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st-eve-barnes · 1 year

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Hush (modern Aemond x fem Reader)

Summary: Aemond has been crushing on you since forever but is too shy to tell you. One night while watching a movie with your friends and cuddling underneath a blanket he shows you just how much he desires you. Based on this little prompt "What if I pull your panties aside, and finger you in a public place…?"

Word count: +3700

Warning: 18+ for explicit content and language, fingering, teasing, dirty talk, hand job (sort of), mild choking,

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All my fics are also on AO3

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Aemond’s mind was everywhere except focussed on the movie playing on the big tv in front of him. Lord of the Rings the Two Towers just finished a few minutes ago and the intro for Return of the King now filled the screen. Aemond adored these movies, they always managed to get him out of his own head and distract him from whatever was happening in real life.

But tonight, even Frodo and Sam didn’t succeed in changing his low mood.

If it were up to him he’d be in his room right now, wallowing and hiding away from the world.

But his friends had insisted he’d hang with them for their weekly movie marathon. Part of him was grateful they looked out for him and cared enough, but another part of him just wanted to be left alone.

You’d been gone for over 5 hours now and he hadn’t thought of anything else since, how beautiful you looked with your hair down and that short, sexy black dress you only wore on date nights. Not that he would know anything about that. You had dated half his friend group but never him.

Of course not him, why would you?

He grabbed another handful of popcorn and tried to focus on the beginning of the movie but it was no use. He knew he’d go to sleep with you still on his mind, like he had so many night before in the past 3 years since he’d known you.

It was completely pathetic, but what was he to do? You were his best friend. He was the first one you ran to after every single one of those dates, sometimes to talk about how amazing the guy was and how you hoped he might be the one, but more often than not it was to cry on Aemond’s shoulder after another asshole broke your heart.

The jealousy was enough to drive him insane sometimes, but still he was only too happy to lend you his shoulder and his arms whenever you needed them.

You always seemed so comfortable around him and in return Aemond could let his guard down with you, which was rare for him. Your friendship was the most important thing in his life, he’d rather die than lose you, and he'd rather have you as a friend than not have you at all. So he kept his feelings locked away deep down and played the part of supportive best friend while you went on one date after the other with a bunch of guys who never stuck around for very long.

But he always would. Until maybe one day you would see…

He knew that was a dream he should stop indulging in but he just could’t help it, he was too far gone for you and tonight was a low point. He craved you so bad just the thought of you in that black dress had him growing hard in his sweatpants.

***

You opened the door of the apartment as quietly as you could, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself. You knew they were all watching the movie and maybe if you were careful enough you could just slip past everyone and get to your room without having to explain…

“Y/N!”

Shit.

Helaena’s voice made everyone look up at you. Your friends were all spread out across the living room, on the couches and on the floor, covered in blankets and surrounded by cozy lights and candles. The whole setting was very inviting yet you wanted no part in it right now, you just wanted to get to your room before you would burst out in tears.

But when Helaena got up and put her arms around you that plan failed.

“Oh, honey, no…what’s wrong?” she looked at you with concern on her face.

“Bad date,” you sobbed,”Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay,” she caressed your hair,”Do you wanna watch the movie with us? We just started Return of the king.”

You shook your head,”I just want to crawl into my bed and disappear.”

But Helaena didn’t let go of you and shook her head,”No, I can’t allow that.”

“Can’t allow that?” you couldn’t help but smile through your tears.

“Come join us, you can cry over that asshole later, the people who care about you are right here.”

You sighed.

“Please?” she added with her sweetest smile, pulling you over the edge easily. You knew she was right, you deserved to end the night surrounded by friends instead of alone in your bed crying over some guy who wasn’t even worth it.

“Fine,” you caved,”just give me a few minutes.”

“Take your time, grab some popcorn and a drink from the kitchen and come find a spot.”

You did as she suggested, making a quick stop in the bathroom first to wash off your make up and exchange your dress for some comfortable shorts and a t-shirt. Then you got some snacks from the kitchen table and a soda from the fridge before making your way back to the living room.

Much to your dismay everyone was sitting in pairs, even Helaena who seemed very cozy next to Jace. You instantly wanted to turn on your heel and go hide in your room anyway. But then you saw him, the only one who was sitting by himself.

Aemond.

He was already looking at you when your eyes met his and he gave you a little smile, mouthing,”You okay?”

You shook your head.

“Come here,” he beckoned and he lifted up his blanket, an invite to join him and you didn’t hesitate.

You placed your drink and snacks on the table and crawled into the empty space next to him, Aemond was quick to cover you with the blanket.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, his hand on your lower back to pull you to him and place a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Hey, Aem,” you smiled weakly.

“That bad, hmm?” he asked.

You laughed bitterly, feeling the tears well up again,”Yeah, that bad.”

“Want me to go beat him up? Run him over with my car? Set fire to his place? Just name it. I can make it look like an accident.”

Your laugh was sincere and his lips curled up into a smile of his own while his hand squeezed at your hip.

Despite your best efforts a tear ran down your cheek anyway.

“Hey, baby, don’t,” he whispered while his hand gently cupped your cheek, brushing your tears away,”Don’t cry, sweet girl.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his chest and Aemond wrapped his arm around you, gently caressing your hair while he held you.

“You liked this one, didn’t you?” he asked with a sigh.

“No, he was a total jerk.”

Aemond’s other hand gently cupped your cheek, his eye meeting yours,”Then why the tears?”

“I’m just…so tired of meeting these assholes. He flirted with the waitress the entire time, right in front of me, even gave her his number, like I wasn’t even there and…it just made me feel so…unlovable.”

Aemond’s jaw tensed up and you could see anger boiling in his one good eye.

His thumb traced your jaw,“Give me his name and I will make him regret it.”

He sounded so intense and serious you weren’t sure if he was still joking or not and it made a shiver run up your spine.

“When you talk like that I almost think you mean it,” you pointed out.

“Almost?” he gave you a teasing little smirk and you shook your head, leaning into his touch and Aemond didn’t hesitate to wrap both arms around you and pull you into him. You melted into his arms and let the rest of your tears fall freely, knowing Aemond would hold you through every last one of them.

You felt like the luckiest girl alive having him as your best friend.

He tightened his hug, soothing you with sweet, comforting words while his hand softly stroked your hair.“It’s okay…I got you, sweetheart..it’s okay, he doesn’t deserve you…please don’t cry…It’s alright, baby, I’m here.”

This wasn’t new, you crying your heart out in Aemond’s arms, it happened way too often, but something felt different tonight. The pet names, the way his touches lingered and how hungry he looked at you in between made your stomach flutter. And you didn't want it to stop.

Your tears were soon forgotten and the horrible date faded into nothing but a distant memory as you relaxed under Aemond’s attention.

You were stroking up and down his back when you accidentally slipped your hand underneath his shirt, a small whimper left his lips at your unexpected touch. It encouraged you to do it again, letting your nails drag across his back, this time he let out a small moan and his hand tightened in your hair.

“Aem,” you buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and making him shiver. He was biting his lip to keep from moaning again as you continued to touch him. When you placed a soft, innocent kiss in his neck he lost that fight.

You couldn’t help but smile seeing the effect you had on him and you kissed him again, this time letting your tongue trace lightly over his skin until he shivered again. You pulled back.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered, grabbing the back of your neck to hold you close to him,”Please…please baby, don’t stop.”

His one hand moved down your back to cup your ass and pull your one leg over his, your knee bumping up against his growing erection.

There was no way you were going to stop now.

You kissed his neck again and Aemond pulled the blanket up a little higher, making sure no one else could see what you two were doing but everyone seemed too distracted watching the movie anyway.

Your hands moved underneath his shirt to touch his chest and stomach, his skin was warm, hard and soft at the same time and you could feel him shiver again, his hungry eyes begging you not to stop.

Aemond was losing his mind, your hands all over him were driving him crazy and when you started kissing his neck again he was suddenly rock hard in his sweatpants. He needed to take control back fast, he grabbed your wrists to hold you back.

“Turn around,” he begged in a husky voice, still breathing faster than usual.

He manoeuvred you into a different position so you were lying with your back up against his chest. You instantly missed the feeling of his skin under your hands but it was forgotten about quickly when Aemond gently moved your hair to one side, exposing your neck to him and then placing soft, hot kisses on your shoulder.

Now it was your turn to try and stay quiet and you were losing the fight just as quickly as he had, letting out a soft whimper when he started kissing and sucking your neck.

“Aem,” you breathed.

His mouth was right next to your ear,”You want me to stop?”

There was a teasing, smug tone to his voice, he knew damn well you didn’t want him to stop.

His hand moved up your hip, over your stomach to cup your breast through your shirt, thumb circling your nipple while he continued placing wet kisses all over your neck.

Your eyes closed in pure bliss. “Please,” you begged,”Touch me…under my shirt…please.”

You could feel his lips quirk up in a smile and he gave you what you asked for, pushing up your t-shirt and caressing your tits again, pinching your nipple in between his fingers while his teeth grazed your ear.”I’ve wanted to put my hands on you for so long…touch you just like this…fuck, you have no idea what you do to me…how hard you make me.”

To accentuate his words he carefully lifted his hips to push back against your ass, letting you feel his aching cock.

You squirmed in his arms.

“Shhh,” he purred,”You need to keep quiet or I have to stop, okay? Can’t let anyone see what we’re doing.”

You bit your lip and quickly nodded your head. Your hand was on his leg and you were squeezing hard while you pressed your own legs together trying to relieve some pressure.

To say you had never lusted after Aemond would be a lie. You had always found him gorgeous and intense in a very sexy way, but he was your best friend, somehow you had never allowed your mind to really go there. Until tonight, and now that you had opened that door there was no end to how much you desired him.

“Feel,” he breathed into your ear while he took your hand and placed it on his cock,”Feel how hard you make me.”

You rubbed him through his pants, making him growl into your ear. Before you could do it again he pushed your hand away and kissed your neck again.

“You’re squirming so much, little one, what is it?” he teased, an amused tone to his voice,”Is there something you need, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathed and you turned your head just enough to make brief eye contact with him,”I need you to touch me, Aem.”

You didn’t need to give him anymore details, he knew exactly what you meant.

“Can you be quiet for me?” Aemond checked, his tone serious.

“Hmm,” you confirmed.

He placed a soft kiss on your jaw while his hand moved down to your hip and then your inner thigh.”Spread your legs for me,” he whispered in your ear while placing your leg over his, spreading you open for him. You moved with him so easily and eagerly he cursed himself for not having done this sooner.

He caressed your hair and then placed his hand in the back of your neck, massaging softly and pulling your shirt down so he could kiss more of your shoulders and your back.

“Aem,” your voice was shaking,”Please…please.”

You had never begged so much in your life and every single one of your pleas was music to Aemond’s ears.

“Shhh, I got you,” he whispered, carefully untying your shorts and then slipping his hand underneath, teasing you by dragging his fingers over your panties,”Fuck, these are soaked right through. You are so wet, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but whimper at his words and Aemond grabbed your chin with his thumb, making you look back into his eye,”You really need it, don't you, sweetheart? Is that why you’re dripping all over my hand, hmm? You want it that bad?”

You nodded and bit your lip,”I want you that bad.”

His cock stirred at your words and the feel of your hot, wet pussy under his hand was becoming too much. Fuck it, he should just drag you to his bedroom right now and fuck you into his mattress, give into what he'd been craving for so long now. But he also wanted to save that part for later, when all your friends had gone home and he could have you all to himself, take his time to really worship you the way he always dreamed of.

This right here, teasing you and feeling your body burn up under his touch, was turning him on beyond reason and it would have to be enough for now.

His breath was hot and heavy in your ear,”You want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He gently pulled your hair back, placing his lips on your ear as he whispered,”You want me to push your panties to the side and finger you right here, with all of our friends in the room? Would you like that, my sweet dirty girl?”

All you managed was a quiet moan in the back of your throat but it was enough confirmation for Aemond to continue.

“God, you’re such a bad girl,” he purred, licking the spot right below your ear,”You’ll be quiet for me, yeah? Otherwise I can’t continue, okay, baby?”

“I’ll be quiet,” you nodded,”I promise.”

You were lying, you couldn’t promise him a damn thing and you were pretty sure he knew that but both of you were too far gone to stop now. He could suggest fucking you right here with all of your friends as witnesses and you would probably still say yes, that’s how badly you needed him.

Aemond carefully pulled down your shorts and then pushed your panties aside. His long delicate fingers teasing your clit, circling it slowly and spreading your wetness all over your folds.

You bit your lip to keep your moans quiet.

“Good girl,” Aemond praised,”Good fucking girl…lean back against me.”

Your head fell back onto his shoulder and Aemond caressed your hair, nuzzling your neck and your cheek, his other hand still rubbing perfect circles over your most sensitive spot. He continued until he noticed you started breathing harder and faster, your nails digging into his thigh, your orgasm within reach.

His finger moved to tease your entrance and you were no longer able to hold back the quiet little moans escaping your lips. You wanted to beg and scream but you also didn’t want to make a single sound and be so good for him. Aemond didn’t stop, pushing his long delicate finger into your fluttering walls and the both of you gasped for air for a moment.

“Fuck,” he breathed,”Oh god, you’re so tight…so warm….and so fucking wet for me…fuck, baby, I can’t wait for you to take my cock.”

You moaned at his words and he was quick to cover your mouth with his free hand.

“Shhh shhh,” he insisted but he didn’t pull back, instead he added another finger and then just held them there without moving,”You can’t do that, sweetheart, they’ll hear us. Be a good girl for me, okay?”

You nodded quickly, desperate for him to move his fingers again.

“Here, bite my thumb,” he suggested, letting his finger brush over your lips. You were quick to take him into your mouth, sucking slowly and dragging your tongue all over it. Aemond instantly regretted his choice because now he was the one losing control again. The feel of your hot, wet mouth on him went straight to his cock and the thought of that mouth swallowing him whole was enough to almost set him off.

“Slow down,” he begged,”Please, baby, slow down…fuck, you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like some horny teenager if you keep doing that.”

You looked up at him with feigned innocence while you sucked harder, keeping your eyes on him.

“Stop!” he pulled his thumb from your mouth and you couldn’t help but smirk this time.

“Aemond, you have to be quiet,” you teased.

Aemond’s hand moved to your neck, not choking you but holding you still while he started fucking you with his fingers, taking back control.

“Fuck,” you breathed.

“Maybe I should just keep teasing you, hmm?” he grunted in your ear,”Bad girls don’t get to cum and that…was very bad of you.”

He kept fucking you with his two fingers, curling them just right but as soon as he hit the sweet spot he pulled back.

“No, no please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Aem.”

He added pressure around your throat and started kissing your shoulder again, soft sweet kisses turned rough and he sucked your skin until it bruised, all while adding a third finger and fucking you faster. You were falling fast, biting down on your own hand now to stop from making too much noise.

“That’s my good girl,” he growled in your ear, while his thumb found your clit again,”I knew you could do it, sweetheart."

You were so close, your pussy clenching around him over and over, your climax was right there, all you needed was that last little…

“Cum for me, my sweet girl,” he whispered softly, teeth grazing your ear,”Come on..god, fuck you’re squeezing me so tight…shit….cum for me, baby, please. Please.”

He choked on his last word and you came hard, but not before moving your hand to his cock, rubbing him through his sweatpants until Aemond buried his face into your neck, muffling his own moan and spilling into his pants.

“Fuck, oh god you fucking little brat…fuck,” he breathed hard, wrapping both arms around you to hold you close to him. You stayed like that for a while until you turned around to be able to hug him back. Your eyes finally meeting his fully and the soft smile he greeted you with warmed your heart.

Aemond gently cupped your cheek.”Hey,” he whispered, suddenly shy again while biting down on his lip.

“Hey, you,” you smiled.

“Come here,” he leaned in to kiss your lips, slow and deep and so soft it was making your head spin again. You kissed him back with the same fire, melting into his embrace.

All those bad dates and horrible guys and you could have been doing this all along. Regret filled your senses and Aemond noticed the sudden serious expression in your eyes.

“Hey, you okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, concerned,"Was it too much? Did you not like all the teasing?"

"No, no god that was perfect," you reassured him,"I just…wish we’d done this sooner.”

His lisp curled up into the biggest smile, warming your heart,”Me too, but we’ll make up for lost time, I promise, my sweet girl.”

He leaned in to place another soft, lingering kiss on your lips.

It was Aegon’s loud and obnoxious voice that pulled you both out of your haze:”Are you guys about done so we can get back to watching the movie now? Jesus fucking Christ, the bedrooms are right there, you couldn’t have done that in there or waited until the movie was over? Fucking horny bastards.”

“Oh god,” you buried your face against Aemond’s chest in embarrassment and he hugged you close, shielding you from the others and giving his brother the finger but also unable to keep the happy grin off his face.

Then he did what Aegon suggested, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him towards his bedroom, under loud cheers from most of your friends.

