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mrsparrasblog · 4 months

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You're losing me pt. 5

prev. part. first part.

TW: Gun, violence, mentioned rape, gaslighting, medic is shit

It was your last day on sick leave, so you spent it grading papers, cuddling with Winston, and getting distracted by Kyle's messages and his slutty pictures. You were so thankful for Kyle; he never pressed you for what happened with Johnny, just distracted you.

After you send a picture of Winston you heard the bell ringing and rolled your eyes. You knew Kyle never listened when you said not to come over, even though you really needed that time alone right now. Johnny is an artist, even though he didn't admit it, and so was being in a relationship with him. It was like being in a colorful picture, so vibrant. But since you left him, it felt like someone drained out the color; the painting is black and white, no longer golden.

You went to the door, opened it, and to your surprise, it wasn’t Kyle behind the door. She was there, her eyes puffy and red.

"What do you want?" If she was there to humiliate you, you’re going to throw up. You shortly texted Ky that she was there.

"I wanted to talk to you, I need your help," she sobbed.

Simon always called you one of the nicest people on earth, but right now, it was enough of being nice. "Well, you can ask Johnny for help." You tried to shut your door, but her foot was already between the frame.

"He is the problem."

"What, did he leave you?" you snorted out.

"He threatened to kill me because of the baby." You clearly misheard her. This can't be true, as if you can do anything against Johnny, and as if Johnny would do something against his own teammate.

"Baby?"

"Yes, I'm pregnant, three months." She rubs her nonexistent belly in front of you. Three months? Johnny cheated on you for three months? And a baby? No, this can't be true. Johnny loves babies; he’d never kill a pregnant woman, none of them.

"And he is threatening you?" You asked while slowly trying to pull out your phone again. You knew Si would be here in 4 minutes if you called him.

"Yes, he wants to tell everyone that I raped him, just so I get an abortion." With that, you burst out laughing. This was the worst joke you ever heard. When she wanted you to pull you away from him for real.

"Do you really think I'm that stupid to believe this shit now leave my apartment before I call the police." You already pulled out your phone to dial the number of the police, who are you kidding, dial the number of Simon. Simon and John always explained if something happens to you, call them instead of the police, they solve your problem faster, and that was a gigantic slag-formed problem.

"Bad mistake," she points out a gun to you, calculating. You trained for this situation endless times in school, but it was still different when someone held a gun against you. Would it work to tell her that there are people that love her? Or maybe you should argue with logic.

"When you kill me, they won't forgive you, it's not worth it," you said trying to sound as calm as possible.

"They won't find out," she laughed. God, that woman was batshit crazy.

"Here are cameras," they weren’t recording, but maybe she was stupid enough to believe you.

"They will understand," she said. Maybe she was stupid enough but also crazy enough to not care. There is only the last logical thing you could say to her.

"Then kill me."

"What?" She was surprised at your bluntness, but you knew she couldn’t really kill you, and if Kyle looked at his phone, he would have already been on his way, so you need to get through this for 10 minutes, 10 minutes, and you are safe.

"If you kill me, Johnny will find you, Kyle will break you, Simon will torture you, and John will finish your miserable life, my death isn’t worth this." You slowly walked backward towards the counter, there must be a gun. John put it in there when you first got together. You didn't quite know how to use it, but better than nothing.

"You're right," finally.

"So why don’t we put the gun down and just, you know, talk about it like adults," you suggested, still moving tiny steps backward.

"Stop moving, or I'll kill you," the same words over and over again. She sounded like a broken record recorder. You stopped moving, but this wasn’t enough for her.

"Maybe I should kill your rat, so you listen." Rat? Her gun pointed toward Winston. Fuck, she should better kill you than your baby. You lost complete hope in turning her; she is crazy.

"He is Kyle's dog, not mine. If you kill him, he will be sad." The shake in your voice was evident; tears started to storm out of your eyes; you didn't know what to do anymore.

"Three of four are enough, anyways." Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I can call them; I'll break up with them, just let Winston be safe, okay?"

"Really, you give up your boyfriends for that rat?" She gestured disgusted at your precious baby.

"Yes."

"Okay, call them," you walked to the counter, dialing Simon's number, close enough to the gun. You really hoped they don’t show a sign that they know; they are SAS; they need to understand, right?

"Hello," good, Simon's voice.

"Are the others with you?" You asked, trying not to tremble; she couldn’t find out what you planned.

"Yes, I put them on speaker, luv."

"I'm breaking up with you, with all of you for final this time. John, you're always putting me in danger, Johnny, you're always with her instead of my home, always on deployment with Simon, and you’re carrying all these scary guns with you that make me afraid, and I hate your stupid dog, Kyle." She looked proud and relieved at you, too stupid to realize. But they were smart, right?

"Okay, just give me back my keys to the office, they’re in the cupboard in the kitchen. I don’t want to see you anytime soon, I will pick it up at three tomorrow, bye." She gained heavily, and all you could feel was relief; you looked at the clock; it was 2:57, three minutes, and the gun. God, you loved your smart boys.

"Will you let me go now?" you asked, and she shook her head.

"Just need to make sure that you never go to my boys again, you can understand, right?"

"I'll move abroad if you want, the US, Germany, Italy, call it and I'll be gone." Before she could reply, she heard a loud bang outside, and that was your chance to grab the gun as she turned around, loaded fucking genius John, but not in safety, idiot. And then you shot, closing your eyes. You never did this before; the closest you came was a water gun at the beach; you didn't hit anything major, only her shoulder, but it was enough for her to lose her stance and fall. Seconds after, the boys went in Simon pulled her to the ground like a bulldozer with John. While Kyle and Johnny ran to you.

"Are you okay?" Both men asked, checking you for any injury.

"I don't feel okay."

"We know, love." You wrapped your arms around Johnny and began to sob. You needed him; you missed him and you were so scared. You knew for a fact he didn't cheat on you after that stunt that woman pulled today.

"We'll take care of her; we will be back soon, luv," Simon said with a devious grin while putting his boot on her to press down on her bullet wound.

John and Ghost left with her, and you knew for a fact your shot would be the nicest thing she witnessed in the next few days.

"I shot someone."

"Proud of you, hen."

"Never shoot again, please, babe; you're terrible at it," Kyle joked, but you still felt shitty. He knelt down, hugging Winston tight. "Oh, you've been such a brave and good boy protecting your mama. Let me take you to the park, pup," he said while Winston barked happily. "You two need to talk this out."

"Only we two now, Johnny."

"Aye, only we two."

"Where do we start?"

