table of maybe four men sitting and chatting. Taking a deep breath, you slipped on the customer service personality once again, switching from the real you to a service worker you, with such ease that it muddled the line of who you were.

“Gentlemen! Sorry for the hold up,” you heard the nasally sound coming out of your mouth. The bucket’s content rustled with ice as you placed it on the table with a thump.

“No worries miss, we are in a good mood and having a girl like you with us. It makes the hold up all the better,” one of the men said.

They were an odd bunch, probably all of them in their thirties. Three of them looked like they had dressed up for the occasion, wearing ill-fitting suits. It was subtle, but you could notice it from the way the cloth hung on their body, sleeves a tad bit too long or too short, ties slightly crumpled and few buttons popped open from their dress shirts.

Then there was this fourth man who didn’t look like he belonged to the rowdy friend group. He sat quietly on his spot, but he wasn’t curled up nor did you catch any hint of insecurity or shyness. He simply was, as he scrolled through his phone, walls of texts changing to advertisements to small snippets of videos, that he did not bother to watch too long.

“So what’s the occasion?” The champagne bottle’s pop got almost drowned out by the loud music.

“Well, my little bro is turning twenty nine today!” Man in the black suit answered happily.

“Oh really? Well happy birthday. Do you want me to sing for you?” You asked jokingly as you poured the champagne in the glasses without looking at your hands, making brief eye contact with the man who looked slightly embarrassed by his brother’s blabbering.

“You don’t have-”

“Of course we want you to sing!” The men continued arguing with each other, joking around and laughing loudly, moving on from your prompt quickly.

Almost everyone had gotten their drinks leaving only one to go. As you were filling up the champagne flute you heard a peculiar question.

“Fushiguro, do you think she’s pretty?” The voice asked, full and low. You felt the need to roll your eyes, but that action quickly came to halt, when you noticed who was the one spoken to.

Fushiguro, the man who looked like he was bored out of his mind, straightened his back. He wore a black shirt that hugged his upper body in a tightness that put your own dress to shame. He looked strong, muscles bulging with no effort. His black hair was flat and clung to his forehead and you noticed a small scar that went through the corner of his lip. There was something dangerous about him. He was the real deal, whatever that meant.

Fushiguro’s gaze pierced yours, dark eyes flashing a tint of playfulness that was gone in mere seconds, leaving you puzzled, had you made it up in your head. His gaze did not linger, which surprised you, but somehow left you feeling more naked than any ogling you had encountered during a work day.

“No,” he said and you felt a pang of hurt in your gut. With a wavering smile, you placed a glass in front of him which he took in his other hand. “I don’t think she’s pretty,” he drawled out, holding onto the eye contact with you. You admired his features as the discomfort of being called unattractive settled to your mind. You appreciated his jawline and the sheer strength that emanated from him.

“Wow Toji, what a way to talk to a lady. How the hell have you ever landed a woman before?” His buddy said, reprimanding the bigger man apologetically.

“I know how to talk to a ‘lady’ – when I want to.” The tension, that you swore was present, fell flat like a souffle cake on the counter after a few hours, his voice covered now in disinterest as he took a sip from the champagne. The glass looked ridiculous in his big hands, almost as out of place as he was from the crew he was associated with, or maybe even more.

Wow, what the hell is his problem?

“Yeah sure, sorry for this grumpy fuck. He lacks manners,” the friend continued. He sounded like he meant it.

“Nothing I haven’t faced before,” you said cheerily, hiding the discomfort with ease. “Anything else for you gentlemen?”

“No, this is good for now, we’ll alert you if we need something.” And with that you were dismissed.

As you turned your back to the group of men, your shoulders immediately slumped a little. You tried to not to think too much of it, it wasn’t like this was the worst people have thrown at you, work wise or not. When you walked to the counter smiling and nodding at customers you sneakily took a glance at the table.