Aemond turned around one last time to wink at Aegon,”Better turn up that volume cause we're not going to be quiet this time.”

He closed the door behind him just in time to dodge the pillow Aegon threw at him.

#aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond x you #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #ewan mitchell fanfic #hotd fanfic #modern aemond #modern au

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honeytonedhottie · 3 months

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how 2 stop a manifestation spiral⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🗒️

feeling doubtful or stressed when manifesting is normal because they are human emotions and we are human. its normal to get triggered by things in the 3D.

with practice, things in the 3D won't trigger you to the point where u start to spiral because you will be a seasoned manifestor. lets talk about it...💬🎀

AFFIRMING ;

when u feel urself starting to get triggered or u fear that u might begin to spiral. start affirming. if u find that you can't focus enough to affirm then i recommend affirming out loud.

affirming out loud is helpful because if ur saying it with your words u can't think something different. so affirm out loud and ease into affirming in ur head to remind urself of what yk to be true. affirming kills wavering! affirming kills doubt! so keep on affirming until the wavering, spiraling and doubt end.

REVERSE UR THOUGHT PROCESS ;

if ur starting to get intrusive thoughts (which everyone has and its totally normal) but if ur intrusive thoughts are super persistent and u feel like u can't control it, reverse ur thought process. for example...

lets say ur manifesting something and your thinking "this'll never happen because _" then ask why? and continue to ask why until u can't think of a reason. doing so debunks ur limiting beliefs and shuts up ur intrusive thoughts.

HOT TIP ; when the 3D is all up in my face, i just shut it down completely by affirming "idgaf what the 3D says, ik i have (insert desire)" and then i feel relieved because ik its true...💬🎀

TAKE A DEEP BREATH ;

take a deep breath and breathe. remember that manifestation isnt supposed to feel like a chore and its easy, natural, and so much fun. dont lose sight of that because thats how we become stressed and end up not enjoying manifestation.

FEEL YOUR EMOTIONS ;

cry, take a day off, whine but do NOT wallow. i keep a loa tough love rant in my notion for after im done feeling my feelings to put me back in check. but do not bottle up ur feelings when u manifest. feel it and then move on.

because at the end of the day wavering is such a waste of time because you know that this is ur reality, u know that the world is ur oyster and reality is ur playground. the law has no choice but to work.

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seravphs · 1 year

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA OSAMU x FEM READER

On a bad day, Onigiri Miya becomes your new comfort restaurant. Not only is the food good, but the man who takes your orders is always kind. You think the Miya you’ve been venting to on the phone is the same Miya who shows up at your door to deliver all of your orders.

It’s too bad you don’t know there’s two of them.

wc — 2k

tags — fluff, romcom, miscommunication, miserable corporate girl x small business owner who teaches her joy

The email doesn’t even do you the courtesy of being short. They make you read through two whole paragraphs before you get to the point of it all in the final sentence.

Your termination is effectively immediately.

You sit back in your chair to allow yourself a moment to take it in. It’s…not terrible, all things considered.

You get to leave this job that you hate. They’ll pay you severance. You have enough savings to be comfortable for the next few months.

It might even a blessing.

But it still doesn’t feel good. You worked hard to land this, and now you’ll have to start all over again. Change is always hard, especially when you haven’t asked for it.

You look at the clock. It’s currently 8:30 in the morning. You’re giving yourself exactly twenty four hours to wallow, and then it’s back to business.

First things first - a good meal. Food always make everything better, and you really deserve something special today. For a moment, you entertain the idea of calling your friends over to get breakfast somewhere fancy, but then you remember -

They’re all at work.

Where you would be, if you hadn’t just been let go.

That does sting a little, so maybe you’re not as okay as you thought you were. Hurriedly pushing those thoughts to the side in favor of scrolling through your options, a plain blue banner catches your eye.

Onigiri Miya, it reads.

Japanese comfort food. Family owned.

When you click on the link, it takes you to a page that’s as simple as it’s name. It’s just a menu and a series of pictures, but it’s what you need right now. Your head hurts. You don’t have the capacity to deal with anything more.

You want something straightforward and easy to digest. Onigiri Miya it is, then.

“‘Miya speakin’. What can I get ya?”

It’s a pleasantly accented voice. When you rattle off your order, you suddenly find it a little less pleasant after he says, “Er. Ya sure?”

This is some shoddy customer service.

“I’m placing the order, aren’t I?”

“Those two don’t normally go together,” he says. “I’d suggest number nine and number thirteen instead. Trust me.”

You don’t trust him, actually. This is probably just an upselling tactic he tries on every customer, but you’re not in the mood to argue. You had thought when you called a family owned restaurant, you’d be speaking to some kindly old grandma who might let you cry and vent into the receiver for just a little while, not whoever this is.

At least the delivery is quick.

A series of sharp raps on your door alerts you to the arrival. You pull it open to a man in a baseball cap and a uniform with onigiris on both. Their merch is cute. You’d wear it unironically.

Underneath the cap, yellow blonde hair peeks out. On his shirt, a name tag reads Miya.

Instantly, you feel a little worse for thinking poorly of him. Your bad attitude from work is no reason to take it out on this hardworking entrepreneur who’s running a one man show by himself.

“Here ya go,” he says, thrusting a paper bag at you. “Eat it while it’s hot!”

And then he’s off, scampering back down the stairs instead of taking the elevator even though you’re several floors up. You suppose there’s a reason he has those thighs.

That the food is good is an understatement.

Your former coworker Aiko used to work in food advertising before she pivoted. She loved to talk about how fake the industry was during lunch, both in terms of people and actual product. It’s through her that you know that half of the food in commercials aren’t actually food, but styrofoam and plastic painted to look appetizing.

Onigiri Miya, in contrast, doesn’t look perfect. Appetizing, certainly, but not like a work of art. It just looks like what it is - a ball of rice with special ingredients for flavor.

So why are you crying as you finish your first onigiri and reach for the next?

It’s been so long since you had a home cooked meal. You’re trying not to be maudlin, but you can almost taste the love that went into everything you’re eating. Imagining Miya carefully packing each triangular ball of rice by hand with a smile has you reaching for another, then another, until eventually the entire order is gone before you know it.

Exhausted from crying and eating, you sink into your couch with a satisfied sigh and fall asleep.

It’s 1:30 P.M. by the time you rise again, feeling a little better. Sleep really was the cure to all evils. Now you have 20 hours left to indulge yourself as much as possible.

You’re not in the mood to turn off your brain by binge watching a show. You want to do something. You want to use your hands to craft something from scratch.

Learning how to make onigiri could be a start. A quick run to the grocery store and the first recipe that popped up on Google later, you have a half formed, crumbling mound of rice with pickled radish shoved inside. If you squint, it looks almost like what you got from Onigiri Miya this morning.

Who are you kidding?

That’s an insult to Miya’s craft. He put so much care into each dish - you can hardly compare your shoddy workmanship to his. There’s only one thing to do. You have to taste the real thing again to see where you went wrong.

“Miya. What d'ya want to order?”

“I’d like-“

“Hold up. Didn’t ya call this morning?”

Flustered, you nearly fumble your phone. You’re breathless as you clutch is tighter and bring it back to your ear. “Yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “Is that bad?”

“I mean, yeah, a little,” Miya says. “I appreciate the business but ya shouldn’t be eatin’ onigiri for two meals a day. Yer going to make yerself sick.”

“It’s a special day,” you tell him. “I got laid off.”

In the resounding silence that follows, you have ample time to berate yourself for sharing that. What is wrong with you? Why would you say that? He’s a stranger that you’ve randomly dumped your misery onto and you’re sure he’s -

“Ouch,” he says. “‘Kay, I’ll make an exception just for today. What’s yer order?”

Miya shows up at your door promptly. He’s ditched the cap so his yellow hair is on full display. It looks like he’s run his hands through it. It sticks up at odd angles.

“Here ya go,” he says, almost distractedly as he hands you your bag. “Enjoy.”

You bring the bag inside and start rummaging through it immediately, excited to try new flavors you hadn’t gotten the first time around. Out comes the four onigiri you had ordered, a cup of miso soup, and…

A little takeout container of sushi with a cat’s face drawn on it. A speech bubble next to its head reads, “You can do it, meow!”

Laughter echoes around your apartment. To your surprise, the world feels less daunting already. You hadn’t realized how quiet you had been the entire morning. Miya’s the only person you’ve spoken to the entire day, and even that was a quick and whispered thank you. Your throat almost hurts with the force of your giggles after disuse all morning, but it’s a good kind of pain.

Onigiri Miya, family owned. You can almost feel the warmth of an embrace around you as you bite into your steaming onigiri, still a little too hot.

All too soon, it becomes a tradition for you to order Onigiri Miya as your comfort meal. It doesn’t even have to be a bad day - you actively try to avoid associating things you like with painful feelings by using them as treats for hard days. Instead, Onigiri Miya is anything from a reward for getting to the second round of interviews or a celebration for successfully starting a new hobby.

Onigiri has become your favorite food, and the person on the other line who takes your orders and even spares a few minutes to chat with you when it’s not too busy has quickly become someone irreplaceable in your life.

You think you might need to redownload Tinder if you’re this attached to the man who fulfills your onigiri orders.

Even though you know it’s strange, you can’t bring yourself to sever your connection. Miya is warm and kind, and you’ve quickly come to think of him as a friend. It’s a culmination of lots of little moments piling up over time.

When you had forced yourself to go on your first date after a while, determined to get back out there, it had crashed and burned catastrophically. Onigiri Miya had been there to pick you back up. Miya had even recognized the sniffles in your voice that you were fighting and drawn you another little cat.

The next time you had ordered, before you could even tell him what onigiri you wanted, Miya had asked you what happened last week. Maybe that’s just how family owned businesses are. They actually care about their customers. Enough so to play therapist to the girl that orders from you every week.

Then there was the time you had gotten your first call back for a job application, and you had called Miya to celebrate.

Well, not Miya. You didn’t have his personal number, but you had called Onigiri Miya, which is more or less the same thing at the moment. This time, he had been the one to be interrupted as you blurred out your good news.

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he says, “What’d I tell ya? I knew ya could do it.”

There’s no container of sushi with a hand drawn cat this time, but there is a little note written on a napkin. It’s accompanied by an origami star.

You don’t cry, exactly, but your eyes water up as you read the note. He’s proud of you. The star is to wish you luck on your continued journey. The knowledge that he’s proud - his own words - fuels you as you keep applying and interviewing, never letting rejection stop you.

He’s just the guy that takes your onigiri order, but at some point, he’s become someone special to you.

He cares. He spends an extra two minutes on the phone with you to ask about your day even when you can hear the sounds of a busy environment in the background. He remembers your accomplishments and failures. Whether you fall or rise, he’s there with you every step of the way.

Sometimes, you get a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he laughs at you, calling you silly for whatever mistake you’re relying to him. You miss his voice when you don’t have an occasion to call, and when something happens, your first thought is always to tell him about it.

Maybe he feels the same way, because the next time he comes to deliver your order, he tells you, “We’ve known each other long enough, ya order every week. I don’t like being called Miya. My name’s Atsumu.”

Or maybe not, because he never treats you in person the way he does on the phone. There’s no spark of connection, no bright laughter, no willingness to linger, to stay, to listen.

Perhaps he’s just shy. In that case, you’re willing to take what he’s offered you and make the first move.

The next time you order, you end the call with, “Thanks, Atsumu. I’ll talk to-“

There’s an abrupt interruption from the other end immediately.

“What’d ya call me?” His voice sounds funny.

“…Atsumu?”

Even when you’re confused, the sound of his belly deep laughter makes you feel all shivery from your toes to your head. It makes your joints feel weak, like they can’t support you, and you ease into the dining chair as you wait patiently for whatever laughing fit that’s gripped him to pass.

“Atsumu,” he repeats, with another snort of laughter. “Atsumu, really?”

“What?”

“Ya know Onigiri Miya’s a five minute walk from yer place, right?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Come here,” he says, and hangs up.

When you enter Onigiri Miya, you get instant whiplash. There’s two of them!

You’re just wondering if you should get your eyes checked when you start seeing the subtle differences. They have different hair colors, and their eyes are just the subtlest shades apart.

The most discerning difference is the way the one with grey hair is looking at you.

“There’s the girl of the hour,” Atsumu says. “I’ll leave ya to it.”

When Atsumu leaves, Miya gestures for you to sit at the bar in front of him. He’s still packing onigiri.

“I’m a little hurt, ya know. Can’t believe ya mistook me for my twin.”

“It was an accident!” You protest. “How was I supposed to know?”

“I’m teasin’ ya,” he says, laughing. “Yer so easy to rile up. Remember this, okay? I’m Osamu. The nicer brother.”

“I heard that,” Atsumu yells from the back.

“Atsumu’s just the delivery guy,” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eye. You don’t think it’s that funny, but you like seeing him mirthful. “I’d rather make the food than deal with the people, so he does it.”

“Am I part of the people?”

He gives you a look.

“Stop fishing for compliments,” he says, and your cheeks grow warm with delight. “Ya know ya aren’t.”

“Here,” he says, sliding you a napkin with a series of numbers and a hand drawn picture of a cat. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.”

By the cat’s head, the speech bubble reads, “Miya Osamu’s personal number.” The cat is winking at you.

“Is this…?”

He smiles at you. “Stop clogging up the line cause ya miss me-“

“I don’t-“

He ignores you. “I got a business to run, ya know? Just call me next time.”

Then, he leans over the bar. He’s too close. Your cheeks feel warm under his attention as he whispers to you, “I’ll make something just for ya, compliments of the chef.”

Trying to recover, you swallow to bring moisture to your dry mouth. You’re trying to be playful when you say, “It’s a date, then?”

He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “It is.”

#sera writes #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya osamu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff

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joonie-beanie · 1 year

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Side-Gig | [Peter B. Parker x Reader]

Pairing: Peter B. Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter gets worried about your apparent “side-gig” and goes snooping, only to discover your side-gig is writing Spiderman smut on commission.

Contents: Fluff, Smut, Consensual Sex, Pussy Eating, Banter, Friends to Lovers???

Author’s Note: I swore off posting fics on tumblr, but since this is just a one-shot, I figured why not. I think Peter B is charming, had to write a lil smth smth for him. And by that, I mean a 7.1k wordcount fic.

You and Peter Parker are friends. Not best friends, but pretty good friends.

You like to say you’ve looked out for each other over the years. You don’t talk all the time, but it’s kind of an unspoken promise that when one of you needs someone to lean on, the other person will be there.

Which is why, when Peter and MJ separate, you make a point of inviting Peter over for meals.

At first, he turns you down every time you ask, and you know it’s because he’s wallowing—depressed about his situation. And that’s understandable. You can’t exactly say you know what he’s feeling, but if you put yourself in his shoes, you’re sure you’d be a little bit fucked up about everything too.

Therefore, you give him a little space—wait for things to settle and for Peter to come around.

Except, Peter takes it all way worse than you expect—going radio silent after your third invite in two months. Then, you really start to get worried (and also a little mad that he’s ghosting you).

So, you manage to scrounge up his new address using some internet-sleuthing skills, and show up at his door. When he opens it, he’s dressed in a greasy wife-beater, worn-out gray sweats, and white socks with a hole in the toe.

“Jesus Christ, Peter.”

You spend that evening scolding Peter and letting him cry it all out—handing him tissue after tissue as he blubbers about everything on his mind. When he’s finally done, he apologizes for ignoring your last call, and thanks you for looking out for him.

With a smile, you assure him you’ll always have his back, and that now he really has to come over for dinner, because he owes you.

Laughing, Peter agrees. And luckily, he sticks to his word.

Since then, you and Peter make a point of doing dinner twice a month—typically at your place, sometimes out at a restaurant, but never at Peter’s. Not until he deep cleans his messy apartment, and you know that won’t be happening anytime soon.

Tonight, you’re at a restaurant of your choice—a local Italian joint. Peter arrives late, per normal, and you wave him over when you see him walk in the front door. He immediately spots you and hurries over, his eyes darting to the plate of bruschetta you’d ordered for the table, that now only has two pieces left.

“Aw, that’s not fair,” he says, sliding into the booth across from you. He immediately reaches for one, shoving it into his mouth. You shrug, not sorry.

“That’s what you get for always being late. And if I waited for you, I’d be hangry by now. So really, you should be thanking me.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter says with a roll of his eyes, picking up the menu to see what it is he wants.

“So, how have you been? I know we just saw each other two weeks ago, but—how’s work?”

You sigh at Peter’s question, resting your chin against your palm.

“Fine, I guess. Work is cutting hours since things are slow right now, so I’m gonna be pretty strapped for cash the next month or two.”

Peter blinks at your response, staring at you over the edge of the menu.

“Should we be here then? We could just get the check now and go down the street to the bodega—”

“No—no, it’s fine,” you reassure him, taking a sip from your glass. From the look of it, Peter can tell the glass is filled with rum and coke—your simple, yet timeless go-to.