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Taglist: @cod-z , @kaoyamamegami, @postmortem-angel, @jackrabbitem , @sseleniaa , @thigh-o-saur , @littlechomper @ab12305 @darkangel4121 @thychuvaluswife

A/N : so I added the picture of Eliot to make up for the Angst I write 😭

For any who has a light belly (do you say that in english or only in German lol?) the next chapter will be half torture of her and the other half Johnny and Reader <3

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inkskinned · 1 year

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they don't see it, because it is around them like air. to them, it would have to be through movies, through magazines. they think it happens outside of life, like it must be selected to be interacted with.

but you discovered in the fifth grade that you couldn't wear shirts with words on them, it was an excuse for someone to look at your chest. you were catcalled before you were in middle school. sometimes you look at that memory and deny it - surely that can't be right, you were young. but you were in a skirt, so maybe that was a natural byproduct. it was a skirt from that place "justice by limited too" - a store literally for kids. it was popular around then. you wore that skirt twice and then never again.

you can't wear headphones, because what if a man wants to talk to you? there's a guy on the internet who complains that women shut themselves off from being approached. at night, you often keep the headphones positioned but with the sound off, just in case you need to hear something behind you.

you learned at 12 that you can't make eye contact, don't acknowledge the aggression. just walk faster and hope he picks on somebody else. don't wear your hair like that. do not park next to that kind of car, park an entire cityblock away if you must.

you can't go to the museum, you're sitting and tying your shoe when he approaches you and mentions that nobody understands art anymore. that in the whole world, it's just you-two. you have no recourse for eating a meal (it's rabbit food if it's salad, and someone will roll their eyes, eat a sandwich. it's pick-me behavior if it's a burger, we get it you're a cool girl). if you like mushrooms you are cottagecore, which is cheesy. if you like video games you're an egirl (similar to a pick-me). boys do not get categories, but if you point out the categories are sexist, you are told okay but these girls really exist.

it is somehow developing, a little undercurrent that you've been uncomfortable with. the nickname "karen" went from being "a white woman that uses her whiteness as a weapon, particularly against people of color," to now mean "any woman raising her voice or being even a little upset." the reappropriation of a term used specifically to call out white women for their racism has set your skin on edge. now it is just another version of "bitch," one that can be said on television. recently you saw a woman get called a karen because a drunk driver sideswiped her, and she screamed when it happened. the comments on the dashcam video all say "why do women always scream about everything." "when has the world ever been bettered by women screaming." "this fucking karen. she deserved to get hit."

in the sitcom, it's a joke that the wife is furious; slamming her hands down into the sink. i do everything around here, might as well do this too. in your house, your father is always in-his-office. before you know better, your first boyfriend is the type to say it's just easier for you. you used to beg him to take you on dates. he used to make a big deal about it, about the sacrifice of effort, even if you were the one who did most of the planning.

someone on the internet makes a "POV: the most boring person you've ever met" where he puts a towel on his head and just talks like a normal person. his impression of a boring woman is just a woman that is talking about her pretty-average life without exaggeration.

you are sometimes actually sad in the reverse, because actually you did used to struggle to pay attention in conversations. you were also easily bored of normal things, your adhd pinging off of every radio tower in the vacinity. it took time and therapy and patience, and now you delight in the small things about your friends. you like having them show you their organizational systems and talk about their taylor swift tickets. you are entertained by them because you learned to be, even though your brain is structured to only be excited by novelty. you kind of hate the idea that the reason your father will never actually pay attention to you is that you're no longer interesting. eventually the shine wore off, and you were just a person, not a spaceship. he never learned how to just, like, form an actual intimate friendship. it was always at a distance, this sense - emotional closeness was too much. (and yes. he's homophobic).

you're already tired of whatever the fuck is happening with the words "divine feminine", a rancid take that is basically just a rebranding of the patriarchy in action. what the fuck do they mean "being small and delicate and needing protection" is feminine. the words they are looking for are that they want a partner, not that their desire for equivalent support is relegated to gender. the human desire for community is not actually gendered at all. also, what fucking wolves are these "divine masculine" men even battling. fuckken taxes? shouldn't their "desire to protect" also mean "protect you from emotional neglect", or are all emotions off-limits (and how sad would that be. that's a horrible bar to set.)

and they tell you it's really not bad actually, because it's just there. they suggest you get off the internet or you stop reading that book or you stop thinking so hard about the movie or you stop just-being-a-feminist because honestly it's a killjoy sort of thing and then you tilt your head to the side and there's that little siren in the back of your head. if things were actually fine, being a feminist wouldn't put a stop to anything, it would go completely unnoticed, because you wouldn't have any comment to make about any of this

but you are ruining your own life, they tell you. also, girls don't sit like that. also, all girls are catty. also, all girls are bad drivers. also, all girls just need a cute bracelet and an iced coffee.

you do like iced coffee, is the thing. when you close your eyes, the world around you has this strange note to it. and once you hear it, it never stops ringing.

#writeblr #this is far too long #sjw bullshit #idk i MEANT to write about somethng else completely and if i have time i will #about like . how if ur gay this is even more obvious #bc they like. hi ur 3 now where is ur boyfriend #and ur like. :) good news mother i have activated the lasers in my plush dog and he is dancing in the guts of my barbie

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morownic · 2 months

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of fever dreams and jamais vu

And, of course, like all fever dreams, he had to wake himself up from it. (But this one? This one was real.)

warnings/tags: NSFW MDNI (non-graphic smut), non-ultraman AU, afab + fem pronouns

next — series masterlist · my other works · ao3

a/n: there were a lot of songs that i listened to while writing this (animals) and i do have a playlist of them but i would recommend color tv to listen while reading the flashback part bcs i did write this part with that song on repeat lol. enjoy!

All the world and his wife was scrutinizing Ken Sato the moment he stepped out of the airport and took his first deep breath in his homeland after twenty years. Of course, he welcomed and basked in the attention even if it suffocated him—quite literally, he must add, what with how the reporters and photographers were almost wrestling each other to get a scoop on him. What came after that only gave him a headache after a headache. He had to settle in his new residence, a mansion he bought just 15 minutes away from where his father lived, one that felt way too big for just one person and his supercomputer assistant. He finalized his contract with the Yomiuri Giants, followed by a meeting with all the staff members and a less-than-formal outing with his new teammates to some club in Shibuya he didn’t bother to remember the name of, where he was just constantly reminded that he was alone. The day after that, he had to deal with a hangover, a press conference, and an interview that ticked him off—Ami Wakita, was it?—before ending the night with a bar fight that left his shoulder aching.

Ken was sure he wouldn’t even have considered moving back to Japan nor would he have let his father somehow slip back into his life if it wasn’t for his mother.

With his injury, your father needs you, kiddo.

And so, Ken Sato began his baseball career in Japan with the Yomiuri Giants. He brought the team to their first victory of the season despite a lot of things: how the media was still on his ass about why he would leave his career with the Los Angeles Dodgers behind, how Coach Shimura seemed to have a chip on his shoulder when it came to him, how the pain in his own shoulder would stab and dull with every movement he made. The way his shoulder ached left him wondering if he should have treated it more seriously rather than seeing it as an inconvenience, perhaps put his pride aside to admit that yes, that drunken brawl was fucking stupid, and my shoulder fucking hurts. That was why he didn’t think much of it when Coach Shimura was talking about bringing in some new guy—something about a new performance analyst or whatever—as a matter of fact, he couldn’t care less.

So, imagine his surprise when he showed up to practice and saw a face he hadn’t seen since graduating college in the States. A face that made his breath hitch because one, she was just that beautiful, and two, he had no idea why she would be here. A face that was so familiar he almost threw up from shock, anger, guilt, longing. A face that contorted into contempt at the mere sight of him.