There he still sat, looking slightly to the side, maybe even listening to his friends speak who had clearly found a new thing to laugh at. He looked thoughtful, still bored, but his face was lax. He seemed more engaged than initially when you had catched him going through his phone. As if he had a sixth sense he turned his face to look at you, expression exactly the same.

Suddenly your heart was beating in the same rhythm as the sleazy bass that bled over from the dance floor, shaking you subtly. Maybe you could pretend that you were scanning the tables for dirty dishes, but you knew yourself well enough.

“Sorry,” you got bumped into, by a group of friends giggling and elbowing their way in the sea of people and with that the moment was gone.

The next time you went to the table to bring more drinks, the man named Toji Fushiguro had gotten up and left.

***

Mistakes were not supposed to be made. No girls like you weren’t supposed to make any at all, so were the rules of this world. So when you had bumped into one of the clients tripping on your feet, your heel giving out, your ankle bending to unnatural directions, you had poured the whole bottle’s worth of contents on a man’s lap. He was one of the regulars, often coming in the club with plenty of women hanging onto his arm. They were always different ones and he was always flaunting his wealth with the excessive consumerism he practiced.

Pain made your face frown, as your ankle tingled, when you tried to regain your posture. He was yelling, cursing, so loud that other people around you had turned their heads to look at the commotion you were causing. Fuck this, you thought to yourself as you tried to diffuse the situation, voice squeaky as you apologized profusely offering free drinks, anything to calm the man and his group down, tears rising to your eyes that you fought away desperately.

The work day had already been awful. Sounds were overstimulating, the crowds too much to bear and you were understaffed. Some hiccups were bound to happen in a rush like this, but the nice co-workers weren’t around, leaving only the harder people to work with you.

You were in the staff room hands pressed to your head as your shift manager criticized you.

“This kind of thing shouldn’t happen, you do realize that?” Her harsh words dug into your skin.

“You’re not a trainee anymore. Do you have any idea how much we might lose?” She kept calling you out.

You were aware, very well aware, of how bad of a position you were in. One could think that an establishment that relies on fueling alcoholism in young adults would not collapse entirely if there was one less asshole, but the woman in front of you begged to differ.. You didn’t understand how some people took so much pride in being a fucking shift manager in a club, but you guessed that these types of people got to take their wins from somewhere. Had you had any other higher up working with you today, you would have gotten a pass and a pat on your back.

“I know I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “This won’t happen again.”

“It better not. Go for a cigarette. Clear out your head or whatever you want, but when you come back, you get your act right,” she spat out seething and closed the room with an explosive bang.

You shook silently at the table. The party area might have looked like it was made out of the finest designer, but it was all a front. The staff rooms were cold and dark. It reminded you more of the seedy bar bathrooms with occasional unorganized shelves full of weird stuff, small pallets of drinks stuffed to the fridges with lime wedges.

Breathing in one more time, you tugged at a thin shoulder strap and walked to the changing rooms. You grabbed your fluffy winter jacket and made your way to the back of the club, music and laughter echoing from somewhere far away.

The winter air was punishing its bitter feel pushing needles into your almost bare legs. The rough texture of the blue crate you had sat down on stamped your bottom with the outline of smaller squares. The metallic cigarette bin next to you smelt like burnt damp tobacco.

You cried, the stress bursting at the seams, no longer containable in the slight moment of privacy. You pushed your hand to your pockets feeling miserable, as you searched around for the familiar pack only to find them empty. Goddammit.

Engrossed in your own troubles, you had not noticed the man who had kept an eye on you smoking calmly, his eyes never leaving you.

“Here,” his voice boomed, breaking the silence. He offered you a pack of cigarettes, half of them already smoked. “You look like you need it,” he continued, his demeanor stoic.

You gawked at him confusedly. He was wearing a white sweater and a black winter jacket that he had left open. Nothing about the way he stood there said that he was particularly friendly, simply indifferent, as he towered over you. You realized you knew him from somewhere. It was the man who called you ugly few weeks ago. The first time you had met him wasn’t exactly pleasant either, so his presence left you uneasy.