“This is kind of my last hurrah, y’know? Gotta get one last plate of carbonara in before I’m eating ramen and eggs for the next few months.”

“I dunno about that,” Peter responds. “Eggs are pretty expensive now—you might have to settle for canned tuna.”

You roll your eyes at him, yet can’t help the little giggle that escapes you.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he says with a smile.

The waitress wanders back over, and you and Peter put in your orders. Peter also opts to get a drink (after all, if you’re drinking, why shouldn’t he), and a few minutes later, a cosmopolitan is placed onto the table in front of him.

You watch him with a wide smile as he picks up the girly drink and takes a long sip—his pinky sticking out and everything.

“You and your love of sweet drinks,” you say, swirling around the ice in your half-empty glass. Peter hums happily.

“Listen, this is way better than beer.”

Honestly, you can’t disagree.

“So,” he continues, picking up the previous topic. “Are you gonna be okay? Money-wise?”

It’s not like he has much help to offer. Being a masked vigilante doesn’t pay very well, after all, but still.

“Yeah,” you assure him. “I have a side-gig that brings in a little cash-flow, so that’ll help cushion the blow. But I think I should still be able to afford rent and some groceries. I’ll just have to budget better, y’know?”

Peter nods. “Oh, okay. Good—,” but then his brain repeats the phrase “side-gig”, and his words cut off.

“Wait, what kind of side-gig are we talking about here?”

Despite how long the two of you have known each other, Peter has never heard anything about any kind of “side-gig”. It’s a little concerning, honestly, since the two of you don’t really keep secrets from each other.

Although it’s not like you know he’s Spiderman.

“Yeah. It’s nothing illegal, I promise,” you tell him, your attitude remaining pleasant. Peter stares at you, waiting for you to say more, but your smile only grows wider.

“Not telling,” you say, laughing quietly to yourself when Peter huffs in annoyance and grabs his drink. “You’ll just have to trust me. I’d never do anything illegal—you know me.”

“I dunno,” he responds, a playful lilt in his tone. “In college I seem to remember you stealing soft drinks from the mess hall without paying—”

“Oh c’mon,” you shoot back, and Peter grins, knowing you hate when he brings that up. “We were already paying to go to classes! Why should I pay 3 dollars for a cup of watered down coke?!”

Peter laughs as you go on a mini tangent about how college is a ripoff—ordering both you and him two more drinks when your waitress stops in to check on your table.

After a short while, your food comes out, and the two of you catch up over the hot meal. Conversation flows like normal—touching on any other life updates, and also local news topics, and things of the like.

At your insistence, Peter splits a tiramisu with you to close out the evening, and by the time the dessert is gone, Peter thinks he may explode.

“Ugh, why did I let you talk me into that?” Peter groans, curling over and holding his stomach as you fetch enough cash from his wallet to cover half the bill.

“Well, if you were smart like me, you would have kept half of your entree to take home with you for later, and then you would have had enough room left for dessert. Which, by the way, is too good to waste—so don’t puke it up.”

Your waitress swings by to grab the bill, and you assure her it’s all set—passing her the small stack of money taken from both your and Peter’s wallets. She thanks you with a smile, and then scurries away, leaving the two of you alone.

You reach over the table, patting Peter’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine. Your stomachs gotten bigger, after all.”

“Hey—,” Peter frowns, lifting his head. You’re already grabbing your purse and takeout box—sliding out of the booth. He quickly follows after you.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No,” you respond, holding the door open for him as the two of you step out into the cool New York air. “You’re actually still surprisingly in-shape for someone whose diet consists of pizza and frozen meals. But, that being said, you can’t deny you’ve put on a few pounds.”

Peter places a hand on his stomach.

“Remind me again why you’re so mean to me?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound getting lost in the crowd around you.

“You just make it too easy,” you admit, grinning up at him. Despite himself, Peter smiles back.

Being the gentleman that he is, Peter fully intends to escort you back to the doorstep of your apartment building, but—

His spidey senses tingle, and he can tell something is off.

“Hey, um,” Peter grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before your brain can even catch up, he’s yanking you into a quick hug, and then backpedaling towards the alleyway the two of you had just passed.

“Sorry, I just remembered there’s something I have to do. It was nice seeing you! Let’s touch base soon!”

He’s gone before you can even get a word out, disappearing around the corner. You stare after him for a moment, befuddled, and then continue on your way with a sigh.

Same ‘ol Peter.

Exactly one hour later, Peter collapses in a pile of trash—his lungs heaving, and body aching. The fight itself hadn’t been that hard—just a few wannabe criminals with deadlier than normal weapons.

No, the real challenge had been not barfing up his dinner while doing acrobatics across the city.

And maybe laying in a pile of trash to take a breather isn’t exactly helping his current predicament, but fuck—he doesn’t have the energy to move right now

Spreading out his limbs, Peter stares up at the smog-coated night sky, his mind wandering. He thinks about a lot of things—all the villains he’s fought in his time as Spiderman, the people who have come in and out of his life during it all, including you. You…who apparently has a “side-gig”.

…but like, what kind of side-gig?

Peter groans, knowing he won’t be able to let this go.

You can’t just drop the knowledge that you have a secret side-gig on him and then not tell him what it is!

And if you’re insistent on keeping it a secret, it must be something bad, right? RIGHT??

“Goddammit,” he grumbles, picking himself up. He swings off into the night, his mind reeling.

Peter lasts all of 3-days before he decides he can’t be left alone with his thoughts anymore—that he just needs to confirm what exactly your side-gig is, before his theories can get any wilder.

Because so far, his top guesses are that you’re either 1. Unknowingly acting as a middle man for some illegal trafficking operation, or 2. Providing “services” to New York sleazebags to get in their wallets.

And Peter knows it’s likely neither option—you’re too smart to get roped into something stupid. Plus, you had assured him it was nothing illegal.

But if he doesn’t figure it out, he thinks he may explode.

So…he goes snooping.

It’s not his brightest moment—using the spare key you had given him “in case of emergency” to sneak into your apartment one evening. (But to be fair, to him…this might just be an emergency).

He’d used his spidey senses to scope out your apartment before coming in, so he knows you're not home. Which is good, but…he doesn’t know when you’re gonna be back either, so he has to move fast.

Softly closing the front door behind him, Peter tip-toes across your apartment, deciding to start in your bedroom. He stands in the doorway for a moment, guilt bubbling up inside of him, but he decides to push forward anyway.

He’s just making sure you’re okay, he tells himself. You’re one of his closest friends, and you won’t tell him your secret—so it’s understandable he’d be worried.

Like the true Sherlock that he is, Peter starts with you dressers. He quickly checks each drawer—gently lifting up the stacks of clothes to make sure nothing is hidden beneath them. (The only time doesn’t is when he encounters the drawer with your bras and panties. He simply stares at them with flushed cheeks, rocking awkwardly on his heels, before he quietly closes the drawer. Surely nothing would be in there anyway, right?)

The small stack of papers on your nightstand ends up being recent receipts, and a manual on how to use the white noise machine you've apparently just purchased, considering it's sitting on the floor beside your nightstand, still in the box.

Getting on his hands and knees, Peter does a quick check under your bed, and freezes when he spots a covered box. He pulls it out without thinking, tugging off the fabric lined lid—

—and immediately slams it back down.

…veiny, pink, silicon—

Peter haphazardly pushes the box back under the bed, hurrying to his feet. He bustles into the kitchen with cherry-colored ears.

All-in-all, it takes Peter about half an hour to search your apartment, and unfortunately…he comes up empty handed. It seems like you have nothing to hide (except a box of sex toys under your bed, but Peter thinks that’s pretty understandable. You don't want dumb assholes like him accidentally finding it, even though Peter had—)

Sighing, Peter takes one last glance around your apartment.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have done this,” he sighs to himself, taking a step towards the door. But—not watching where he’s going, he stubs his toe into the leg of your coffee table.

A curse leaves his lips, and your opened laptop—which had previously been dark—jolts to life. Kicking the table must have moved your wireless mouse, Peter realizes.

Having already decided to leave, Peter fully intends to continue on his way. That is…before he takes a glance at your computer screen and sees that you have it open to a Google doc titled: “Spiderman x Reader Commission #6”.

…then, he’s scrambling onto your couch and yanking your laptop towards him.

“Number six??” he hisses dramatically, his eyes scanning over the document so fast that he doesn’t actually end up reading anything.

He has to pause and go back to try again, but the second Peter reads the sentence “Spiderman’s cock strains painfully against the tight confines of his suit, his fingers twitching against your waist as he drags you in closer”, his brain effectively blue screens.

In a panic, he clicks into a different tab that’s open—landing on your email inbox, where a thread sits open. A transaction between you and an apparent “customer”. Someone who had contacted you in regards to your open “commissions”.

Hi there!

I saw you’re accepting commissions, and I really enjoyed reading the other Spiderman fics you wrote! Would you be open to writing one for me? Preferably a Reader x Spiderman, and a smut/fluff genre. Based on the rate sheet, I think I can afford it, but I’d appreciate it if we could talk more and discuss the final price based on the idea I have.

Thanks!

Holy shit, Peter realizes. Your side-gig is writing Spiderman porn on commission.

He sinks back into the couch, his mind whirling.

How long has this been going on?? Do you…are you attracted to Spiderman?? As long as Peter has known you, you’ve never really fangirled over Spiderman. If Spiderman had popped up in the news, the two of you would talk about him, but…that was it.

And now you’re writing Spiderman smut for cash? Holy hell.

Peter supposes he should be relieved that what you’re doing truly isn’t illegal. That you’re just making money in a mostly innocent way, from the safety of your home. Meaning, Peter can call it quits, and leave.

…but instead, he leans forward, clicks back onto the Google doc tab, and starts reading more.

The document is still a work-in-progress, but Peter scrolls back up to the top, wanting to see how you’ve managed to set up this scenario.

As it turns out, a villain had injected Spiderman with some sort of aphrodisiac, and the reader is a bystander, bravely offering Spiderman her services to get him out of this pickle.

While embarrassing to admit, Peter gets sucked into the story—impressed by your ability to write, and your portrayal of him—err, Spiderman. In fact, he gets so distracted by the story and the multitude of thoughts running through his head that his spidey senses don’t kick in until danger is right on his doorstep.

Or, in reality, you are on your doorstep—your key shoving into the lock on the door.

Peter’s heart nearly rockets out of his chest, his eyes darting to the window across the room. It’s closed, and even if he used his web shooter to rocket over to it, he wouldn’t be able to safely open the window and escape outside in the two seconds it’s going to take you to finish unlocking your do—

Before he can even finish the thought, your front door shoves open, and you flick on the lights—your gaze immediately finding Peter, who is still firmly planted on your couch, looking like a deer in headlights.

You stare at him in shock.

“Peter? What…? Why are you here?”

“I was…worried about you,” Peter responds, forcing himself to smile. And it’s not like it’s a lie.

“You said you were strapped for cash, and I…I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

You kick the door shut behind you, your purse and keys discarded on the small table beside your entryway.

“I thought I told you to just trust me?”

You face him with a hand posed sternly on your hip. You appreciate his concern for you, but it’s a little upsetting that he hadn’t just been able to trust your word.

“I know,” Peter responds with a sigh. He runs a hand through his graying hair, and your gaze flits to his ears, noticing how red they are. Why is he so flushed?

“And I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I should have. Trusted you, I mean. I’ll just—,” he pushes himself up, planning to excuse himself and run, but freezes half way to his feet.

He’s half hard. Fuck.

If he gets up now, it’ll be a lot harder to hide that—especially since he’s wearing sweatpants.

Making a lil noise, Peter eases himself back down onto your couch. You cock an eyebrow.

“...you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry…back spasm.”

“Well, you don’t have to rush out. You’re welcome to stay for a while if you don’t have anywhere to be.”

You flash him a smile and turn towards the kitchen. Peter watches you as you open your fridge and bend down—fetching two bottles of water from the bottom shelf. His eyes glue to your ass the second you lean over, and Peter punches himself in the knee—forcing his gaze up towards the ceiling.

He’s going fucking insane. He’s not used to being this…feral feeling. Arousal is usually one of the emotions that evades him nowadays, but here he is—done in by fucking Spiderman fanfiction.

Who knew he’d get turned on reading about himself fucking some nameless woman? And who knew that arousal would make him thirst after you?

(Honestly, if he thinks about it, it’s not that surprising. The two of you have been friends for years, and he feels comfortable around you. Not to mention, you’ve always been attractive, even if you do like to push his buttons—)

“Here,” you say, snapping him out of his internal panic. You plop down onto the couch next to him, handing him one of the two bottles of water.

Peter reaches out to take it, and you notice the sweat beading on his brow. Why the hell is he—?

At that moment, you spot your laptop on the coffee table—open, and still showing the commission document you’d left open earlier on. Your first instinct is to reach over and slam your laptop shut before Peter can see—

…wait.

Peter reaches forward to take the water bottle from your grasp, but when he grips it, you don’t budge.

Confused, he looks up—only to find you intensely staring at him.

“Did you read it…?”

Peter’s face heats up, his eyes darting to the side to avoid looking at you.

Busted…

You pulse races, embarrassment blooming in your chest.

HE DID, you realize. HE READ IT. Your fucking Spiderman smut!

“Ah, shit…,” you mumble, letting go of his water bottle and crumpling in on yourself. You curl onto your side, hiding your face in the couch cushion.

Feeling horrible that he has embarrassed you—having discovered something you’d tried to keep private—Peter hurries to try and smooth over the situation.

“Okay, yes, I did read it,” he starts by saying. “But…it was…really good! You’re a good writer, and I can see why people are commissioning you! You’ll surely make some cash with the skill you have.”

If he was smart, he’d have stopped there, but no—Peter keeps going.

“A-And hey! I’d be willing to help too. Y’know, help give you some inspiration for your stories—”

His voice dies in his throat, realizing what it is he has just offered. And obviously, you realize it too—your head immediately lifting, staring at him with curious surprise.

“Did you just…offer…to fuck? To help me with my stories?”

The insinuation is so insane that you can’t help laughing. Peter coughs, straightening his shoulders out.

“I think I’d be very good inspiration for Spiderman.”

“Really?”

There’s disbelief in your voice. Peter narrows his eyes.

“You don’t think so?”

You hum, uncapping your water bottle and taking a swig. Peter mirrors you, his throat feeling dry.

“Spiderman is…suave and heroic, and you’re…dorky. Smart, but dorky.”

Peter frowns. “I can be…suave.”

You cock an eyebrow, a playful grin breaking out on your face. Your heart is racing a million miles an hour, because never did you think you’d be sitting here with Peter, the possibility of sex between the two of you suddenly laid out on the table. You’d never deny he’s an attractive male, and maybe because it’s him, and because you’ve missed the feel of another human being, you end up saying—

“Yeah? Show me then.”

You lean back, waiting to see if Peter will make a move.

Unfortunately, the realization that you’re open to whatever is happening right now causes Peter’s brain to stall, and he takes a second too long to act—just long enough to allow doubt to worm its way into your head.

You’re putting him on the spot. And he’s still probably dealing with some complicated feelings from the split—you shouldn’t have poked him.

Without saying anything, you decide to try and create some space. You push off of the couch, padding towards your bedroom. You’ll make an excuse about needing to fold your clothes, or something stupid—and hopefully Peter will take what you’ve said as a joke, and will move on. Yeah, that sounds like a solid plan—

Pausing in the doorway of your room, you force yourself to smile, and turn to face Peter—only to find that he’d snuck up on you—your gaze meeting his chest the second you turn around.

“Pe—,” you’re only able to get the first syllable of his name out, your chin tilting back as you look up at him. The feeling of his palm cupping your cheek is what makes your voice die out, his chestnut eyes boring into you.

You can see the hesitation on his face. A certain lack of confidence that you’re sure stems from his past relationship issues. But beneath that, you can see desire. A craving for intimacy he hasn’t shared in a long time.

You decide to be the one to close the gap—pressing onto your toes, your palm resting flat on his pec as you lean upward—connecting your lips with his. You can feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips, and you silently convince yourself that if Peter backs out, you’ll be fine with it.

Luckily, he doesn’t. His brain finally kicks into gear, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist as he kisses you back.

You make a pleasantly surprised little sound, your arms lifting to wrap around his neck—effectively deepening the kiss. A wrinkle appears between Peter’s eyebrows, his grip on your waist tightening. Your chest presses flat against his torso, and he rubs his thumb against your cheek, obsessed with the plushness of your lips and the feel of you against him.

It’s been way too long since he’s been intimate like this…that’s apparent by the blood absolutely rockets into his dick.

Although, to be fair, he’d already been half-hard before this.

“You think our local hero gets hard this quick?” you mumble against his lips with a grin, giggling when Peter makes a noise of annoyance and nips at you.

“You’d be surprised,” he responds. He slots his thigh between your knees, backing you into the doorframe. His clothed cock grinds against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, and his muscles tense.