Ken Sato was sure of one thing at that moment.

He was completely, utterly, thoroughly fucked.

Ken Sato wasn’t always the famed world-class baseball star he turned out to be, and she wasn’t always the blunt and tight-lipped new analyst for the Yomiuri Giants she turned out to be.

He was a doe-eyed, lanky Japanese kid who had above average grades in his classes and showed promising results as a slugger for the baseball team. He spent most of his freshman year being stereotyped and made fun of for how he looked and talked, and it only changed because he had his growth spurt in sophomore year. Not only did he become a cleanup hitter by the end of the year, girls were suddenly giving him bedroom eyes in the hallway and guys tried to make up for their borderline bullying by letting him into their cliques. His friendships with them were shallow, really, because they would still poke fun at this old accent even after he had nearly perfected his American accent. Ken took it in stride only because he knew everyone would never make fun of him in baseball, not when he had practically put his school on the map by winning tens of titles and playing in the Senior League. And so, by the end of high school, Ken had baseball to thank for almost everything in his teenagehood.

She, on the other hand, came to high school smart and pretty. Where Ken stood out like a sore thumb, she stood out like a broken finger. Someone being academically gifted and socially relevant was practically unheard of at that time. She was among the top 10 students in freshman year, earned her spot as the leadoff hitter for the softball team in sophomore year, won a national debate championship in junior year, and passed 4 AP classes with flying colors in senior year. She, too, had put the school on the map, perhaps even more contributively than Ken did, so the teachers only kept their grievances for when she skipped class to smoke. Even so, everyone seemed to like her regardless of their cliques; she was always greeted in the hallways, was almost always invited to every party, and had gone out with all the popular students. She could have had it all, and whatever her secrets were, Ken and the other students in their school only knew her as the high school sweetheart, the kind you would see printed next to the definition of high school sweetheart itself.

Ken had seen her in passing during freshman year, but he never really talked to her until they shared three classes together in sophomore year. He remembered that she had approached him first during PE, suddenly speaking to him in fluent Japanese that he nearly had a whiplash. She told him that yes, I know you’re also Japanese and sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner, then babbled something about how she felt guilty that she had just been watching while others made fun of him. He didn’t think much of it at first, still surprised that one of the popular girls—if not the popular girl—in his year was actually talking to him. But then, he found himself understanding every word she said whenever she talked in Japanese and replying to whatever she was saying in English; he found himself exchanging notes and numbers with her in math class; he found himself going to the baseball field with her during lunch breaks and seeing who could hit the farthest. He was somehow roped into bringing her home after he offhandedly mentioned her to his mother, and then, they somehow became best friends. He would cover for her whenever she skipped class to smoke, much to his dismay, and she would introduce him to other social circles outside his baseball team, where he found his first girlfriend—who, admittedly, broke up with him because the way he spoke about his “best friend” was laced with more adoration than the first kiss he had with her. He would wait until their practice sessions were over and drive her home, where they would spend at least three hours talking on her porch before he went home, and she would show up to his games with an obnoxious handmade banner that read “KEN SATO THE G.O.A.T,” cheering the loudest whenever he hit a home run. He would pick her up from anywhere almost every time she asked, even if he had to get himself out of bed at two in the morning, and she would hang out at his place every other weekend, bringing fruit baskets and takeouts for his mother. It was somewhat domestic, how she settled in his apartment (and his life) whenever she came over. Ken almost always had to ground himself because his brain would feed him thoughts of a future with her, and his heart would beat so hard it threatened to break out of his ribcage.

But they were just best friends, he thought and said to his friends whenever they asked him about her. Best friends who happened to suck off, eat out, and eat each other’s faces pretty regularly. He found it funny at first, really; one time, their classmates told her that she just wasn’t human, what with how she juggled school and being popular. She only laughed it off, but he thought of how right they were when she came over while he was home alone at the end of sophomore year. There was no way the girl kneeling between his legs was fucking human. Not with that tongue of hers. Not with the way she looked up and batted her eyelashes at him. Not with how she literally gulped down his load in one go and played Tekken on his console as if she hadn’t just given him the best head of his life. She quite literally sucked the soul out of him that day, and he never had another head like that ever since. Even as they started hooking up—strictly platonic, she said, and he just went along with whatever she wanted as long as it was with her—that was still the stuff of his wet dreams, and it remained that way even long after they never saw each other again.

“Do you think we’ll be friends forever?”

The question caught Ken off-guard not only because it broke the comfortable silence between them, but also the feelings it evoked. Where is she going with this? he thought. A frown was etched on his face as he turned to look at her. Under the soft glow of the star projector in her room, she laid on her back, eyes tracing the constellations that danced across the ceiling. Her breathing was far more steady than his, chest rising and falling slowly behind the thin fabric of his shirt. Her hair fanned out around her on the pillow, framing her face as if it was her halo. At that time, her expression was probably the most serene and somber he had ever seen. She’s beautiful, he said to himself, and he thought it wouldn’t be so bad to keep a picture of this moment in his head for his selfish reminiscing should they ever stop being friends. (He hardly thought she meant that they could be more than friends, and he didn’t want to entertain the thought of not having her in his life.)

“Yeah?” He answered and mentally cursed himself for sounding so unsure. After clearing his throat, he corrected himself: “I mean, yeah, why not?”

There was no way she hadn’t seen the way he was staring at her from the corner of her eye. Even if she did, she didn’t turn her head to face him and only hummed in response to his answer. A look of contemplation appeared on her face as she kept quiet for nearly another minute. Ken swore it felt like an eternity.

“What if–” She sighed. “What if we fuck up and hurt each other? What then?”

Ken somehow knew that she already knew that there was no way she could ever fuck him up. (She already did, anyway, literally and figuratively.) Not with how he looked at her, not with how he reached out to hold her hand, not with how he promptly turned his head to face the ceiling once she was turning to look at him. Perhaps, what she was looking for was the reassurance that he wouldn’t fuck her up. He squeezed her hand when the thought crossed his mind.

“I’ll still be your friend anyways,” he said, softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

A chuckle left her lips then. She didn’t let go of his hand as she moved to hover over him, replacing the twinkling manmade constellations in his sight. (He thought she was brighter than any star in the sky, anyway.) He raised his brow when he saw the mischievous glint in her eyes as she leaned down, her lips nearly closing in on his.

The grin she had on her face was enough to tell him she was up to no good. “Are you a masochist?”

“You–seriously?”

He might’ve groaned from annoyance, but the way her body shook with laughter on top of him was enough to make that godawful warmth bloom in his chest. He pulled her in for a kiss, though he wasn’t sure if it was to shut her up or if he just wanted to, and he thought that if anyone were to see them like this, no one would ever believe him if he told them that they were just best friends. Hell, everyone had enough of his answer whenever they asked him about it at school, and he was even picked on again at some point—but not for how he looked or talked. No, he was picked on for being her “best friend” because no matter how many people had tried to make her theirs, she kept coming back to him. But then they would find Ken making out with one of the cheerleaders under the bleachers and her sucking off some guy from the football team at some senior’s house party. It was confusing for everyone, but even more so for Ken, because every time she asked him to pick her up from God-knows-where, he would see red when she saw her huffing out a smoke, disheveled because of someone who was not him.