“Th-thanks,” you stammered as you took one smoke from him and he quickly offered you a lighter. The wind was howling as small snowflakes bordering on raindrops fell onto your head making the white part of the cigarette turn to gray as it got soggy. You flicked the lighter furiously, turning and bending your body, still sitting on the crate, as you tried to shield it from the wind. Small sparks appeared, but not for long enough.

“Get up,” Fushiguro said.

You pushed yourself up swaying slightly on your heels, the remnants of warmth leaving you as you were unwillingly embracing the bad weather.

Toji got closer to you, uncomfortably so, shielding the lighter that you still had in your hand, near the tip of your cigarette that was hanging out in between your lips. The winter breeze calmed down as his body was now in front of yours and the next time you flicked the zippo the flame turned to ablaze as you both nurtured it to a confident droplet of fire that rocked slowly side to side with the air current.

The familiar taste of smoke filled your mouth as you inhaled deeply. Toji dropped his hands around yours and lit up another cigarette for himself. You stood in silence enjoying the bitter taste of it. You swiped your face from the stray tears, trying to look somewhat human.

“Why do you care?” You asked, even though you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

“I don’t,” he answered. Ouch. “I just didn’t want to listen to you wail, I like to smoke in peace,” he explained nonchalantly, looking at the street and not at you.

“Is that why you are smoking here rather than with the other customers?” You asked, your voice now your own, not a hint of the customer service person in sight.

“Yup,” he said with a little smile tugging on his scarred lip.

“I didn’t know you were here tonight,” you said, as if it would matter. You shouldn’t even remember him.

“I figured. I saw you fighting it out with that fella,” Fushiguro told you. Of course he had seen it.

You were blatantly staring at him, devouring the way his cheeks had a hint of pink on them from standing outside. You admired his dark droopy eyes and the way his neck connected to his shoulders, which were now hidden by the coat. Maybe he was aware of your gaze trailing over him or maybe not, but he did not react to it.

“Quit your job,” he turned back to you.

“What?”

“You heard me. Quit it. You’re young, you’ll figure something out,” Fushiguro said and dropped his smoke into the cigarette bin between you and him.

“It’s not that easy. I need the money,” you said.

“Everyone does, but don’t you think you’re worth more?” He asked. His question was a curious one.

“Are you judging me because of my occupation?” You shot back and folded your arms defensively against your chest.

“No. I have nothing against your job, you do what you have to. I can respect ambition and independence. But I think that if you’re going to be shoveling shit as a job you might as well get a better cut from it. Learn to play the system for the successful never have what they have because they played it fair,” he said his words with confidence, voice almost gentle, but there was an edge to it. Something told you that there was more story behind his musings.

“But what do I know, I’m just some guy,” Toji shrugged it off, yawning, clearly losing interest in the conversation.

“Thanks for the advice,” you said, not wanting to push it further. Every time you met him it felt like a whiplash. One minute he was insulting you and the next he was talking to you like an equal human being. You peered at him intently as if looking at him hard enough would give you answers.

“Give me your number, you’ve been staring at me long enough,” he demanded while grinning. Is this flirting? Was he flirting?

“I’m not staring” you retorted, the red rising to your cheeks dangerously.

“Sure you aren’t,” he spoke with that gravelly voice that made your heart skip beats. “Hurry up, I ain’t got all day,” he continued, forcing the phone into your hands.

You wrote your number and name quickly, fingers almost freezing due to the cold.

“Nice,” he was smug and put his phone back, not attempting to share his own info and you didn’t want to seem clingy immediately, so you didn’t ask. He turned around to leave but stopped as if he had forgotten something.

“My name’s Toji Fushiguro,” he added, looking over his shoulder. “See you around.”

You peeped out a bye as you watched him leave, completely flabbergasted. Your eyes followed the sway of his hips. He moved smoothly like a cat, despite his large frame and the air around him turned to mist as he breathed out. Meeting him right now made you forget about your own worries leaving a warm feeling in your belly. God you had a poor taste in men.

#fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader

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