“Adrenaline can go straight to the dick sometimes…”

(Peter has lost track of how many times, after an intense fight—especially earlier in his career—he’d swung home and immediately jerked off).

“That’s fair, I suppose.”

Your fingertips coast up the nape of his neck, tangling in the messy hair at the base of his skull. You yank him downward ever so slightly, your lips connecting with the skin of his neck. He immediately shivers, the first of many embarrassing sounds ripping from his chest as you lick and suck at his flesh.

“Think Spiderman whimpers?”

You’re teasing him. As to be expected, given the dynamic of your relationship. But Peter doesn’t intend on taking it quietly.

“Maybe,” he admits, “If you make him feel good enough. But if you wanna know what I think—”

Peter surprises you by ducking down—his arms looping around your thighs as he lifts you off the floor. Your squeal, arms and legs instinctively wrapping around him since you don’t want to fall, but Peter carries you easily enough—striding into your room and depositing you onto your bed.

He doesn’t waste any time—quickly caging you down. His knee reclaims its spot between your thighs, rubbing incessantly at the dampening fabric covering your privates, and his lips find your neck—a shiver raking up your spine as his stubble scratches against your skin.

“Peter,” you gasp when his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips ghost over your heated skin, brushing past your waist, and finding the clasp of your bra. You have to arch to give him room to work, and Peter sucks a hickey of approval into your neck. He debates telling you “good girl”, but the thought leaves him the second your bra pops open.

He needs your tits in his mouth.

“—I think Spiderman has a thing for boobs,” Peter says, finally finishing his earlier statement. This exclamation is followed with the immediate removal of your shirt and bra—Peter forcibly tugging them over your head and discarding them on the floor beside your bed.

The sight of Peter groping you and lowering his mouth to your chest is enough to have your heart skipping a beat, and you can’t help the mewl that leaves you when Peter sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Peter groans when your fingers fist in his hair, practically keeping his mouth trapped where it is, which he hardly minds considering he intends to lick and suck at your tits until you’re panting.

And, that’s exactly what he does.

He lavishes your chest with his mouth—relishing in the way your hips jump at each little nip of his teeth or roll of your nipple between his fingers. It’s embarrassing, honestly, how wet it gets you—your panties feeling quite wet as you continue grinding your pussy against Peter’s thigh.

You try and think of some smart response in regard to Peter’s opinion that Spiderman is a tit man, not an ass man, but words seem to be avoiding you. You can’t think of anything coherently when Peter is touching you like this. Especially when his face finally leaves your chest, his lips peppering kisses down the length of your torso.

You lift your head to look at him, propping up on one of your arms. Peter reaches your navel, but doesn’t stop, heading towards—

“Peter,” you pant, your face flushing hotly as you realize the path he’s carving.

Peter hums, his eyes flitting up and meeting your gaze just as he hooks his thumbs beneath the band of your pants.

“Another thing about Spiderman…,” he begins, kissing the skin of your tummy as he inches your waistband down your hips. You watch him with blown-wide eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly—excitement and nervousness mingling inside of you.

You lift your ass off the mattress to help him shuck you of your bottoms, and Peter smiles, tossing your pants on the floor beside your other clothes.

Never in your life did you imagine the sight of Peter sinking to his knees, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you closer to him—his gaze falling between your legs. Your panties are soaked, and the sight causes more blood to rush into his dick. He’s so hard that it honestly hurts—just a little bit—but Peter still doesn’t touch himself, because—

“...Spiderman loves eating pussy.”

“He’s a people-pleaser,” you quip breathlessly, your thighs quivering in Peter’s hold when he presses a kiss to your skin, right beside your panty line. He quietly chuckles.

“Maybe.”

Peter thumbs at your clit through your panties, relishing in the whine he rips from your throat. You hips buck in his hold, craving more, and when Peter sees the desperate look on your face, he decides to not tease you.

Peeling your panties to the side, Peter finally connects his mouth with your pussy—his tongue licking a wet, broad strip between your folds.

Oh, shit, you think to yourself, the muscles in your abdomen convulsing as you watch one of your closest friends eat you out. The whole situation is making you feel light headed, so you can’t help it when you collapse back onto the mattress, your fingers fisting in the sheets as Peter groans into your cunt.

He eats you like a man starved, his face quickly becoming covered with your arousal. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue sinks between your walls, and you full out whimper—your hips needily grinding against his mouth.

Peter’s palm presses down on your pelvis, forcing your hips to the mattress. He doesn’t want you squirming—just wants you desperate and pliant. To see you cumming on his tongue.

His name falls from your lips again, more debauched than he’s ever heard, and Peter curses.

“Shit.”

His tone is guttural, and sexy, and—

He presses a finger inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Pete—,” his name deterorates into a moan, your brain function declining as Peter begins fucking his finger inside of you. At the same time, he focuses his mouth on your clit, his tongue urgently flicking against the bundle of nerves.

You unconsciously wriggle at the assault of stimulation, but Peter’s hand on your stomach keeps you in place.

Why is he so strong? You think to yourself, moan ripping from your chest as Peter slips in a second finger. It doesn’t take him long to locate that spongy little sweet spot inside of you. The one that causes your thighs to shake as he practically abuses it—rubbing the pads of his fingers against it repeatedly until you’re nearly sobbing.

The coil in your belly winds tight, heat searing your veins. You can feel your clit throbbing against Peter’s tongue, and the walls of your pussy tightening up around him.

“Peter,” you cry, your entire body trembling. You’re so fucking close.

“Cum,” he rasps. He needs to see you orgasm—needs to feel you unraveling on his mouth and fingers.

Hearing the gravel of his voice is the final nail in your coffin—the tension in your muscles releasing as your orgasm washes over you. Just as he wanted, you cum all over him, your cunt gushing arousal around his fingers as his tongue continues lapping at your clit, dragging out the waves of your pleasure until you’re panting and pawing at his head, trying to push him away.

After a moment, he relents—sitting back to look at you.

You’re covered in a sheen of sweat, your chest heaving, and an arm draped over your eyes. Your tits are peppered with an array of hickies, and Peter feels his chest (and cock) swell with pride. He’s clearly done a number on you. And yet…

You feel the mattress dip, and then the room is spinning around you. When things finally settle, you find yourself laying on top of Peter.

He has one arm wrapped around your waist, his palm resting on your ass. The other brushes a few stray strands of hair out of your face when you lean back to look at him.

“Spiderman also loves being ridden,” he says with a grin. You place your hands on his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter as he watches you struggle to sit up.

“You think I have the energy to ride you after you just did that? And why do you keep saying Spiderman enjoys these things like they’re facts—you don’t know.”

“Just a feeling,” he responds, licking his lips. His hands find your hips, and he grinds you downwards. Your sensitive pussy rubs against his aching length, still trapped behind his sweatpants, and it’s hard to miss the way Peter harshly swallows at the feeling.

You sigh, scooting backwards.

“Fine.”

You shove his sweats and boxers down his thighs, careful to not snag them on his dick. And damn, he really must be aching—a sticky string of precum dripping from the head of his cock, and pooling on his abdomen.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything. Your fingers wrap around his cock, smearing his arousal across his length, and whatever Peter had been planning to say crumbles into a needy garble of non-words.

You can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Surprised you didn’t cream your pants already,” you tell him, but your tone is hardly teasing. No, seeing him beneath you like this—the muscles in his torso clenching with every stroke of your hand—it’s actually quite endearing.

“I’ll cum in your hand if you keep doing that,” he pants, glancing into your eyes. You spot nothing but lust there, any previous reservations gone.

“Is that so bad?” you ask, thumbing at the head of his cock. Peter’s grip on your waist tightens, and you hear him take a shaky breath.

“Yes.”

He wants to be inside you, that much is clear. And while it’d be so easy to draw it out and make him beg…you don’t feel like being mean to him. Not tonight, after he’d just given you the best oral of your life.

“Fine,” you relinquish. You scoot forward, planting one hand on his chest, and gripping the base of his cock with the other. Peter’s breath catches when you rub the head of his cock between your folds, a heady groan following a beat later as you begin sinking down onto him.

By the time his cock is fully inside of you, your thighs are shaking. Whether from the lack of energy due to your previous orgasm, the remarkable size of Peter inside of you, or both—you’re not totally sure.

“There’s no rush,” Peter reassures you, but the needy warble of his voice betrays his words.

“My legs might give out at some point,” you respond with a breathless laugh, and Peter echos you, giving your waist a squeeze.

“That’s fine. I’ll help.”

With your palms planted firmly on his chest, you begin to ride him.

And god, you feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,” Peter bites out, watching the space between your bodies, where his cock disappears inside of you with every roll of your hips. It’s been ages since a cunt has squeezed his dick like this, and honestly, he can see himself very easily getting addicted to the feel of you.

The bounce of your tits as you ride him, the cute little sounds you make when his cock rubs against the sensitive spots inside you—he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Peter,” you whine, your pace flattering. Having his cock inside of you is incomparable to the feeling of his fingers, and very quickly, you can feel another orgasm building, but…the closer you get, the more your strength falters.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he responds, praises falling from his lips. “You’re doing so good. You feel so good.”

His words cause your walls to clench around him, and he groans—his hands sliding down to your hips as he helps rock you down onto his cock. The sloppy sound of sex fills your bedroom, and you watch Peter with half-lidded eyes, soaking up the desperation showing on his face.

His hair is slicked back with sweat, brows pinched together in concentration as he forces you to continue riding him. At least, until he starts craving more.

With his orgasm quickly approaching—despite the immense pleasure he gains seeing you bouncing on top of him—Peter’s hunger gets the best of him.

He grabs your wrists, moves your arms so they’re wrapped around his shoulders, and then secures his arms around your back. Before you can even digest the slight change in position, Peter is fucking you.

An incoherent string of noise slips past your lips, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as his cock pistons inside of you. With his arms trapping you against his chest, you’re helpless but to take it—your orgasm rushing to the surface at the desperate yet brutal pace that Peter sets.

“Peter,” you sob into his neck.

“It’s okay,” he responds without missing a beat, his voice breathless. “I’m right there. Cum for me again, sweetheart.”

As if you could stop.

Holding onto him for dear life, you cum for the second time that night—your walls clamping down on his cock so tightly that Peter’s rhythm falters. A curse rips from his throat, and his hands find the plush of your ass—stuffing your body down onto his dick as he cums along with you—pumping you full of his seed.

The needy tension of the room melts away, and you and Peter can only lay there—a pile of sweaty yet sated flesh. It takes you both a minute to catch your breaths, and you make a quiet noise of disappointment when Peter’s cock slips out of you.

You can feel his cum running out of your pussy.

“Your balls aren’t dried up yet?”

Peter’s chest rumbles beneath you.

“I’m in my 30’s, not my 60’s.”

You glance up at him when you feel Peter’s fingers clearing the hair away from your face, and he smiles at you. Your heart jumps.

He must know how handsome he is, right? Even with that crooked nose of his.

“Don’t you ever get tired of taking cracks at me?” he wonders, using his grip on your ass to slide you farther up his chest. You giggle, cupping his cheeks as you find yourself suddenly face to face with him.

“Mmmm, no?”

He rolls his eyes, yet his smile widens. You lean down to kiss him, and he reciprocates easily enough.

“Feeling good?” you ask him, carding your fingers through his hair. He nods.

“Very. I…really missed that.”

“Same,” you agree, sitting back. You need to get to the bathroom before any cum gets on your nice sheets. You crawl off of Peter, swinging your legs over the side of your mattress. He rolls onto his side, watching you with furrowed brows as he tucks his dick back into his pants.

“Same? You haven’t—?”

“Not in a while,” you admit, pulling a fresh shirt and a pair of panties from your dresser drawers. You’re about to make a joke that the only action you’ve gotten recently is from the toys stashed under your bed, but when you turn to look at the spot where they’re hidden, you find that…the box has moved. It’s not where you had left it.

“Did you…find my sex toys? Before I came home?”

Peter’s face goes carefully blank, but the red flush of his ears betrays him.

You shoot him a glare, leaving your room with a huff.

“Dude doesn’t trust me…how fucking rude…”

“Hey now—!”

Peter’s feet pound against the floor as he chases after you, and he catches you around the waist just before you make it into your bathroom. His lips press against the crown of your head.

“Again, I’m sorry for snooping. I’m dumb.”

You sigh, wriggling around to face him.

“You are,” you agree, lightly patting his chest. “Dumb, and insistent that Spider man loves tits, eating pussy, and getting ridden. Still holding those beliefs?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Peter grins. “And I have other beliefs about his preferences as well.”

“Of course you do,” you laugh. You kiss his cheek, and then step out of his hold—heading into the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower,” you tell him. “There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you want any.”

Peter nods, and the last thing you see is him heading for your fridge when you close the bathroom door.

30 minutes later, you exit your steaming bathroom in your fresh oversized t-shirt and panties, fully expecting to find Peter lounging around your apartment, eating all your food. But…to your utter disappointment, you don’t spot him anywhere.

You sigh, shoulders sagging. Had it been too much to assume he would have wanted to stay the night?

Shuffling into your kitchen, you spot an empty plate on your table. One that you know had previously been piled high with leftover chicken and potatoes.

“He eats my food and runs off…of course,” you mumble, picking up the plate to put it in the sink. However, before your annoyance can truly get the better of you, a piece of paper that had been stuck to the bottom of the plate floats to the ground.

You bend over to pick it up.

Hey!

Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to stay so long, so I left my apartment earlier without locking the door. I’m running back home to lock it, but I should be back at your place by 9!

Don’t get mad at me. I’d never run off without a word :p

-PB

PS. I have a working theory that Spiderman also has more stamina than you’d expect, even for a guy who’s been doing hero work for 20+ years, so…round two when I get back?

You can’t help but laugh.

What an idiot.

But…you like him.

#peter b parker x reader #peter b parker smut #peter b parker #i can't believe I'm posting this on tumblr #immediately going back to only posting on AO3 bc it's so much easier to format LMAO #fic #reader insert #reader x peter b parker #peter b parker x you #peter b parker x y/n

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

Summer Breeze 5

Warnings: age gap (reader is 22, Andrew is mid 40s), dad’s friend, Andy being Andrew, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

When they call your name, you barely react. It isn’t until Andy stands that you realise it isn’t all in your head. You’ve been there for hours. It’s night time and your head is throbbing with tears and exhaustion. Your steps are hollow and unsteady as you cross the waiting room to the nurse.

Andy walks behind you as you hug yourself and chatter in the sterile cold hallways of the hospital. You’re let into a dim room where your dad lays beneath the light of a bedside lamp. Your own fatigue is underlined by the shadows all around. You rub your eyes with your sleeve as the nurse hangs a clipboard at the foot of the bed and turns to you.

“He’s sedated. The doctor stitched his wounds and he was given a transfusion. He should recover however we will need to wait for him to be conscious before we can complete all cognitive testing,” she explains.

“Oh,” you chew on the sweater cuff, unsure what to say. You’re still terrified.

“Thank you,” Andy says, “when will the doctor be back? We’d like to ask some questions.”

“Tomorrow. He’s attending the full floor so unfortunately, he’s not available at the moment,” the nurse answers, “the cafeteria won’t be open until 4am but there’s a drive through just down the street. Like I said, he’s under heavy sedation. He likely won’t wake up for some time.”

You nod and nervously continue to nibble on the fabric, keeping an arm folded over your middle. You look at your dad as Andy thanks the nurse again and she leaves you, giving a reluctant explanation of the call bell. You wiggle your tingling nose as you near your dad and stare at him.

He’s always been cantankerous but lively. He’s loud where you’re more laid back. He might have his flaws but there were moments you wouldn’t trade. No one’s perfect and he tried his best for all his mistakes. You hate seeing him so... empty.

“Well, I guess we can hang around, wait for the doctor at least,” Andy suggests.

“You can go back,” you murmur as you hover by the bed. “I’ll be okay.”

“Oh, I can’t...” he protests softly, “I wouldn’t feel right. Besides, it’s too late. Cottage country isn’t much for street lights.”

You hum and blink against a swell of tears. You just want to be alone so you can cry. You dip your chin down and heave a sigh.

“Look, I... I lost my mom a few years ago. It wasn’t easy, I know but you’re doing yourself no favours wallowing in dread,” he stands near to foot of the bed, “just take a break. Let’s go get some food.”

You rub your cheek, your eyes fuzzy and itchy as they long to close. You shake off the tiredness and look at Andy. You shrug. You are starving now that you think of it.

You walk towards him and he backs up.

“Sweetheart, it’s going to be alright,” he assures you.

You don’t respond as you walk past him. He follows you out and pauses by the door, reciting the room number before he continues on next to you. He points and nudges you through the halls as you walk aimlessly.

You go out into the night and ground yourself only as you sit in the passenger seat, the vibrant glow of a drive through sign beaming through from the other window. You look over, the drive down the street lost in the haze of your disbelief.

“Hey, what do you want? Chicken or beef?” Andy asks.