And, of course, like all fever dreams, he had to wake himself up from it.

“–Sato.”

Two things snapped Ken out of his trance then. First, it was the voice that called out to him, then it was the pain in his shoulder. Ken found himself standing on the batter box in Tokyo Dome, a bat in his hand, and his breath was ragged. The seats were empty, the sky was turning dark, and then he remembered that he was at practice. He was at practice, not on the porch at her old house in Los Angeles holding her close as she cried over that one guy who supposedly broke her heart. He was at practice, not at the frat party where he met her again for the first time after months of no contact and saw her giggling on the lap of some jock. He was at practice, not in front of the diner they used to go to almost every other day where he said awful things he didn’t mean and maybe, just maybe, that was the reason why she had left for Japan the next day. (She had waited for him to come to the airport, to at least apologize, but he never came. He had turned off his phone during practice.)

Ken sighed and lowered his bat, hissing when he rolled his left shoulder. He steadied his breathing and regained his composure before his eyes flickered to the field. His teammates were waiting for him to hit another ball so they could continue their fielding practice. Then, he turned to the one in front of him—Yoshida, right?—whose voice pulled him out of his train of thought. Yoshida raised his brow when he locked eyes with Ken.

“Are you distracted or something?”

It was his turn to frown. “What?”

“Are you distracted by the new girl or something? You kept looking back at the dugout earlier.”

Ken almost dropped his bat when he heard that, his neck turning so quickly that he was surprised he didn’t give himself a whiplash. “What?”

Yoshida nodded in the direction of the dugout, and Ken turned to look. His grip around the bat tightened as his eyes darted towards the dugout. Her back was facing the field, leaning against the metal fence that divided the field and the dugout. Her arms held a clipboard to her chest, and he could only see her side profile from where he was standing as she spoke with Coach Shimura. The two of them looked familiar already—he really didn’t know how she did it, given that he was still at odds with the coach, but it was so her, he thought, the way she could get along with all the people he couldn’t—as Coach Shimura was talking more expressively with her than he had ever seen him. She was nodding to whatever Coach Shimura was talking about with a smile on her face, one that didn’t reach her eyes, and he berated himself because why and how the fuck could you tell from this distance? Ken’s lips parted as Coach Shimura’s expression changed and nodded in his direction, and his breath hitched as he saw her turning slightly towards him.

Ken’s heart dropped as the smile on her face faltered, replaced by an unimpressed look and an air of disdain that made him shiver. The world seemed to stop right then and there; even when she looked at him as if he was the reason behind her suffering—which was probably true, to an extent—he couldn’t help but think of how beautiful she was. Even with the hint of blood between her slightly cracked lips and the dark circles under her eyes that she didn’t bother to hide with some concealer. Even with how she looked even paler than she was when they were still in Los Angeles and how her cheekbones seemed to protrude and her cheeks seemed more hollow. She was beautiful, yet she contrasted her old self, which bothered him so much that dread started to pool in his stomach. Ken knew her and would even say he knew too much of her. But, right at that moment, it was as if he was looking straight into a stranger’s eyes and not the pair he had fallen in love with, as if he was looking at the stuff of his nightmares and not the girl of his dreams, as if he had never known her at all.

(What if it was true?)

Ken pinched his arm, hard, and winced when the pain seared through his body and kickstarted another throbbing ache in his shoulder. None of the stuff of his fever dreams, the dread and peculiarity of it, should have been real. This was real. So, if this was real, then God must not only be fucking joking, but He must’ve been thoroughly fucking evil to be putting him through this.

“Oh, fuck.”

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florencemtrash · 1 year

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Hummingbird: Chapter Three

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Terrible science jargon

It was almost silly how quickly the world returned to normal.

Alchemax was splashed on every local newspaper, website, social media account, and TV channel for a solid week before complaints shifted to the neverending construction on the streets of New York. The subway somehow got tighter, packed bodies grumbling about the thirty minutes added to their commute after ten subway cars had fallen through a spot and landed in the Hudson river.

But the events never faded away from your consciousness. The only way you could fall asleep was by leaving all the lights on. It racked up your electric bill like hell, but you couldn’t stand seeing the shadows creep along the wall as nighttime descended on the city - it reminded you too much of the Spot’s blank face and how he managed to stare into your soul without eyes.

Then there was the growing problem of your forgetfulness. You’d never been the best at keeping track of belongings - Mamá always blamed it on your creative brain - but now everything was being misplaced. The alarm clock would disappear from the nightstand and appear in the kitchen, your sock collection was dwindling every day and never making it into the dirty hamper, for Christ’s sake you still hadn’t found your favorite yellow sneakers and it was irritating you to hell and back.

I’m losing my goddamn mind. You often found yourself thinking.

You threw yourself into work, staying in the classroom late to grade and lesson plan until the night crew got used to vacuuming around your feet. You took on extra projects at the Academy, signing up to run after-school detention and volunteering for props and set design for this year’s spring musical “The Addams Family.”

Anything to stay out of your apartment. Anything to keep you from being alone.

Three empty coffee cups mocked your bleary eyes as you sat hunched over the sewing machine after hours. Cheap black lace trailed off the table, slowly shortening as you incorporated the material into Morticia’s dress.

“Fuck!” You hissed in pain and stuck your thumb in your mouth, sucking away the blood from your fourth needle prick of the night. At this rate you’d have more holes punched into you than swiss cheese.

It was time to give up for tonight.

Before you could forget you slipped the stolen Brooklyn Visions Academy uniform from your bag and hid it in the bottom-most cubby in the storage room. The sleeping bag and pillow from your apartment were also stuffed there, ready for Miles to use whenever he needed an extra break from being a superhero. You suspected Gwen had also been sneaking by to visit Miles now that she had more freedom to explore the multiverse - hence the spare uniform.

“How’s he doing?” You’d asked Miles earlier that day. Miguel’s unspoken name had lingered on the tip of your tongue, forcing the color to rise into your cheeks. Luckily Miles knew exactly who you were talking about.

A knowing grin grew on his face, “Not too bad. He seems more on edge than usual, but I hear he’s working on his temper.”

“He’s not body slamming any more teenagers?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Good.” You paused, “If he gives you any more trouble, send him my way. I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

Miles saluted you, “You got it.”

You meant it as a joke… but you also wanted a reason to see him again.

You were just about to switch the light off in your classroom when a flash of yellow caught your eye. Tucked behind a stack of newsprint, the vine charcoal rubbing away on your fingers as you carefully lifted the papers, was your prized pair of yellow converse.

It was too late to think about how they’d ended up so far from home, so you tossed them in your bag, threw out the coffee cups, and saved your muddled mind the trouble of figuring it out tonight.

The midnight subway car was filled with the usual Friday-night suspects - overworked nurses, loners just killing time, drunk party goers covered in more glitter than a kindergartener’s Valentine’s day card, and you.