You swallow, “chicken?”

You look back out into the dark bushes opposite the order box and sink in the seat. It just can’t be real. You were on vacation. You were up at a cottage, enjoying the lake and the sun, and then suddenly, the blinding white lights of the hospital and now this. A burger joint somewhere west of nowhere.

Andy pulls around to the window and idles as you wait. The wafts of french fries stirs your stomach. You look down at your lap as you pick at your nails.

“There’s nothing I can say to make this better. Or easier but I’ll do whatever I can,” he says as he reaches over you squeeze your shoulder, “just let me know anything you need, sweetheart.”

He keeps his hand on you, rubbing your upper arm as he watches you. You just peer into the fog that clouds your distant stare. His hand climbs up to tickle your cheek and you flinch away in surprise. You look at him as the window snaps open and he reaches to take the food. You touch your cheek and frown. You must be imagining things. Or maybe it was a bug.

He hands you the drinks and the bag and pulls out of the drive thru. He steers into and empty spot and parks. You open the top of the bag and sort it out between you. You don’t taste it but you devour it. You’re ravenous. The act of eating keeps you from feeling.

“We could find a place closer to the hospital,” he says. “If we gotta be out here for a while.”

“I told you, you can go back,” you mutter as you hold the straw just in front of your lips.

“I don’t feel right leaving you. If it was Jacob, I’d hope your dad would do the same,” he flips on the overhead light and unfolds a napkin, “oh, jeez,” his lips curve slightly and he reaches across, surprising you as he wipes your chin, brushing your lower lip, “you got something.”

You wince again and lean away from him, sucking the straw to hide your discomfort. He pulls back and crumples up the napkin. He goes back to pick at his tray of fries.

“How long... he can’t stay up here, can he? Can’t they send him home?” You wonder.

“Well, I don’t know, does his insurance cover medical transfers?” Andy asks. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of insurance cases in my time, they’ll find any loophole not to pay out.”

“I... didn’t think of it.”

“How can you? You’re dealing with a lot right now, and that’s understandable,” he says, “so let me take a little bit off your plate.”

You inhale and let it out all at once. He’s right. You don’t know how to do any of this. You’re not ready for this. You’re not even out of college. You’re not really an adult yet.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #series #defending jacob #summer breeze #drabble

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 4 months

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AITA for telling my dad to let out his emotions?

(cw: this entire post is about animal death)

Long story short, my dad (58M) has wanted a dog for decades. My mom (54F) has been refusing a dog for all 25 years they've been together. A few years ago, she finally agreed to get a puppy, and my dad was more excited than I've ever seen him be for anything.

Our dog passed away from a tumor a few months ago. He wasn't even three years old. This practically destroyed all of us, especially my dad, since he'd fought so hard for a dog for years. On top of that, he hasn't had much of a chance to let out his emotions since my mom keeps stopping him, and also making it worse.

A couple of weeks ago, on the way home from a party, something reminded my dad of the dog, and he started to cry in the car. We all comforted him, but after a few minutes my mom rolled her eyes and told him to stop crying. When we got home, my dad apologized for getting emotional. I (18M) told him he didn't have to apologize, since crying in grief is a completely normal thing to do. My mom told me I shouldn't say that, since he would just "wallow in his sadness all night" and it was better to just tell him not to do that.

I was baffled by this. I realized that she wasn't trying to make him feel better, she just didn't want to deal with him crying anymore. (I also recently noticed that she does the same thing to my sister (14F) and I.) Apparently this has been going on for pretty much their entire marriage of ~20 years.

On top of all of that, my mom brings up the topic of our dog and his death to people at Every. Single. Opportunity. And it always makes the rest of us feel like shit. She ordered a custom portrait of our dog as a Father's Day present for my dad. When I implied that this might be a bad idea, she said "So you hate it. Great." She also wants another dog exactly like our old one, despite the fact that he was a purebred, and had some health problems because of it. At this point, she wouldn't shock me if she said she wanted to clone the poor dog.

My dad has struggled with depression for years. He lived a very difficult life growing up, and was basically taught that showing sadness or fear was weak. Throughout my life, though, he's always made sure to tell my sister and I that he never wants us to have to bottle up how we feel and that the "boys don't cry" attitude is stupid.

So you can imagine my surprise when I tried to comfort him earlier tonight and he said "No, no, I'm fine. Boys don't cry. Don't worry about me." After that, my parents got into an argument about my mom telling my dad that he needs to "move past this".

TLDR: My mom keeps doing things that remind my dad of our dead dog, but then when he gets overwhelmed and starts crying she tells him to stop because she doesn't want to deal with his crying. AITA for telling my dad that she's wrong?

#aita #am i the asshole #pet death cw

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kaiser-author-san-iii · 2 years

Text

Star light, Star bright | Fatui Harbingers x Creator!(Female)Reader

Summary: Caring for children is hard, but it's especially hard when around the Fatui. Getting isekaied was the last thing on your mind after landing in the icy tundra of Snezhnaya all while your nephew is with you. What will happen when you encounter not only a Fatui Skirmisher but a Fatui Harbinger?

Not beta read or proofed, we die like signora.

I tried to be a bit gender-neutral here, but I might have slipped. Nephew does call you auntie qwq

Tags/warnings: female reader, god!reader, cult AU

Next>>

Tumbling down the steep hill and narrowly avoiding the cliff that just dove off, the car rolled to a stop as you opened your eyes slowly, your arms still around your nephew as a sort of shield for him as he sobbed. Gently and quietly soothing him as you rubbed his back, you soon looked around, even checking him to be sure that he was free of any injuries, which he thankfully was.

"Shh. It's okay, Nugget. It's okay."

You attempted to sound gentle while not wincing in pain. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to unbuckle the seat belt and jump to the back to protect him despite him being in the car seat as well. His sobs and concern for his aunt would have been heard if one got too close to the car, but it was not the time to wallow in such a state.

You looked around, trying to find an exit to make.

Kicking down glass windows, especially the windshield, seemed so much easier in the movies so, using common sense, you opted in opening the back door, realizing just how cold it was out there. Quickly bundling up and gathering all the necessities: bags, blankets, food, emergency kits, and your nephew's entertainment bag, the two of you decided to march on to the closest town or at least to the main road they were taking before the car crash.

Giving your nephew one of the spare blankets, you wrapped it around him, holding back a shriek of joy at how adorable he looked. He looked like a penguin. But now was not the time to think about it as you bit your tongue from crying out from the forming bruises on your body, or even the icy air hitting your cuts.

Pulling out your phone to at least call the emergency line to at least report the incident and awaited for someone to answer. Never having called the emergency line before, you didn't know what to expect but it was definitely not the dial-up tone of the internet in the early 2000s.

It was quite concerning.

But not so much as the full battery on it.

The no signal was a common thing in the mountains, especially during the snowy days. But the full battery was a whole other thing as you clearly remembered it being at 30% at the store.

Strange.

"Alright, Nugget. Let's go and find someplace warm to wait." Holding onto his hand, the two of you trudged along the snow, walking toward where you thought the main road was at, though when you got there, nothing.

Alright, plan b: look for a line of smoke. Smoke meant campfire, and campfire meant people. People meant help and warmth until then.

Or death if it involved a serial killer

It seemed like forever to get to the line of smoke as you then had to carry your nephew as he had started growing tired, but you never let him take the blanket off. You finally hiked over the hill and were happy but it was short-lived as the people surrounding the fire didn't look like any other person you'd seen before. Was that a lady with a slit-open dress? In the middle of winter?? Work it, girl

You winced in pain again, the injury of before seeming to be more than just a cut started to hurt more. But you couldn't rest now or even let your nephew down as it seemed to get colder already. He even started shivering and sneezing, which seemed to alert the group of people (?) by the fire. The one dressed in red, his eyes only showing and a rifle in his hand suddenly pointed at them and you instantly backed away and held onto the shivering bundle.

"Please help me. W-we've been in an accident." You said, trembling as your arms began to tire, shaking and trying to hold onto your nephew until you knew that you both would be safe. The group soon relaxed and walked over to you and gasped. It all seemed blurry at the moment but you could immediately tell that they grew worried and rushed to your side. The woman with the inappropriate winter outfit soon takes your nephew in her arms, revealing your arms to be covered in blood.

The blood was not it's ordinary red though.

Your clothes soaked in golden blood...

"Your Grace!"

-x-

It was chaotic, to say the least when a group of fatui Skirmishers arrived at the palace carrying a sobbing and shivering child and an unconscious person with golden blood covering their arms. The chaos disturbed the peace that the Harbingers inside created and were about to endue their wrath on the offenders when they saw the face of the person they were carrying and the child.

"Your Grace has been hurt!"

"My Lords! Your Grace is injured!"

Feet clattered, chairs scratching the floors as all eleven Harbingers rushed at the one carrying your form, the masked Doctor carefully holding her and rushing towards his lab with the others following suit. Well, that would be the case if it wasn't for the sobs of the child.

"W-where's auntie? Is she okay? She'll be fine, right?" He asked and reached to anyone, holding onto the mirror maiden as she began to soothe the child.

"All will be well, Your Highness." said a soft voice belonging to the third Harbinger, the young boy turned towards a beautiful woman with black hair with some pink locks, her eyes closed though he could hardly tell if she was as she stretched her arms out to him and started to sing. It was beautiful and sleepy but he had no time to rest as he wanted to go to you and make sure you were well.

"Auntie...! I want my auntie! Auntie might die, right? She can't die! She's my auntie! She kept me safe! The meaner crashed into us! It's their fault! If a-auntie dies, I'm blaming that meaner!!"

The air suddenly turned sour, with rage, and anger at the one that possibly harmed their Creator.

"She will not die, Your Highness." said a deep and gruff voice, making the boy look at an older man, seeing him wear half of a mask and walking towards him and the woman that held him.

"We will make sure of it."

A/N: haha~ I did it~ Finally something that involves my favorite group of people. VILLAINS

Let me know if you want more~

#genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #genshin impact #fatui harbingers #harbingers x reader #pierro x reader #columbina x reader #dottore x reader #pantalone x reader #capitano x reader #Signora x reader #tsarista x reader #female reader

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strawwritesfic · 5 months

Text

Kelvin!Spock x Female!Human!Reader: Mr. Right

Summary: When one door closes, another opens—perhaps the door you were meant to enter all along.

Warnings/Tags: Starship Enterprise; post-Star Trek Beyond; friends to lovers; breakup; almost kiss; counselor!reader; Star Trek: The Original Series references; Star Trek: The Next Generation references

Relationships: Spock/Reader; Spock & Nyota Uhura; past!Spock/Nyota Uhura; past!Kevin Riley/Reader

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Requester: @lovemesomeescapism

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: For once, this is not a repost for this challenge…technically. I did write a response to the prompt "Mr. Right" ages ago, but when I was reposting, I decided that the Now You See Me one shot I wrote really wasn't worth keeping. Someone on Tumblr asked me for a Spock one shot, so I slipped him in as a replacement.

It's been a really long time since I finished something new. I realize that I am rusty. This is actually several drafts into attempts to write this one shot. For the first time ever, I actually cannibalized previous drafts while trying to get the meandering dialogue and point back on track. It still doesn't feel quite "right" to me, but it's probably going to take some time before I get back in the swing of things, and I'm ready to let this one go.

Mr. Right

Throughout Terra's history, human beings had sought the comfort of white noise. Quiet droning sounds proved beneficial for many aspects of mental health in the species. As a counselor on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, you'd recommended listening to white noise to dozens of fellow crewmates and patients alike. The best way to do this in the deep space you'd all been exploring for nearly five years was to turn everything in one's quarters down until the low hum of the ship's warp drive became audible. Many of those crewmates and patients reported back to you with decreased stress levels, improved mood, and a distinct uptick in ability to concentrate. Almost all of them said they got better sleep.

Now you learned that every single one of them had lied to you.

You'd spent the better part of the evening-adjacent hours lying face-down on your sofa, trying and failing to take a nap. The scratchy, standard-issue pillow beneath your face was soaked with tears. Your chest ached. Worst of all, any attempt on your part to get your mind off what upset you just ended with you crying harder. All the while, that awful rumble went on and on and on and on relentlessly, allowing you no respite long enough to drift off and forget your current predicament.

A chime cut through your misery. You paused without so much as lifting your head. As of three hours prior, you were officially off duty for the day. Nothing required you to answer the door unless an order came down from a superior officer, and they would call first. Probably it was only Uhura coming by to check on you. Having been through her own breakup during this voyage, surely she would understand when you didn't let her inside.

The chime sounded again, and with it came a surge of possibilities flooding your mind. What if your visitor was dealing with a crisis? Cases of PTSD had been on the rise since the events on Altamid. You could hardly ignore that in favor of your own small, personal crisis. Off duty or not, your role as a ship's counselor would not allow you to wallow in self-pity when someone might need your help.

As your boots hit the floor, you pressed one sleeve of your rumpled blue uniform to the corner of each eye. The gesture wouldn't do much to disguise what you'd been doing over the course of your time off, but you felt a little steadier afterward. Breathing deeply in and out helped too—until you hiccuped. But you could prepare yourself no more. Squaring your shoulders, you stood, walked over to the door leading to the corridor, and opened it.

Just outside stood the familiar, lanky figure of the ship's science officer. The second you spotted him, you wiped your sleeve across your face with greater urgency.

"You're not one of my patients," you said, "or Uhura."

"A very astute observation, Lieutenant [L Name]," Spock replied.

A long moment elapsed during which the two of you stared at one another. Several fellow crewmates in various uniform colors threw curious looks at his back as they passed by on their ways to wherever they were headed. Your friend, meanwhile, allowed a single dark eyebrow to drift toward his hairline. He clearly had no intention of moving on.

"What are you doing here?" you sighed at last.

The wayward eyebrow rejoined its brother. "Lieutenant Commander Uhura informed me that you left your office this afternoon in distress. I note that her assessment was an accurate one. If anything, you appear to be in more distress now than she described to me then."

You couldn't lie to Spock, not when you looked the way you looked after a crying jag like the one you'd just had. So you didn't bother to try. "Fine. I'm in distress. But really, Spock, it's not the kind of distress you can help with. I'm sure Captain Kirk will need you on a landing party any minute now, so if you'll excuse me—"

"Lieutenant Commander Uhura also informed me of the cause of your distress."

"Of course she did." Sometimes you wished your two friends were a little lighter on the "amicable" part of "amicable exes." "Let me guess: You came by to tell me that you told me so."

"As a Vulcan, I have no reason to rub my correct prediction in your face, if you will forgive the Terra colloquial."

You let out a wet laugh despite yourself. "You're pardoned."

"What I have done is stopped by the mess hall. If I am not much mistaken, ice cream is a traditional consolation food in these types of situations."

He produced from behind his back a number of different colored tapes. So startled were you that you found yourself unable to say anything. Never in a million years would you have imagined Spock of all people standing in front of you and offering you junk food of all things. Your silence went on for so long that he had to prompt you to speak:

"Was I incorrect in my understanding of how to handle Terran breakups?"

"No," you said, then, "I just didn't want you to find out about the breakup until I could pull myself together."

"I surmised as much, given that Lieutenant Commander Uhura found out about your circumstances before I did, although you and I are closer friends. It would have been more logical for you to contact me for assistance than her."

Vulcans as a whole were difficult to read. Even factoring in your education and training, as well as your friendship with Spock that had gone on for several years now, you could only guess his feelings the majority of the time. Not so then. Something about his tone made him sound hurt. Maybe you could chalk that up to projecting your own feelings onto him, but you couldn't risk that assumption.

"It's just that you warned me against dating Kevin," you explained. "As ship's counselor, I should have seen the end coming a kiloparsec away."

"Perhaps. But one might also say that your extensive proximity to the crew's emotions might cause some loss in objectivity on your part."

"So you're not here to make me feel worse?"

"I came for consolation purposes. That is all."

"Well, all right, then."

You stepped away from the doorway. Spock followed you in. He paused only long enough to press the button to close the door before he came to join you in your sitting room. A crate sat on the floor along his path, and he looked at you questioningly as he walked by it.

"Those are Kevin's things," you said.

"Expedient," he observed.

Normally, you might have tried to go for a little more decorum around him, but that day you didn't have the energy to do more than flop back onto your couch. At least you were upright. Spock, on the other hand, claimed a dignified perch at the end of your chair. The two of you certainly made an odd pair.

"He had so many hair products!" you burst out when the awkward silence turned unbearable. "I should have known we wouldn't work out. Who brings that much hair spray into deep space?"

"Humanity can hardly be expected to iron out all its flaws when you all cling so hard to your baser emotions."

"Do you mean Kevin's desire to look nice, or my need to be in a relationship?"

Spock blinked, then smoothly said, "In this case, I refer to your former beau's preoccupation with personal grooming."

"Right. Either way, I'm about ready to get rid of all my own baser emotions. Not feeling them would be a blessing." You got back to your feet and thrust one hand in Spock's direction. "Ice cream tape, please."

He offered one to you.

"Spock," you said warningly.

"I do not believe that heartbreak is an excuse to overeat. I only brought so many because I was unsure which flavor you would select."

The glare you leveled at him seemed to make him think better of lecturing you on the dangers of gluttony—as well it should have. This was the same glare that you gave Dr. McCoy when you were tired of listening to him. Unlike with Dr. McCoy, you smiled once Spock dropped the rest of the tapes into your outstretched hand.

"Thank you." You headed for your in-quarters food producer, then turned your head to ask over your shoulder, "What flavor do you want?"

"I do not require ice cream."

"Come on, Spock. If you're going to spend the evening commiserating with me, you have to have some ice cream, too. That's a critical part of the Terran breakup process."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll have pistachio, then."

You fed the yellow-green tape into the slot. A quiet beeping noise covered the hum of the warp drive as the computer worked. While you waited, you flipped through the remainder of the flavors until you found the one you wanted.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to give up emotions," Spock said.

"Huh?" Frowning at him, you replaced his tape with yours. "Aren't you the guy that's been talking about doing the Kolinahr when we get back to Earth?"

"That's different. I am a Vulcan."

"Half Vulcan."

"Vulcan enough."

A shriller beep put an end to this potentially sticky subject. The ice creams were ready. You dumped the rest of the tapes in a basket next to the food producer, picked up the bowls, and brought them back to the living room. Spock took his with a grateful nod, though he waited until you sat down again before taking a bite.

"Maybe I'd be a better counselor if I didn't have emotions," you mused. "If I wasn't blinded by my own feelings, I could help the crew more with theirs. I shouldn't have the same problems as they do after all the studying I've done."

"While that may indeed make sense, it is hardly realistic. Besides, if you did not have your human emotions, you would no longer be the [Name] that I know, and I believe that I would miss her."

You couldn't help but smile around the spoon in your mouth. Popping that out, you said, "I bet you say that to all the Terrans you like."

"Hardly. In fact, that captain may benefit from an hour or two without his usual emotions."

"I appreciate you saying that, Spock."

"I am only speaking the truth. I have no intention of bolstering your ego artificially, even if doing so is a part of the Terran breakup process."

"I know." You slowly lowered your spoon back to the bowl, staring off into space. Something was dawning on you—something that might have dawned on you sooner had you not been so enthralled with your own feelings. "You know what else I appreciate? You coming here to help me today. Not every first officer would go out of their way for a ship's counselor like that."

Spock fixed you with an unblinking gaze as he said, "You mean a great deal more to me than most ship's counselors mean to their first officers."

"I don't care what Captain Kirk says. You sure know how to make a woman blush."

"I have had some practice with the activity."

"Remind me to thank Uhura later."

"Thank her for what?" Spock asked.

Maybe you were reading the signs wrong. Maybe you were just desperate. If he had to ask, you had to be wrong. But you took a deep breath anyway, and said, "Helping me realize that maybe the guy I've been looking for this whole time has been my best friend all along."

How could it have taken you this long to work it out? No one else spent as much time with you as Spock did, not outside of your office hours. It didn't matter if you were in the mess hall asking for a round of Fizzbin after dinner or you wanted a quiet night in your quarters. He always seemed to be there. You felt comfortable around him. Maybe you didn't always understand Spock; maybe Spock didn't always understand. But you didn't enjoy anyone's company the way you did his. And you had to wonder when your eyes met just then if he felt the same way, and if this coming-to-see-you-with-ice-cream thing was his way of showing you that.

"Well," he moistened his lips before going on, "I certainly feel that our relationship is founded more steadily upon mutual interests and desires than it is upon a passion for hair products."

You leaned forward. "You know, that sort of relationship sounds really appealing right about now."

"It does?" Spock shifted closer to you.

"I think it's about time that I dated someone whose first thought in the morning isn't beating me to the sonic shower, don't you?"

By that time, you both had come so close that it wouldn't have taken much more movement on either of your parts to touch lips. Your heart gave a painful leap inside your chest. Was this too much too fast? Even if you had just realized you'd had a thing for Spock for a while now, you had only just broken up with your last boyfriend that morning. Treating Spock as a rebound was the last thing you wanted to do. He didn't seem to mind, though. His mouth drew closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath on your face.

The communicator in your room chirped. You jumped. Spock paused before sitting back up in his chair. Then you rose wordlessly, stepped over to the panel, cleared your throat, and pushed the button.

"[L Name]," you said.

"[Name]?" Uhura did not remark on how breathless you sounded, thankfully. "I need to talk to Spock."

"It's for you," you said unnecessarily. Spock had already reset his face into its typical blank mask and made his way to the communicator himself.

"Spock here. What is it, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Captain Kirk needs you on the bridge. We have a situation up here."

"What kind of a situation?"

"There's a former United States President floating outside the ship. He says he needs our help."

"I will be there right away."

A second chirp signaled that communications between your room and the bridge had ceased. Spock turned back to you.

"My presence is needed on the bridge," he said.

"So I heard."

"I apologize. I believe we were in the middle of something."

"It's all right."

He didn't move.

"Spock, go. Don't you want to know why a deceased historical figure has asked for the Enterprise's help?"

"I'd prefer to stay here," Spock said. "But you are correct. I must leave. Will you still be here later tonight?"

"Yeah." You surprised yourself with the eagerness of your answer. "Yeah, I will. I promise I won't run off with any other lieutenants while you're away. I'll save the rest of the ice cream. We can share it when you get back."

There it was: The slight curl to Spock's mouth that told you that you weren't making up the mutual attraction between you both after all. "To use another Terran phrase, it's a date."

He hesitated another moment longer before he quickly exited your quarter. You grinned as the door slid shut behind him and the white noise returned full force. As you sunk into your couch and pillow this time, you found you didn't mind the hum as much. In fact, the sound did exactly what it was supposed to do: Relax you. Kevin and his excuses from that morning felt farther away than your own home planet. Maybe you owed him a thank you, too, because if you were still with him, you wouldn't have slept as well as you did that night knowing that Spock would be back soon.

#fan fic #straw writes #reader insert #second person pov #star trek #star trek beyond #challenge response #request #spock #spock x reader #spock x you #spock x y/n #star trek x reader #star trek x y/n #star trek you #kelvin universe

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whalesforhands · 7 months

Text

kaizen daycare! 5

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“Does everybody have a copy?”

“Yes, (name)-sensei!” A chorus of cute voices answer your call. Loud chattering and shiny eyes all whilst excited stamping of little, socked feet upon the padded floors as they point at the colourful paper.

“I’m gonna ask Nanamin to let me wear my tiger trunks! Gao!” His tiny arms are stretched into the air, fingers splayed out into claws as he roars in attempts to terrorize his blank-faced friend, his blue eyes too mesmerized by the swimming brochure you had handed out to him with a pat to his head and a cooing of his name.

(“I hope you’ll come with your sisters, Megumi-kun. Tsumiki-chan is welcome to join, too!”)

PERMISSION SLIP

Kaizen Daycare will be hosting a swimming class this weekend! Located at the Mei Mei Swimming Centre, we will be teaching essent—

And Megumi decides that he really, really wants to go.

“Noba-chan! We should bring our pool floaties! Then we can play in the water together!”

“I’ll ask my Granny to pack extra strawberries!”

“Nana and I will ask Papa for extra snacks too…!”

(“Senseeiiiiii!” Yuuji clings onto your leg as his hands grip onto your apron. “Can I bring Choso too?!”

“Yuuji-kun, please have your permission slip signed first…!”)

And that’s how you ended up here, squatting down and helping Nobara fix her hair under her swim cap by the side of the children’s pool with her accompanying, feeble grandmother comfortably settled nearby on one of the benches, sipping on a complimentary bottle of tea provided for accompanying parents and simply enjoying the atmosphere of the swimming complex.

(They were the first to arrive.)

“Eh? So (name)-sensei has friends other than Shoko-sensei?” The curious tilt of her head, an innocent finger on her lip as she looks up at you, heart-shaped goggles pulled up to her forehead to reveal just as innocent, questioning brown.

And you feel something in you crack.

You swear you can quite literally feel your spirit leave you, swirling out of your mouth as your eyes blank out, hands frozen midair and the urge to fall onto your knees to lament about your lack of socialization with more people your age on the tip of your tongue as you let her words sink in.

You have friends! Plenty! There’s Shoko, there’s Utahime… Does Yaga count? He might be a touch too old, but you’re on friendly relations with your boss! Even though… You barely see him since he’s taking care of the older kids on another floor. And you have plenty of them online in Jujutsu Kaisen!

Yes, you assure yourself. Your eyes squeezing shut and your biting your lip in nervous contemplation. You have friends, you aren’t alone, you aren’t a NEET, and you’re only slightly addicted to video games! Slightly!

Though, that doesn’t discount the fact that your children already think you’re some sort of lonely shut-in…!

“(name)-sensei has a lot of friends, Nobara-chan!” Your hands clap together as you stand up, slowly leading her away from the edge of the pool as you gently place your palms onto her shoulders. “Am I not friends with your grandmother?”

“Mmm…” She crosses her arms, albeit with a little bit of struggle due to the pink arm-floaties. Her eyes closed as you fix a stray strand of hair on her forehead. Yep, you’ve convinced her. This is definitely enough to—

“Nope!” She pops the ‘p’ at the end.

“Granny says she sees you as her daugt-her!” Her hands are on her hips staring at you as she smiles, patting your arm with an excited hand. “So can you teach me to swimmy now? I wanna get ahead of Yuuji!”

Your eyes swirl with panic, totally defeated as you want to slump onto the ground and curl into a ball and cry. You don’t even notice the way Nobara was hugging against your torso, her face against the swimming cover-up as she wraps her tiny arms around you, your hand instinctively going around her and patting her head as you keep wallowing in your sadness.

“(name)-seennnnnseeiiiii! Nobara wants to swim!”

“Nanamin! Over’ ere!” Loud clattering of sandals against tiled floors, and a jump of a tiny, soft presence into your arms as an excitable, cub-like boy makes himself known, your arm opening and catching the canon-balling child just in time before he hurts himself.

“Let’s swimmmmmm!” He squirms in your hold as your mind still floats away at the thought of being an adult whose children think of you as lonely and incapable of having other adult friends…

“Yuuji.” Calm and authoritative baritone meet your ears. “What did I say about running?”

“Boo… That I shouldn’t do it in areas outside the track field…” You can practically feel his pout as he hides his face inside your coverup with Nobara.

“And what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Yuuji’s sworry…” His apology is muffled into your clothing as you just continue to pat both of their heads, their mumbled conversation with each other not quite floating to your ears. “So can Nobara and I go play by the sprinkly toys? Pleaseee?”

“Yea, yea! Pleaseee? We’ll be back when everyone comes!”

Your eyes snap back to reality by pure professionalism as you glance at the nearby sprinkler play area and a thought flurries back to the awaiting parents behind you.

“You can, but only if you ask your parents, okay?”

And the duo are quick to crawl out of your coverup, eyes pointedly staring up at Yuuji’s guardian first due to his proximity.

Sparkly eyes meet tired, passive almond.

“…yes, you can. But be back when your teacher calls for you.”

“Yay! Now let’s go ask y’er granny! And we won’t run!” And so, they power walked as fast as toddler feet could carry them.

It’s silent, only momentarily when you’re both left alone. Calls of the duo asking for permission from Kugisaki’s grandmother a distance away.

“Nanami-san, you’re really good at handling him.” And you mean it. He was an exemplary caretaker, respectable, responsible and trusted you with his child wholeheartedly. A really nice man.

“It’s no issue at all. I’m just glad he likes you so much.” A shift of his cheekbones, a soft, growing smile on his face with tender eyes. He doesn’t even hesitate to settle down next to you, crossing his legs and making himself comfortable on the ground.

“It’s more of a pleasure to see him be so happy with you.”

Two gazes stare on as you giggle and continue to chat with the taller man, your conversation getting lost on toddler ears as they let themselves get pelted by light showers of water droplets, the plastic, leaf-like gardens of the area providing adequate fun for them.

And the fact that your smiling face was more entertaining for they to watch.

“Wah… (name)-sensei and your daddy look like pretty friends!”

“Mhm! Sensei and Nanamin are super supppeerrr close!” He’s haughty, proud even, as his hands go onto his little hips, face slightly red from accidentally rubberbanding the goggles onto his nose.

“I bet (name)-sensei likes my Nanamin the most!”

“No way! Sensei definitely likes my grand—!”

“Is that so?” A glowering aura of darkness starts to encapsulate behind him, the sheer weight his tone carried capable of making any normal person freeze in place from sheer fear.

Yet, it’s totally ineffective on cute kids.

(“Ah! It’s Sa-chan!” The glowing boy’s face grows even brighter, arms thrusted up to start waving at him.

“Ohhh! The big man that you say teaches you martial arts, right? Cool!”)

“That’s right! And Sa-chan wants to know, Yuuji-kun~ Why don’t cha tell me allllll about how close Nanamin is to the cute sensei?” His tone was not growing with more bite, more venom in them. “I wanna know every little bit, down to the very last— Ow!”

“Stop harassing children, you menace.” A grab, a decisive pull; and Sa-chan’s ear had been captured by a tall, black-haired man’s fingers, the skin growing red under his touch, one arm preoccupied with carrying two children as two more head pop up from behind him.

“Owoww owww! Sugurrruuuu, you’re so mean!”

(“Ah! Gumi, Nanako and Mimiko! Finally, let’s play together!”)

——

[whisper] you: satouuu. (; ; ）

[whisper] satouuu: yeaaaaa?

Your fingers hesitate in their typing, coming to an abrupt stop as they twitch just as you’re about to hit send. Shoko would laugh at you if you ever told her… So your only online friend is the closest, and safest bet, right?

[whisper] you: what do you think about me?

Specifically, you just want to see how you’re perceived. You act about the same offline and online anyway, right? You’re just… A little more forward on the net.

(Surely, you’re likable, right? You’re not that hopeless. At least… You don’t think so.)

You wait in anticipation, cold sweat starting to form on your hands as they clam up, a nervous rumbling of your character-themed cup as you try to down your nerves with another chug of chocolate milk.

This is making you far too nervous for what it actually is.

[whisper] satouuu: hoho? what’s this all of a sudden? (๑･̑◡･̑๑)

Now you wish you could retract every word you ever thought about sharing with this—

[whisper] satouuu: i’ll answer u if u pick up! ✌︎('ω')

(Incoming invite from User satouuu to join a voice-chat room!)

Ahhh…! Sly bastard! It’s too late to back out now, isn’t it? Maybe, just maybe… Some part of you has been anticipating something like this happening.

And so you accept.

Your throat feels dry, feels uneasy and uncertain. Yet, it leaves you before you can even comprehend. Was it nerves that pushed you to do this? A culmination of some odd, built up responsibility? Maybe you just weren’t made for this, maybe you should just quit this game and find a different one to get addicted to—

“…hello…?”

And you’re met with silence.

It makes you uneasy, makes the acid in your stomach feel like it was bubbling up and threatening to vomit out every last bit of your convenience store dinner as you nervously await.

(Do you sound bad or something…?)

“You sound cuter than I thought.” Followed up by a mock sigh of disappointment. “Not a nekama, huh? Pfft, borrrrinnnnggg!” He stops to let out a laugh, a smacking of his tabletop heard as you hear a clink of glass.

And you feel your heart palpitate just that little bit more.

“I’m sorry for being so boring then, you mean jerk.” You’re retorting back, a dumb smile unknowingly making its way onto your cheeks as you begin to… Talk. No longer needing to have the delays of typing in between the both of you.

It feels freeing, feels like a heavy weight has been lifted, feels… Right.

“And you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“Aww~, you’re just as impatient even on voice chat rooms too!” You hear him hum, a quiet drumming of his fingers against his desk.

“But if you sound like this,” He begins, a breath being drawn in. “Then you have nothing to worry about. It’s cute.”

“If you’re gonna joke around—“

“I’m being serious, honey! It really is cute!”

It makes your face burn in absolute shame, as much as you would hate to admit it. Just hearing someone with such an attractive voice has you wanting to choke back a sputter and break into your nervous rambling. It’s been bothering you ever since you heard him, how similar his voice was to a certain neighbour you had, yet how dissimilar it was at the same time.

(There’s no way. Coincidences like that only ever happened in fiction.)

Yet, you can’t help but imagine it all the same. Gojo Satoru calling you cute, his hand on your head or a tap of your nose with his finger as he teases you for being so shy. Or even Geto Suguru smoking next to you, gently grabbing your chin and sharing the smoke of his cigarette with you in the form of a—!

“Hey,” His voice takes a serious tone, drawling out his words in a smooth resonance that sends a shiver down your spine. “Say yes for me.”

(Oh… You would do anything for that voice—! No!)

Your eyebrows furrow only slightly, eyes snapping out of your daydream and eyes concentarted on the way his profile picture lit up when he spoke to notice the little pop-up at the corner of your screen.