You didn’t miss Richard, not really. What you really missed was coming home to someone and the feeling of another body weighing down the right side of the bed. More recently you’d been imagining what it would be like to come home to Miguel.

You kicked off your shoes at the bottom of the landing, shuffling up the steps and pulling off your clothes as you went, modesty be damned. By the time you face planted on your bed, hair still damp from the shower, it was nearing 2am and Miguel still hadn’t left your mind. He’d planted himself in your thoughts like a spider too high up on a wall for you to squash and too large for you to ignore.

Mercifully you didn’t have to endure the pains of a schoolgirl crush for very long. Sleep dragged you under and you welcomed it as your mind finally went quiet.

You awoke with a start, suffocating under the heavy blankets that you’d buried yourself in last night. You’d been dreaming again about the collider. You’d been dreaming about Miguel - this time in a feverish haze that left your mind in a puddle on the floor.

How was it possible that a stranger could occupy so much space in your mind? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he’d held you like you were everything and then left without saying goodbye.

But you weren’t complete strangers…

“Aren’t you his wife?”

Miles had asked the question so innocently and Miguel hadn’t said anything against it, so it must be true. Somewhere, in some other universe, you’d been married to one another.

Are you thinking about me too? You wondered, opening your eyes in hopes of chasing the memory of him away.

…Maybe you were still dreaming, because the last time you checked you hadn’t fallen asleep under a tree in Central Park. And even if you had, you highly doubted you could have lugged your mattress and bed frame with you all the way from Brooklyn.

Oh por el amor de Dios.

The glorious thing about New York City is that everyone knew how to mind their own business. So when people saw a high school art teacher in Star Wars pjs leap for joy upon finding a $5 bill on the ground, they didn’t question it.

You were so ecstatic about saving yourself the two-and-a-half hour walk back to Brooklyn that you didn’t remember a highly important piece of information until after you hopped off the subway - you didn’t have your keys or your phone.

Joder.

Your forehead knocked against the front door of your apartment building with an audible clunk.

“Por el amor de la mierda, ¿por qué mi vida es así?” You muttered under your breath.

“Y/n?” Your landlord, Mrs. Fleming, pushed her tortoise-shell glasses higher up on her face, the thick lenses magnifying her eyes to bug-like proportions. “Oh it is you, my dear.”

You groaned, color rushing into your cheeks as you turned around sheepishly. “Good morning, Mrs. Fleming.”

The elderly woman gave you a once-over look, crocheting needles clicking together as she rummaged around in her bag for her keys, “The old walk of shame, I see.”

“What?! Wait, no-this isn’t-I’m not-”

She patted you on the back before unlocking the door and holding it open for you, “I only use the turn of phrase because that’s what you young folks call it. Ain’t nothing shameful in it. It’s good of you to get out there. I never did like Richard much.”

You were at a loss for words.

Mrs. Fleming, sprightly as she was for her age, followed you up to your apartment with her extra set of keys jingling merrily in her hands.

“Now, you have a good rest of your weekend, dear.” She said once you’d been graciously let into your apartment, “And don’t forget your keys next time!”

“Thanks Mrs. Fleming.” You said. Her amused chuckle echoed through the air as she shuffled off to her own apartment.

You sprawled out on the ground where your bed should have been, trying to even out your breathing as the reality of the morning’s events crashed down around you like a house of cards.

This can’t be happening. ¿Qué diablos me pasa?

You rolled onto your stomach, repeatedly banging your face into a spare pillow to muffle the sound of your aggravated screams.

The pillow accepted your frustration with little complaint until something in you just snapped.

All at once the pillow disappeared from beneath you and then blinked into existence by the closet allowing your face to crash into the floor unprotected.

You grabbed at your burning nose, eyes swimming with tears of pain as you registered what had happened.

“No… oh no.”

>>>

The rain beat down irregularly, fluctuating back and forth from being barely a drizzle to a torrential downpour.

You gripped an empty to-go cup in your hand, the tea you’d hoped would calm your nerves long gone.

It took you three hours to make it here. First you kept teleporting your keys away every time you touched them, futilely chasing them around the apartment. Then you’d nearly gotten hit by a taxi and teleported yourself to the bathroom of a tea shop on the Upper West Side. Miraculously your powers had quieted after that, allowing you to get on the subway and here without incident.

A familiar figure made its way down the block, hood up to protect from the rain.

“Miles!” You leapt up from your seat, racing across the street to the annoyed honking of two taxis.

“Miss Y/l/n? How’re you doing?” Miles narrowed his eyes in worry, seeing the way your fingers nervously pulled at a loose string from your sweater, “What happened to your face?” The flesh around your nose was red and tender, slowly transforming into a purple bruise.

“I’m sorry for bothering you like this, but I didn’t know where else to go.” You looked around carefully before lifting the cup in the palm of your hand.

You furrowed your brow in concentration, willing that same power within you to snap into place again.

“What’s supposed to-”

“Just-just give me a minute.”

A minute passed, and nothing. Your heartbeat quickened as you grew more and more flustered.

“Miss Y/l/n are you sure you’re ok?” Skepticism and genuine concern laced his voice.

“I’m fine!”

Snap!

The cup blinked out of existence like an old-school television that had been turned off. Miles saw it reappear over the park across the street and land on a dog walker’s head. The man in question looked up at the sky bewildered, like he expected to find God there.

Miles’s wide eyes met yours.

“Oh shit.”

He pulled you into the empty alleyway behind his building, using his spider webs to straighten the trash cans that rolled around on the ground and clear out a space large enough for the two of you to comfortably stand side by side.

He hung close to the street, Gwen’s face shimmering to life above his wrist as he spoke with his back turned to you.

“Hey, Gwen. I’ve got a situation.” He whispered into the watch.

You caught snippets of their conversation, shrinking in your coat as you tried to suppress the anxiety growing in your chest. If there was anything you’d learned about your powers it was that they tended to flare up with your emotions.

“Do you think we can trust him with this? I don’t want anything to happen to her… Yeah, yeah. No, I understand. I’ll bring her in. See you later.”

Miles turned back to you, a strained smile on his face, “Sorry about that.”

“Miles, what’s going on?” “I got to bring you into Spidey HQ. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but Miguel might.”

He unzipped his raincoat and hoodie, exposing the black and red spider-suit beneath and tugging on his mask.

Your heart gave a flip at the mention of your husband’s name (could you even call him that?). Would he be happy to see you again? Would things be awkward between the two of you?

A familiar watch flashed on his wrist as he began pressing buttons on the orange holographic screen. You’d seen it happen before, a portal of wild glitching colors pulsing to life in front of you, but that didn’t make it any less impressive. Miles stepped into it, dragging you along with him like he was just passing through any regular doorway.

He swept his arm outward, smiling at the expression on your face.

“Welcome to Spidey HQ, Miss Y/l/n.”

Your jaw dropped as you passed through the portal - an actual portal - to Miguel’s dimension.

Hundreds, no thousands, of Spider-People roamed the open air halls, some on two legs, some on four, some on wheels, and some just preferred to swing through the air on webs, catching and releasing the nimble strings with practiced grace from the walkways that crossed overhead like… well like a spider’s web.

Miguel certainly hadn’t wasted the spider concept when it came to their headquarters.

“I didn’t know there was a universe composed entirely of Spider-Men…Spider-People?… Spider…” A cat hissed at your feet when you nearly stepped on its tail as you blindly followed Miles through the crowd, “Spider-Things?”

“Sorry Spider-Cat!” Miles said as the feline grumbled, tail high in the air as it calmly leapt onto the wall and continued on its way as though gravity were only an inconvenience.

“Actually, every world has only one Spider-Person, but the Alchemax explosion last year ended up opening holes into other universes. Miguel created this place as a hub for Spider-People while everyone tries to fix the anomalies.”

“Anomalies?”

“Yeah, beings that have accidentally gotten stuck in another world.”

“Oh… yeah that makes total sense..” Your words trailed off as a roaring laugh caught your attention, “Is that… is that a dinosaur?”

You pointed at the group crowded around a cafeteria table howling with laughter. Burgers bounced on trays as the T-Rex doubled over to slap the table for dramatic effect.

“AY YO, REXA!” Miles shouted over your head, throwing his arms up wildly.

Rexa exposed razor sharp teeth in a grin and waved one short arm towards you. You returned a meek wave in return.

“That’s Rexa. She’s super funny. Just uh…” he covered his mouth before whispering in your ear, “Maybe don’t mention anything about her arms. She gets a little sensitive.”

“Oh…yeah, of course. No problem.”

Miles continued to lead you through the building, periodically taking breaks for you to catch up as you kept your eyes trained on everything except the path he’d carved in front of you. At one point you simply disappeared from view, reappearing four stories up in a psychiatrist’s office.

A tweed-suited Spider-Man jumped in his seat, dropping the box of tissues he’d been preparing to throw to his client.

“Oh! I… I’m so sorry.” You said, flustered at the sight of a sandy haired Peter Parker variant sobbing his eyes out into a spider plushie. You inched along the wall towards the door, “I’m just-I’m just going to make my way out.”

You closed the door as quietly as possible, turning around and coming face to face with Miles again. You jumped and snapped, this time landing on Rexa’s table, foot squishing her burger into roadkill.

You groaned and tilted your head up, watching Miles sail out the office window and swing his way down.

This was going to take a while.

There was no shortage of Spiderpeople to steal your attention, but finally after a few (uninterrupted) turns down pristine white hallways and an elevator ride into the belly of Spidey HQ, it was just you and Miles again.

From his lair, Miguel traced your figure with his eyes. When you caught sight of the camera in the elevator, its red pupil narrowing in on you, you smiled sheepishly and waved. The small action made his stomach flip like a schoolboy who’d been given his first kiss.

He needed to pull himself together before he saw you face to face again.

“I’m just saying, I think this is a good thing, Miguel.” Peter B. said, swinging up to the platform and wrapping an arm around Miguel’s broad shoulders. Mayday crawled out and onto the control board, pressing buttons haphazardly and closing half the screens. She clapped her hands in wonder and Miguel grumbled half-heartedly.

Once she started walking, all bets were off. She’d be an absolute menace to Spider Society. Already she liked to treat Miguel like her personal playscape, crawling onto his shoulders and tugging at his brown curls.

Her antics almost made him smile… almost.

“If she’s here then that can only mean something’s wrong.” Miguel said, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen and ignoring Mayday as she slumped over his back, slowly sliding down his chest and into his waiting arms with a dramatic sigh.

You looked tired and nervous, fingers tugging at the strings of your raincoat. A purple bruise spread out from your nose, moving with the curve of your cheekbones. Had someone hurt you?

Miguel’s blood began to boil.

“Or,” Peter bumped his hips against Miguel’s, “it could mean she wants to see you again.”

“Stop that.” Miguel growled.

“Stop what?”

Stop giving me hope.

Miguel was about to bite back at Peter and wipe the mischievous grin on his face when the doors slid open. Miles’s voice rang through the empty space.

“These are all those anomalies I was telling you about. Doc Oc, Rhino, Sandman, Mysterio. I don’t even want to know who that is.”

“Why is it so dark in here?”

“Miguel likes to brood. I think he’s part vampire.”

Miguel tossed Mayday into her father’s arms, swiftly turning around and busying himself at the control panel to distract from the pounding of his heart. A dozen screens flashed to life above the control board and Miguel concentrated on none of them.

Peter grinned like a madman. This was going great.

“Miss Y/n!” He shouted out, throwing his hands in the air before hopping off the platform. Mayday squealed in delight and copied his actions. Miguel only cursed under his breath and rubbed his temples. Leave it to Peter to be the cause of 90% of his headaches.

“Looking good, teach!”

“Ummm… thanks?” You responded as Mayday grabbed at you with chubby fingers. You didn’t have much choice but to hold her as Peter thrust her into your arms. Fear jolted through you like a lightning strike and you quickly handed her off to Miles, the poor girl frowning and continuing to make grabbing motions at you. The last thing you wanted was to make Mayday disappear from your arms.

Peter tipped his head to the side but for once made no comment. He continued to chat you up, pulling small smiles from your lips and ignoring the way you kept glancing at Miguel as his platform slowly lowered to the ground.

He had his hands on his hips, bright red and blue Spider-suit cutting a striking silhouette against the dark background.

If he’d noticed you walking into the room, he didn’t show it and you tried your best not to deflate at that realization.

“Don’t worry. He just likes to make an entrance,” Miles whispered in your ear. And some entrance that was. He stepped off the platform, back tight and straight as he moved forward with measured, even footsteps.

Miles took one step forward, angling his body in front of you with a weariness in his eyes.

Miguel stopped, face betraying nothing as he looked you up and down once.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” The words would have sounded romantic coming from someone else’s lips, but from him they just sounded dry and clinical.

“Same here.” You said. The words came out breathlessly.

“What’s happened?”

His hand hovered in the air between you two before he swiftly dropped it to his side. He wanted to reach out and touch your face. He wanted to tilt your chin upwards so he could take a good look at the damage done to your nose and make sure you were ok. Perhaps if you’d been alone he would have allowed himself to do it, but as it was, they had company.

“We need your help, Miguel.” Miles cut through the tension, “Something’s up with Miss Y/l/n. She’s got powers now - teleportation similar to the Spot’s.”

His heart stuttered in his chest.

“Is that true?” he said, desperately looking to you for answers. The Spot’s powers had made him unstable in more ways than one and Miguel shivered to think about anything happening to you.

You nodded, “Things keep disappearing when I touch them. Sometimes I accidentally teleport to places when I’m frustrated. I didn’t realize what was going on until I woke up in Central Park last night.”

Miguel turned around, muttering under his breath as his mind raced a thousand steps ahead of him.

Of all the people this could have happened to, it had to be you. He thought he’d done the right thing by leaving you alone, forcing himself not to portal to your dimension every night. His multiversal travels had taught him a thing or two about the ways things operated. Some figures, like Peter Parker’s Spider-Man were well represented across worlds. Some figures, like himself, were harder to come by.