“Yes…?”

[Voice activation confirmed.]

A shock of bursting, twirling pink hearts and flurry white laces that intertwine alongside snow white roses overtake your screen as your mouth hangs open in shock.

[Congratulations on your engagement! We wish you happiness with your partner!

Minimum damage will now increase by 20% when forming a party as a couple—]

“What?! You nearly choke on your spit, fingers hurrying to your keyboard to start spamming the backspace key, and every other letter in attempt to— “Cancel! Cancel—!”

[Request denied. Engagement is valid for 30 days, please try to work out your issues together.

Fun Fact: Only 48% of players who become couples choose to stay in their relationships after the valid period.]

“What?!”

“Ehehe.”

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Notes:

NEET — Not in Education, Employment or Training

nekama — usually a grown man who roleplays with a super sexy/cute female character online.

for EN: Ieiri Shoko’s username is ‘shosei’, literally short for ‘Shoko-sensei’ because she registered the account at work. (For you.)

for JP: Originally meant to be written 所生 (しよせい)- birth place/creation/child

shosei character profile username: shosei level: 79 class: sorcerer notes: looks almost like a carbon copy of the shoko ieiri you know in real life. full courtesy of you, who designed it with her when you begged to play together. she paid actual money to buy you a player-designed accessory once. you never want to have it out of your inventory.

Fact: True love is never easy! Engagement rings are one of the hardest items to obtain in game. Prove that your love can best even the most treacherous bosses on Floor 520, or simply purchase one from the player Market!

(Customization of rings are allowed! Personalise and make your love a unique existence!)

nvy’s aftertalk:

haha nvy ur so funny shosei which means birth place because she’s a doctor who works in a daycare haha funny

#kdc au #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader

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findafight · 1 year

Note

On the one-sided harringrove post- I feel it becomes infinitely funnier with bi steve. He likes men, just not Billy. Never Billy.

Oh yeah. When Billy fiiiirst comes to school with his music blaring Steve is head over heels for Nancy, so he might register that the guy with the Camaro and loud music has a good ass, but then billy opens his mouth and Steve is like "oh, no ass can make up for that personality." And continues with his life.

Just. Okay I like to project just a liiiiittle on Steve with him just. Not realizing his attraction to men isn't a straight thing. Like. Of course all straight people feel that way, you just kinda ignore it or don't do anything about it. So Steve is half way between being comfortable in his sexuality and being closeted to himself because buddy used Hawkeye Pierce as the blueprint of straightness.

So Billy is out here, wallowing in self hatred and internalized homophobia, hating Steve and wanting Steve and hating that he wants Steve and wishing Steve would pay attention to him enough for a hate fuck he can cry about later, and it's all very angsty. All the while Steve is just actually completely fine with thinking a dude is hot he's just got standards that include "not racist" "doesn't try to beat up kids" "hasn't made me blackout from head trauma"

Wait. Oh no. I feel an au coming on. Shit. Au where post S2 Robin hears piano coming from the band room after hours and is her curious self going "I must see who is this mysterious genius" and it's Steve. They get to talking and hanging out and all of a sudden Robin thinks they are actually good friends. Best friends. Somehow.

Cue them going to a band party together. Someone spikes their drinks with waayyyy more than they were expecting so they are blasted. Robin has to go pee but does not want to go alone so she drags Steve into the bathroom with her and makes him face away. He's like haha Woah you really had to pee. And she goes shut upppp and washes her hands but sits across from him. Steve smiles at her and gives her his speech about how amazing she is and how glad he is to be her friend (it is like March '85 so he is still not ready to get back out into dating yet). Robin tells him about Tammy. They sing. Someone slams the door open and kicks them out of the bathroom because there's a fuckin line.

They lay on the grass outside and look at the sky. Steve like. Caaaaasually mentions once having thought he was gonna marry Tommy when he was six and then realizing you just didn't do anything about those feelings and Robin's gotta shoot up going WHAT!! WHAAAT? Because it sounded like Steve coming out to her? Right after?? She came out to him??

And Steve is like yeah. Like you don't really have to? Easier to ignore it and flirt with girls who I like or think are hot. And poor Robin's brain is melting she's like please Steve I'm really drunk are you telling me you sometimes want to kiss boys? And he's like yes, obviously, everyone does. Just like everyone also wants to sometimes kiss girls. Except lesbians I guess who only want to kiss girls? And gay guys only want to kiss guy? Yeah that makes sense and straight people don't care but go for the opposite ya know?

Robin is like NO!! And calms down some and says "okay I'm telling you this because you are my friend and you just told me almost the same thing. Steve. I like girls and only like girls. That not a straight thing"

"yeah. You've said."

"but I am ninety nine percent positive that just because you like girls doesn't mean you're straight because you also like boys."

"what"

"yeah dude, I do not think this is a heterosexual experience you're describing. I'm not an expert but. Yeah.

"oh. Huh."

"yep."

"I definitely thought it was."

"your brain is so weird I'm still kind of obsessed with you."

"haha. Honestly I'm kind of obsessed with you. This is wild."

"well. At least I know you're stuck with me."

"ohhh nooooo whatever will I do with my best friend always around..."

ANYWAYS THE ACTUAL POINT OF THIS is not in fact the stobin. It's actually that

Sometime probably in may, when Steve is ready to be on the dating scene again, he gets with Eddie. Robin is happy for him but also so mad because he went from "probably shouldn't act gay even tho everyone feels a little gay sometimes" to "hey Robin what would you say if I said I got a boyfriend?" In less than two months. How does he have straight AND gay game. That's not fair.

Steddie getting together is a non event. Eddie is still like ewww sports and yet somehow he made out with Steve Harrington and the next day Steve asked if he wanted to get milkshakes and throw rocks into the quarry to see the splashes. Eddie must restrain himself from thinking it's a date because he knows it's not but it'd also be the perfect date (Eddie is a simple man)

At the end of the night steve kissed his cheek and says "I had a really great time..."

Eddie just blurted "hey do you want to be my boyfriend?"

To which Steve perks up like "yes! I'd like that!"

And Eddie didn't actually think he'd get that far so he was like "neat!! See you tomorrow!" before slamming the door in Steve's face.

So they're dating and Eddie disparages sports but Steve is like haha aw you don't like watching me play? Which is sooo mean to Eddie because obviously?? He likes?? Watching his boyfriend??? Run around in tiny shorts and sometimes shirtless?? He has to reevaluate some things he supposes.

All while this is happening Billy is still on his Greatest Homoerotic Rivals shtick with Steve. Eddie notices and is like to dude...what is with Billy? And Steve just sighs. Says Billy is weird and obsessed with him and glares all the time. It's a whole thing. Billy is pissed because what is Steve, his epic rival, doing hanging around some random band geek, his sister's bitchass friends, and maybe the local dealer.

Alright. Grad happens. Yay Steve! Poor Eddie. They go to some party , hang out with people, sell some drugs, etc. Billy is unfortunately also at this party, and is like. Lazer eyes boring into Steve's back. Very annoying. At some point, he sees Steve slip away and is like this is my chance so he follows him.

Howmever he comes across Steve, his epic and totally heterosexual rival, making out with Eddie the freak Munson.

And listen this is a scary thing to be caught inna town like Hawkins, but that's not the point of this post.

So Billy goes "what the hell?"

They turn around. Billy is still spluttering.

"what are you-why would you-- with him?!" He says.

Steve raises his eyebrows, alllll cocky confidence. He smirks a bit. Drawls. "Well, yeah. I like cock, billy. Just not yours."

Because the point of this post is that Steve is a bitch.

Thank you.

#steve Harrington #eddie munson #platonic stobin #steddie #anti harringrove #lol anon you got me rambling.#stranger things #robin buckley #findaanswers #finda writes stuff #anonasaurus #anti billy hargrove #tagging for both i guess hoo boy #didnt think itd turn up in the billy tag because thats the eighth tag so i guess my bad!#it was for organization and tag blocks #billy Hargrove

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da-rulah · 11 months

Note

Okay, I have summon enough courage to ask. I know this trope for Cardinal Copia is over done but I would love, love your take on it. I would like a sister of sin who Copia have had a crush on, come and comfort him after witnessing him getting bullied and embarrassed. But the poor Cardinal is an emotional crying wreck that the sister decide the only way to comfort him is by being sexual with him for the first time🙈

P.s. I love all your work and you are such an amazing writer 🤗 💕

Oh, how I adore this trope. Copia deserves someone to stand up for him, no? Let's give him what he deserves...

And thank you for enjoying my work! 🖤

Cardinal Copia x f!reader

TW/ bullying, cruelty, emotional Copia, comfort, oral sex (male recieving), drooling and spit kink, cum swallowing.

18+ Content, MDNI!!

Brother Emilio was a tosser - you knew that from day one.

But what in Satan's mortal realm gave him the right or the audacity to speak to Cardinal Copia the way he did? To humiliate that poor man so? To make him feel like he was lesser than, when he was clearly in a higher position that Emilio would EVER be?

It angered you to no end.

And so, when you stumbled upon another scene of Brother Emilio absolutely vilifying the poor Cardinal in the mess hall when he'd sat at the opposite end of the only empty table in the entire room, you had enough.

How dare he call him the rat man. How dare he call him ugly, hideous, a curse on womenkind. He'd told him we was unfuckable, unloveable... How dare he make the poor man cower as he and his clan of cronies laughed and giggled.

"Brother Emilio, may I ask... does your father tell you he's proud of you?" you asked from the next table over, never taking your eyes off your plate in front of you. "Scusi?" he asked, the laughter around him dying down. The Cardinal's eyes were on you, wide and shining with unshed tears but he couldn't help but stare when you had piped up.

"Your father..." you look up at him then, leaning on your elbows as you chewed on a carrot stick. "Does he tell you he's proud of you?"

You'd clearly hit a nerve, his face contorting into a sneer. "What the fuck are you on about?"

"Well that's why you bully people, isn't it? For daddy's approval?" you smirked, your tone playful and teasing and just a little bit too sadistic. Emilio stayed silent, as did his croons. "Or is it mummy's approval you're after? What? Stop breastfeeding you finally, did she?"

A chorus of 'ooooh's' rang out from those around you, turning to see what Emilio did next, waiting...

"Why you sticking up for the rat, _____? What, do you wanna fuck him?" he laughed.

The Cardinal's cheeks burned redder than his cassock, and he couldn't take it anymore... The laughter of the entire table was too much, and in front of you no less. One of the few siblings to show kindness to him rather than the indifference or straight up disgust that so many did. Certainly the most beautiful, in his eyes...

He couldn't stick around to hear how you might answer that. He didn't need to hear you say you would never... So he got up, abandoning his barely touched meal and scarpering off to his own little private corner of the ministry and the only place he ever got any peace away from the prying eyes of the rest of the clergy; the abandoned chapel just past Primo's gardens.

You shot up form your seat and sauntered over to Emilio, getting up in his face and pressing a pointed finger to the centre of his chest.

"I don't know why you seem to get off on belittling others, brother mine," you spat, "but I'm willing to bet it's the overcompensation for the baby dick you pump full of viagra to get off at all."

You jabbed him with your finger and pushed him back a step, before heading to where Copia has been sat and gathering some of the food he'd left in a brown paper bag. You had to find him; you couldn't let him wallow in his humiliation any longer.

Copia didn't mind the damp smell of the old chapel, nor did he mind how cold and dark it was in here. It felt somewhat fitting, like this was where he deserved to be, or at least, the only place he could truly be alone without feeling inadequate.

He felt pathetic; his tears has made the black around his eyes run in streaks down his pale and ageing face, and he sniffled where he sat in the old pews with no one to hear him but the decaying statue of Baphomet behind the weathered pulpit.

When he heard the creak of the old door behind him, he didn't bother to turn to look, just let his shoulders sag in defeat, waiting for the jeers of whichever siblings had followed him out here.

But they never came.

Instead, he heard shoes clacking on the stone floor, gingerly walking towards him. He saw, from the corner of his eye, a body sit down next to him, saying nothing at all. Instead, the person held out a brown paper bag to him, that he stared at in confusion, following the length of the arm to discover it was you...

Somehow, in the dim light of the abandoned chapel you still looked ethereal. The stained glass windows were cracked and some boarded up but they allowed just enough light to cast pale reds and blues onto your face. His chest tightened, remembering what Brother Emilio had said. He looked away from you in shame.

"Cardinal, please... you need to eat," you shook the bag at him, seeming to wake him from a bit of a trance. he took it from you with a quiet 'grazie...'

"It's easier said than done, I know..." you began, "but you must try to ignore men like Emilio. Perhaps even stand up to him. He picks on your because he gets a reaction, not because anything he says is remotely true."

"No, he is right, Sorella... I'm a snivelling, pathetic old rat man," he sniffled, clutching the bag of food you'd brought him. He didn't miss how sweet that was, that you'd followed him to make sure he ate. But he didn't dwell on it, lest he begin to fantasise of your unwavering kindness being more than simply that.

"Cardinal, listen to me..." you turned and angled your body towards him, planting your hand on his knee. His skin burned beneath his cassock. "That simply isn't true. You are a kind, sensitive man. That's all. Nothing wrong with that."

Copia sighed, more tears falling from his eyes, resting his back against the pew. He clearly didn't believe you. You couldn't let him think of himself so poorly anymore... Not when you thought the absolute world of him.

"You really believe no one finds you attractive, Cardinal? That you're not worthy of affection?" you ask. His eyes squeeze tightly shut as more tears fall silently. That was his 'yes'. Your hand on his knee squeezed once to comfort him, but it made him tense even more. How touch starved, he was.

"Emilio asked me if I wanted to fuck you," you scoffed, shaking your head, "you were gone before I could answer."

"Sorella, please, I don't need your pit-"

"I would."

Copia's head snapped in your direction, eyes wide and brow creased in confusion.

"Y-you... you wouldn't..." he denied, shaking his head as he scanned your face. You just smirked at him, your hands drifting higher up his thigh over his cassock.

"Oh, I would. I've thought about it a few times..." you argued. "I've always liked you, Cardinal... I like that you're shy, a little awkward... You're sensitive, and passionate about what you love... You're handsome and endearing... I'd definitely fuck you." You squeezed his upper thigh, watching in amusement as his back straightened and jaw hung open.

You leaned into him then, whispering into his ear... "Let me show you how much I like you, Cardinal..."

Copia stayed frozen as he watched you slink off the pew beside him and to your knees on the floor in front of him. You parted his legs and slotted yourself between them, hands coming to unbutton his cassock from the bottom up to where the belt was wrapped around his little waist. It gave you enough room to work with, and enough exposure to get to the fly of his tight red pants.

"S-sorella, you don't have to-" He thought you pitied him. He thought you were just being kind. He had no idea just how long you'd wanted to do this.

"Do you want me to stop?" you asked, giving him the option as your fingertips ghosted over his growing bulge that was so clearly not hidden in his pants.

"Uuhh... n-no... Don't stop," you panted, squeezing his eyes shut and hiccuping on the last of his sobs when he squeezed his eyes shut.

With confirmation, you almost tore into his pants, undoing the fastenings nimbly and reaching inside to claim your prize.

"Copia... look at me," you told him, your voice soft and sweet yet holding so much authority as your hand wrapped around him. he gasped, eyes darting open. You smiled at him, made him watch you pump his length a few times. This was happening, and you needed him to see you.

"You're more than worthy of this, you know that? I've wanted this for a long time..." you told him. Copia bit into his bottom lip, hypnotised by your hand on his cock. "Have you... ever thought about me?"

So many times. But he wasn't ready to admit that. He didn't want to frighten you off now.

"I-I have..." Fucking damnit, he thought, I said don't tell her that, idiota! he cursed himself, but you smiled at him instead, sitting up higher on your knees to grab him by the cassock and pull him to you, pressing your lips to his.

Copia melted into it immediately, dropping the bag of food he still had tightly in his hand to the bench beside him and allowing himself to finally touch you, to push your veil off and curl his fingers into your hair the way he'd dreamt of when his imagination let him kiss you.

Your hand never stopped pumping his length, and he couldn't help but gasp a moan against you when you ran your thumb over his tip over and over.

"Let me taste you, Copia... please," you asked. How could he deny you?

He let go of your hair and sat back against the pew once again, eyes hooded but watching intently as you sank back to sit on your heels, and lowered yourself to take his tip into your mouth.

Copia gasped at the feeling; how wet, how warm you were... You felt better than he could have imagined.

You hummed around his length in satisfaction as you took more of him in, flattening your tongue and relaxing your throat to accommodate his size. It took everything in him to stave off his orgasm there and then.

He was so completely enamoured in you, his limbs laying limp where he sat as he watched you take him over and over, humming to yourself in satisfaction when you'd feel his cock jump and twitch in your mouth.

Copia could barely think straight, his jaw going slack and groans and whimpers leaving his throat completely unbridled. He squeezed his eyes shut, hissing as you sucked particularly harshly at his head.