As for you? He only knew of three worlds where you existed - in one world, his actions had led to your death and the death of your daughter. In the second, Spot had murdered you in his quest to figure out Spider-Man’s identity.

And in this one…

Well he thought he’d been keeping you safe.

Teleportation was a dangerous ability - unpredictable and difficult to control. Left unchecked you could find yourself in front of a car speeding down the highway or at the top of Mount Everest or in a different dimension altogether, constantly glitching as your molecules broke apa-

“Wait,” Miguel stiffened, back tightening as he swiveled around on his heels, “Where’s your watch?”

“My watch?” you glanced at your naked wrist, “I mean I usually just check my phone for the t-”

“No, your day pass watch. The thing that stabilizes you in this universe.”

Miles’s eyes blew open. “Mierda. Sabía que había olvidado algo.”

“How long have you two been here?”

“Maybe two hours.” You guessed.

“And nothing’s happened?”

“Is something supposed to happen?”

Even Peter B. looked concerned. Panic rose in your chest and you threatened to snap. Miguel reached out and grasped your wrist, palm sliding down until you felt the weight and warmth of his hand wrapped in yours. He led you to the med bay, Peter and Miles following closely behind.

The paper atop the padded examination table crinkled as you took a seat, watching Miguel’s broad shoulders flex and stretch as he dug an extra watch out from the back of a cabinet.

“Lyla, run a scan of Y/n.”

The woman flickered to life in front of him. “What’s the magic word?” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“Lyla.” He was in no mood for games today

“Ok, ok. Don’t be testy.” Lyla appeared in front of you, an orange scanner materializing in her hands that swept across your body with a cool touch. “Scan complete.”

“Here you go,” Miguel felt some relief pour back into his body as he fastened the watch around your wrist, hand lingering against your pulse like he wanted further confirmation that you were alive and well.

“Hey, why does she get one of the fancy ones?” Miles protested. The watch, identical to the ones worn by Miguel, Peter, and Miles flashed its face at you. It was far too elaborate and expensive to be just a day pass.

Miguel ignored him, walking over to one of the monitors and skimming through the output data.

“It took six months for Miguel to give me one of those bad boys,” The paper crinkled again as Peter hopped onto the table beside you, whispering, “Looks like someone’s got a favorite,” and earning a glare from Miguel.

Peter winked suggestively.

Miguel scowled.

Your cheeks turned a rosy red, your coat disappearing from around your shoulders and landing in a rumple at Miguel’s feet like the world’s worst suggestive gesture. Peter howled with laughter.

“No puedo creerlo.” Miguel whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Lyla, am I looking at this right?”

“You sure are. Y/n’s DNA is perfectly stable. Not a trace of multiversal quantum poisoning to be found. And! Her radiation signature matches that of more than a thousand different universes. Bet you’ve never seen that before.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Hmmmm, let me think.” Lyla spun around in a digital office chair, waiting for her moment to break the dramatic pause. Miguel groaned - he would need to improve her code and tone down the dramatism. “Looks like packets of quantum energy from across the multiverse were released during the Alchemax hypercompact fusion explosion and merged with the only unaltered sentient lifeform in the vicinity.”

“Dios mio.”

At the end of her explanation she bowed gracefully, arm and fur-lined coat sweeping off to the side.

“Did you get any of that?” Peter asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“Peter, I took forestry as my science gen ed in art school and barely passed so… no.”

“Uhhh, can you repeat it for the rest of the class?” Miles piped up.

Lyla leaned forward, one hand on her hip and the other tipped her heart-shaped sunglasses onto her head.

“Y/n absorbed energy from a ton of different universes so as far as the multiverse is concerned, she doesn’t register as an anomaly. No glitching. No dying outside of her universe without a watch. No predicted multiversal collapse.” Lyla smiled. “Predicted.”

You looked less than pleased. The last month had been filled to the brim with life-altering events from finding out Miles was a superhero, to getting kidnapped and nearly dying, to finding out your variant’s husband was an all-too-attractive, brooding Spider-Man. It was getting to be too much - you were a teacher for crying out loud! Maybe you’d have handled it better if you were a crime-fighting detective, or a fancy scientist, or a millionaire with access to the latest tech and weapons. Instead you were just… you.

“Can you fix it?”

Miguel flinched at the look on your face. You were looking to him for help and for answers, but he couldn’t provide them in any satisfactory way. He’d never encountered anyone with your abilities.

The confusion and fear that came with discovering your powers - that was a journey all Spider-People went through, and they usually went through it alone.

Miguel sighed, “There’s nothing to fix, Y/n.” He said the words with a softness no one had heard from him in years, perhaps ever, “This is who you are now.”

“So I’m just going to be stuck like this forever?”

“Having powers isn’t so bad.” Peter chimed in with a small smile. “From time to time, it can actually be pretty awesome.”

You allowed a small, empty smile to grow on your lips. It was a smile Miguel was well acquainted with - the kind of smile that said I’m not fine, but I want you to believe that I am.

“I have some tests we could run.” Miguel offered up, “I can’t reverse what’s happened but maybe I can come up with something to help you control your powers, at least while you’re learning how to use them.”

You nodded, the smile turning into something real, “I would like that. Thank you.”

Peter was practically vibrating with excitement when he caught the look that passed between the two of you and the hint of hope on Miguel’s usually stony face.

He clapped his hands down on Miles’s shoulders, “Well would you look at the time? I need to put Mayday down for her nap and grab some food. You’ll learn this soon enough, but being a superhero does burn the calories.”

He hopped off the table, waltzing all the way to the door before he noticed that Miles was missing from his side. “Miles! Come join me.”

“Actually, I was going to wait with-”

“Miles.” Peter coughed into his fist, bug eyes burning into Miles until he got the hint.

“Oh? Oh! Yeah, sorry Miss Y/l/n, I forgot I told Gwen I’d meet up with her.”

You waved him off, “I’ll be fine, Miles. Thanks for everything.”

“I’ll show her how to use the watch and send her home when we’re finished.” Miguel said, pulling on a lab coat that had been draped over his office chair. He rarely had time to work in the lab, more focused on his primary duty of maintaining the stability of the multiverse, but the familiar glide of the fabric over his skin did help to relax him. It reminded him of the old days when Spider-Man didn’t exist and the multiverse was just a fun theory tossed around at company lunches.

A thin silence stretched between you two after Miles and Peter left, and you contented yourself with watching Miguel as he busily typed away at his monitor, labeled vials, and prepared the syringes. Every movement was practiced and controlled like he’d done this a million times before.

Miguel was screaming on the inside. You were close enough for his heightened senses to pick up on the honey lemon shampoo you used tinged with the woodsy scent of linseed oil. He was powerless under your gaze like an insect trapped under a microscope.

“I just need to collect some blood samples.” Miguel said, gently holding out his hand. You offered your arm up without complaint, distracting yourself from the pinch of the needle by reading the faded name tag printed on his lab coat.

You whistled low to break the tension, “Dr. O’Hara. That’s impressive. What kind of doctor are you?”

“I was a geneticist. Not the medical kind though. I worked in research at Alchemax.”

“Is that how you got your spidey powers?”