You kept pumping your fist in time with your head bobbing, making sure every inch of him was covered in some way. You found yourself becoming sloppy, drool coating him. You were almost embarrassed, except when you looked up at him through your lashes you saw that whilst he was laying slack against the bench, he too was drooling from the corner of his lips.

With your free hand you swiped your finger over his chin, collecting the spit right up to the corner of his mouth which caught his attention. He watched as you popped your lips off him and instead, put your finger into your mouth, sucking his fucking drool from it.

Sathanas, he was never letting you go.

When you returned your mouth to his length it wasn't long before you could see him writhing, dangling on the edge of his orgasm but trying desperately to last longer; he didn't want this to end so soon. But you didn't care, you wanted it.

With a few tighter tugs to his cock and a very calculated few swipes of your tongue, Copia came undone.

Thick ropes of cum splattered to your tongue as you pumped him through it, milking every last drop you could get. He growled above you; a sound that sent ripples of arousal coursing through you. He sounded stronger, more powerful than you'd ever heard him in that moment. You wanted to hear it again and again...

You swallowed his load and sat up again, holding onto his cassock and pulling him to sit upright and look in your eyes.

"Now, Cardinal..." you demanded his attention. He willingly gave it... "Take me to your bed. Let me show you what effect you have on me, hm?"

"S-sí... You deserve better than this old place," he mumbled, shoving his softening length back into his tight trousers and standing on shaky legs as he pulled you up by your hands. He pulled you into a desperate kiss, his hands grabbing at your hips as he hauled your body against his. You whimpered into his lips, already feeling the way the power dynamic slipped from your grasp, to his...

He looped his fingers into yours and gripped your hand, pulling you from between the pews - all whilst snatching up that sweet little brown bag you'd brought him in his free hand - and marching you out of the decrepit chapel, back into the Ministry.

That evening, he showed you that he was most certainly not the pathetic little rat man everyone thought he was.

Something you had known already, for a long, long time.

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 1 year

Note

Hi!!!!

I was wondering for Trope Tuesday if you could write a brothers best friend with James Potter (If possible could she be best friend with Lily and the girls but don’t worry if not)

Love you and your writing xxx

thanks so so much!! for requesting and for being so sweet 🥲 i hope you like it!!

for my 250 Followers Writing Event!

Tropey Tuesday 🎭 trope: brother's best friend

pairing: James Potter x reader

tags: angst, fluff, Lupin!reader, fem!reader, sibling fluff

word count: 3k (not me with the first thing I write after saying I might keep things a bit shorter)

“Hey, little Lupin,” Sirius says, grinning, as he plops down beside you on the common room couch. “You know we’re twins, right?” you respond, not even looking up from your book. “Yeah… but you’re shorter.” He seems overly satisfied with his justification, and you can’t help but giggle at his antics.

“So. What are you reading?” he asks.

This confuses you; you didn’t think Sirius was much of a reader. You look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed suspiciously, “You care?” “No, not really.” You roll your eyes at him though you’re not actually upset. “So why are you here, then, Black?”

“I come at the behest of my darling best mate.” “And what does my darling brother want now?”

“No, not Moony, Prongs.” Your stomach tenses at this. This just went from slightly irksome to anxiety-inducing interesting.

“Well, ‘behest’ isn’t the right word exactly. He doesn’t know about this. But I know him, and he’s never going to make a move himself, so I see it as my best-mate-duty to give a helping hand.” Your mind is racing. “Make a move”?? Is there really a possibility of your crush liking you back? Is that what Sirius is telling you? That James likes you too??

You’re probably blushing and definitely confused, so you sit there awkwardly, hoping he’ll go on without your having to say anything yet. To your relief, he does. “I have it on insider information that our dear James Potter has himself a crush.” Godric, you never thought this would actually happen. After years of pining, of getting to know him… of thinking he only saw you as Remus’s sister.

“You’re best friends with Lily, right?” Relief turns to terror. Oh no, oh no, oh no, please no.

“Um… yeah?” “You don’t sound too sure, sweets,” he laughs. “Yeah, I am.” You know, but pretend - especially to yourself - that you don’t, “Why does that matter?”

“I want to get her and Prongs together of course! He’s been off lately, and he won’t tell me why. He always tells me everything. So, I reckon it has to be about a girl. And I’ve caught him looking over at you lot constantly recently. I saw him and Evans chatting yesterday, and there was definitely something there.”

You’re on the verge of tears at this point.

“You alright, Y/N? You look like you’re going to be sick.” Sirius sounds genuinely concerned, and you don’t know how to escape with a convincing excuse given there’s no way in hell you’re going to tell him the truth, especially now he’s said what he has.

“Um, no, not really. Sorry, I, uh, I think something I ate wasn’t quite right,” you stutter lamely, clumsily collecting your things, and running up the stairs to your dorm. After the night’s cruelty, it provides you a bit of sympathy: the room is empty. You curl up on your bed, clutching your pillow, and let the tears fall.

Why did it have to be Lily?? I mean, why did it have to be anyone at all if it couldn’t be you, but your best friend? You know how brilliant she is, how could you not, and you know how brilliant he is, and well, maybe they would be a good fit. If they make each other happy, that should make you happy; you want the best for Lily, truly.

No amount of trying to convince yourself makes the thought of them together sting any less, though, and you succumb to wallowing in your disappointment and sadness.

You’re still crying when you here a knock at the door.

“Y/N?? You in there? Open up, please. Sirius said you were ill?” If it were anyone else, you’d pretend not be there. But it’s Remus. You’ve never hidden from each other your whole lives; besides, you need him now even if you can’t tell him why. You wipe your face as best you can as you go to the door and open it. His eyes look frantically worried, and your heart melts a little bit. You might not have the romantic love you want so desperately, but at least you have this. Not many people know what it’s like to be as loved as you are. You try to cling to that feeling as you cling to Remus, crying into his jumper, but at the moment, it’s not enough consolation to assuage your aching heart.

“What’s wrong, Y/N/N? Did something happen? You’re really worrying me,” he says stroking your back. You shake your head. “Hey, can you talk to me? Please?”

You recover yourself a bit and go sit on your bed. Remus follows.

“It’s nothing,” you say pathetically, wiping your eyes. “Uh huh,” he replies, unconvinced. “Really, Rem. Thanks, but it’s not a big deal. I’ll sort it, really.”

“Can’t you just tell me what it is?” “I’d rather not.” “That’s new.” He sounds genuinely surprised. “I don’t like it,” he chuckles. “We couldn’t tell each other everything forever, could we?” you smile sadly at him.

“And why not?” You laugh together, and you feel a tiny bit better.

The thing is, you want to tell him. And you would if it weren’t his bloody best friend. You know that no matter what he said, it would make things weird for him. You keep your secret more for him than for yourself really.

“If I tell you part of it, do you promise to let me leave it at that?”

“That’s going to be hard.” “Reeemm,” you whine at him. “Alright, alright.” “Well, it’s… it’s about a boy.” He grimaces, and you can’t help but giggle at it. Immediately, “Who?”

“That’s the part you don’t get to know.” “Oh, come on, Y/N, that’s just not fair.” “Please, Remus. It’s just going to make things harder, and weirder, and I want a chance to just move on on my own. Trust me, yeah?” “Fine,” he answers begrudgingly. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re so upset. If the lads and I have to plan a cruel prank on some undeserving wanker, then I have to know who it is.”

You’re particularly amused at the idea of James being both pranker and prankee.

“It’s nothing like that. He’s nice. That’s why I like him so much.” “Yuck.” You roll your eyes at this, and continue.

“I just found out he likes someone else.”

Remus’s expression is all understanding, perhaps too much so as the pitying look he gives you makes you feel worse instead of better. “It’s fine, really. That’s life; it happens; what can you do?” “Are we listing trite maxims then?” You roll your eyes again. “Just because 'that’s life' and 'it happens' and 'there’s not much you can do,'” he says with a mocky voice around your phrases, “doesn’t mean you won’t be upset. Or that that isn’t absolute shit.” He smiles sympathetically at you and wraps an arm around you.

“Yeah,” you sniffle.

“Yeah,” he echoes. “Thanks, Rem. I kind of love you, you know?” You bump into him playfully. “I know. I’m great.”

“Har har. Wanker.”

“Hey!” he laughs. “It’s impressive, really, how quickly you can shift from adorable to an arsehole.”

“Oh, whatever,” you push him off.

He’s still chuckling when he asks you to come down to dinner with him. You take some convincing, but eventually, after your face looks a bit less cry-y, you walk down to the Great Hall.

“Hello, lovely!” Lily calls from a few seats ahead. Remus gives you a little hug, squeezing a bit more than he normally would, and sits with his mates, between Sirius and James - annoying, gorgeous, stupid, magnetic James. You’re glad their backs are to you so they don’t notice you’ve been crying, and you hurry down to sit with Lily.

She notices immediately.

“What’s wrong, love? You alright?” She puts a consoling hand on your shoulder. “I’m fine, really. Just got a bit caught up in my feelings,” you say trying to end it there, laughing it off.

“What feelings? You do know that as my best friend, you are contractually obligated to tell me all of these ‘feelings’?” She says “feelings” funny, and you’re glad to be sitting here laughing with her. Until you remember the cause of said feelings.

“We can talk later,” you lie. You’ll figure out what to say later; you’re too exhausted now. “I just want to comfort eat now, if you don’t mind.” She still seems a bit worried but gives your shoulder a loving squeeze as she says, “‘Course,” and smiles sweetly.

You’re finishing your dinner when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Your stomach sinks as you turn. There’s Remus… and Sirius… and the source of the tapping: James.

“Hey, Lupin,” James says. “Evans,” he adds, nodding at Lily, and your stomach churns.

“Hi,” she says. You don’t say anything. You’re too busy picking at your fingernails, gaze down, trying to keep it together. You go to turn back around toward the table, but James’s hand on your shoulder stops you. “Hey, what’s up with you?” he asks jokingly, though it seems more than tinged in concern.

“Nothing,” and a weak smile. “Are you feeling better?”

You feel your cheeks catch on fire. Remus wouldn’t tell his friends what you told him, right? You hadn’t told him not to, but you thought that was a given. “Yeah, little Lupin, you had me real worried there,” Sirius chimes in. Oh, right. Thank Godric. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for the scare.” You think that’s that, and go to turn again, but again, James gently stops you.

“That’s good,” he says softly. You have to fight to not roll your eyes - why does he have to be so kind? and thoughtful… and caring… and pretty when he’s worried…

“Are you girls done? Want to walk back up together?” he asks.

“Sure!” Lily answers enthusiastically before you have a chance to lie and say you aren’t finished. For a moment, it crosses your mind that maybe she does because she likes him too, and your misery returns in full force.

You say nothing on the walk back up to the tower, and you want to go straight to your room when you get there, but Lily links arms with you and drags you to the sofa before you manage it. She’s sitting on the edge, leaning over chatting to Mary and Marlene on the next sofa, you in the middle, sulking. Remus is reading on the single chair, occasionally glancing up at you, the constant, loving worrier he is. Sirius and James are playing exploding snap just in front of you. You notice Remus’s glances, but you don’t notice James’s.

As the game ends, Sirius claiming loudly he got cheated, James just laughs, shoves him, and comes to sit next to you.

“What do you think, Lupin? Best exploding snap player you’ve ever seen, eh?” he jokes, his eyebrow rising. Ugh, he’s funny, too.

“You could go pro if you wanted,” you play along, exaggeratedly impressed.

“Oh, I’ve considered it, yeah. You know, if quidditch doesn’t work out.” “You have a better chance at exploding snap,” you tease. “Ouch!” he laughs. “You say nothing all night, and when you do, I get this cruel treatment?”

You’re surprised he noticed and don’t know what to say. “Seriously, though,” he’s speaking much more softly now. “You okay?” He pauses, biting his bottom lip as if considering something, before continuing, “You seem sad. I know you told Sirius you were sick, but I don’t think that’s true.”

You panic at the tenderness, at his observant attentiveness, and opt for comedic relief. “You calling me a liar, Potter?”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes at you, but keeps on. “No, of course not. I’m just saying that, well, you can talk to me. If you ever need to… or just want to, I guess… I mean, just because I’m your brother’s best mate doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right?”

Friends. Ouch. You want to cry all over again, the proximity and kindness conflicting too much with the idea that he just wants to be friends, or worse, be friendlier with you just to spend more time with Lily too.

“We are friends,” you reply. “Yeah? Great,” he smiles. Your heart aches.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“So you’re okay?” he whispers too. “I’m okay,” you lie.

“C’mon, Prongs! I need my rematch!” Sirius pulls him off the couch, demanding another game.

The next few days go by gloomily but normally, and before you know it, it’s the weekend. And not just any weekend, a Hogsmeade one. You, your brother, and all your friends are strolling down the lovely, snow-covered lanes. Usually, you’d be especially happy now. You loved Hogsmeade, especially in the cold snowy months, but you still hadn’t been completely yourself since your emotional let down.

You’re walking next to Remus, James animatedly talking to him on his other side. You feel invisible. Despite James’s kind words the other night, you can’t help but feel like your brother might as well be an invisibility cloak when you stand next to him. It’s like James just sees Remus; his sister is an afterthought.

You love Hogsmeade trips with your friends, but in your current emotional state, you’d rather be alone, so you subtly break off from the group and go into the nearest shop. It’s filled with magical toys and trinkets, and looking around helps cheer you up a bit. You’re browsing when you see a quidditch-themed exploding snap deck. You roll your eyes at the sky, giving the universe snark for not giving you a moment of peace of mind. Then you grab the deck and head over to the counter.

You’re walking slowly down the street, peering through shop windows, enjoying the cool breeze, when you hear your name called out. You turn to see James jogging toward you. “Where’d you go?” he asks friendly, falling into step with you, his shoulder bumping yours.

“Oh, just wandered off.” “Yeah, I noticed,” he laughs. “I didn’t realize my story was so boring.”

“Oh, I, no, it wasn’t, I was just, you know,” you mutter, mortified. “I’m kidding, Lupin, relax,” he smiles.

You smile back though you’re sure you’re blushing. You can blame the cold.

“That freaks me out a bit,” he says. “What does?” “You and Remus have the exact same smile.” You’ve heard this before. “So it freaks me out that I think yours is so beautiful.” You’ve not heard this before.

You laugh lamely and offer up a weak but heartfelt “thanks.” He just nods.

Your hands are cold, so you bury them in your pockets, and you’re met with your recent purchase. “Oh,” you start. “I have something for you.”

“You do?” he sounds unreasonably surprised. “Yeah, just a little thing. Don’t get too excited,” you deflate. You pull the deck out and hand it to him. “This way you still get to think about quidditch while practicing for a more promising career path,” you joke. He doesn’t laugh, though. He looks awed. You don’t know what else to say and are starting to worry you did something awkward.

He’s looking at the deck in his hand rather than at you when he says, “I really like you.”

You pause. You try to read his expression but struggle with his gaze down like this. “I really like you too,” you respond lightly. He looks up. Standing still, looking at you, he asks, “As your brother’s best friend? Like another brother?” he looks hurt at the word “brother.”

“No.” Honest, without revealing too much. “No?” He steps closer to you. “So if I were to tell you that I really want to kiss you right now…” His empty hand comes up to your cheek, caressing you softly. You smile brighter than you have in several days, much longer probably. He beams back at you in response and closes the gap between you.

You pull back, and his eyes widen, but when you complain, “You lot already went to the Three Broomsticks? Don’t deny it - you taste like butter beer! We always do that last - I can’t believe you didn’t wait for me!” he laughs a deep laugh, wraps his arm around you, and pulls you close, kissing you harder this time.

“I’ll buy you two to make up for it,” he says between kisses. He deepens the kiss, gently pushing his tongue against yours. You like the taste of butter beer; you love the taste of James Potter.

“Bloody hell!” you hear from nearby. Sirius looks like his face can’t make up its mind between surprise, excitement, and confusion. “It was Lupin?! I thought it was Evans!” “You thought what was Evans?” James asks, looking perplexed, his arms still around you. “I thought you fancied Evans!”

“Why?” The complete confusion and utter sincerity lift a huge weight from you, and you giggle.

“Dunno, actually. Because I’m a bit of an idiot sometimes, it seems,” Sirius shrugs, seemingly already moving on from the situation. Which is more than could be said of Remus, who is standing stiff with his face blank staring at you.

“It was James?” he asks, looking slightly disgusted.

“You didn’t think it was Evans, too, did you?” You joke.

Lily chimes in from beside Remus, “We would make a really good couple, Y/N.”

“Oi, Evans!” James scolds. “I’m not going to say you wouldn’t because you obviously would, but I’m trying my chances here, thank you very much.” Everyone but Remus bursts into laughter.

“You might want to look away, Rem,” you say. “I don’t want to upset you, but I’m about to kiss your best friend again.”

Remus groans and walks away, but you’re already too busy to notice.

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