He rolled his eyes, “They’re not spidey powers, they’re acrachno-humanoid genetic augmentations.”

“Qué estúpido. Just call them spidey powers. You scientists just like to give things complicated names to feel superior.” The corner of Miguel’s lips quirked up every so slightly. The thrill of seeing any emotion on Miguel’s face lightened the feeling in your chest.

“Was it hard becoming Spider-Man?” You asked.

Miguel shrugged, wiping away the small bead of blood on your arm. “I had it easier than most. I was already looking into the possibility of combining human and arachnid DNA and I had the resources to study my powers.” Miguel paused. It had been a long time - too long - since he’d had a conversation like this with anyone. He could cast his mind back to talks with you his wife, but those had always been domestic in nature.

“The hardest part was not having anyone to talk to.” He said, finishing his thought.

“Sounds lonely.” You remarked, accepting the q-tip from him and swabbing the inside of your cheek. He collected the sample in a vial of greenish liquid and gave it a thorough shake, “Do you have people now that you talk to?”

“No.” His answer was short and to the point.

You’d touched a sore spot and you decided to prod it. “Would you like someone to talk to?”

Again, the corner of his lips twitched, “Are you offering?”

You copied his shrug from earlier, “Maybe.”

He took a few more cheek swabs and then a strand of hair. His hand lingered by your cheek, frowning as he took in the bruise on your face.

Now that you two were alone he dared to gently tilt your head to the side.

“You never told me what happened.”

Your hands flew up to your face in embarrassment and Miguel saw the tips of your ears grow red. He liked it.

“I may or may not have teleported my pillow away right before smashing my face into the floor.”

The breath left his lungs in a quiet chuckle. That sounded like something you’d do.

“But no one’s bothering you?”

“What? Oh no. No, it’s nothing like that.”

He nodded, the tightness in his chest unraveling with that knowledge. He knew you weren’t his wife and he knew that you didn’t know him well enough yet, but that didn’t stop him from caring. The truth was he liked you from the moment you slapped his shoulder and cursed at him, and it wasn’t just because you looked like someone from his past.

“This will take some time to work through.” He tilted his head towards where the tabletop machines whirred and spun, “But if I’m right, I may be able to adjust your watch to stabilize you in a specific place, not just a specific universe. It’s not a permanent fix but you won’t be waking up in Central Park again anytime soon.”

“That would be preferable.”

You moved to take off the watch and hand it over to Miguel but he stopped you.

“Keep this one. In case anything happens you can contact me or the other Spider-People,” He said, walking her through the steps of using the watch, “Headquarters is always open so if anything happens, come here.”

You nodded. With an encouraging look from Miguel you punched “Earth-1610” into the locator and then your home address.

Just like last time the portal bloomed open beside you, scattering a few loose papers on the ground. Through the portal you caught a glimpse of your living room, citylights flashing outside your window.

“Come back next week. Until we have a better understanding of your powers it would be good for us to monitor you and check that you’re stable.”

And it would be good for you to see her again.

Miguel squashed the thought as soon as it popped into his brain in Peter’s voice. He really needed to stop spending so much time with him.

You stepped through the portal and were embraced by the familiar smell of your apartment. It made you feel better about what was to come. You turned to smile at Miguel, his tired eyes lighting up ever so slightly.

“I’ll see you next week then.”

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

_________ Author's note: Here's the next chapter! Let me know what you guys think of the writing and where the story is going. I'm hoping to dive more deeply into Y/n x Miguel's relationship in the coming chapters so get ready for angst and fluff!

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ramp-it-up · 3 months

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ii Most Wanted Part 9: Shotgun Rider

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup"

Summary: Jealousy, wedding plans, & a little smut, too. 😉

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, ANGST, FLUFF. Jealous, sexy Sy, Angst, Sex in committed relationship. Oral sex, female receiving, sex partially-clothed, gagging, semi-public sex? Dirty talk, cream kink, size kink, raw p in v, command kink, Sy in the workplace, fluffy Sy, future plans, airport goodbye.

Read at your own risk. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is the ninth installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Previous part here

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Sy walked up close behind you and pressed the steel bar in his pants into your expensively clothed backside.

“Me too, Buttercup. And I’ll tell you what else is a sure thing.”

“Jake Syverson…”

You pressed back onto him as his hands came up to grip your hips tightly through your skirt as you turned your head to meet his lips over your shoulder.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d had each other over the weekend, but damn, it felt like you needed him like the first time.

“You gonna fuck me over your desk?”

You bent slightly at the waist while Sy bounced you against his khakis, watching your rear as his cock swelled. He shook his head to try and clear the cloud of lust, but it wasn’t working. Something was making it stronger this morning.

“Trust me, Buttercup, the way that ass looks in that skirt, don’t think I haven't thought of it since you walked onto my site. And everyone else on the job, too.”

The way he said it caused you to turn around in his arms and look into his eyes. You’d never seen that look before: possessive, with dark clouds in his eyes.

It was hot.

“Sy… are you… are you jealous?”

He licked his lips and slid his hands around to cup your ass again. The side smile that was added to his proprietary look only made him more appealing.

You continued on your quest to understand his mood.

“It’s not okay, but men and women on a construction site work hard, and some off-color jokes are gonna fly. I didn’t hear anything that was offensive, though.”

Sy cringed when he thought of what almost came out of Billy’s mouth. And who the hell knew what Cole and Joe were gossiping about. But one look at Mike Ackerman’s face, and he knew exactly what he was thinking.

And he wanted to kill him. He’d had no such urges since Afghanistan. He took in your face, those eyes, those lips. The thought that Mike Ackerman would have the nerve to think– He shook his head and looked down.

“What are you thinking, Sy? Remember you said you’d be straight with me.”

Sy sighed as he looked into your eyes. Fuck, he was going to have to talk.

“Most of those knuckleheads have some manners. But Ackerman can be a grade- A piece of work. You didn’t see the way he looked at you. And the look he gave me. Made me wanna- ”

Sy’s glare turned darker, his scowl making you want to ride his face. But then you noticed his fist was off of your ass and clenched at his side.

“You’ll do no such thing. Fix that face, Sy.”

You moved his hand back to your butt and put your arms around his neck while pressing yourself close to him and giving him a long kiss. He’d moaned twice before you were done. After kissing his attitude away, you set about tenderly wiping your lipstick from his mouth with your thumb.

Sy shook his head at you as he drew you even closer.

“You don’t understand men, Buttercup.”

You raised your eyebrow at him.

“Oh? Educate me then. Before my interview, you said Ackerman was a good guy. The first thing I told him today was that we are going to get married and he congratulated us. Twice. Once in my interview and once at the worksite. What am I missing here?”

Another puff of air escaped Sy’s mouth.

“Just a couple a’ things, Buttercup. One, you are fine as hell, he’d have to be blind and made of stone not to notice that. And two,” Sy’s eyes wandered away from yours to focus at a spot above your head.

“...There’s been this… competition between us since we were kids. He loves to rattle my cage.”

You thought it was hilarious that Sy was this wound up. You smiled, but quickly stowed it away when you saw his face. All you could say was, “Okayyy.”

“I know you think it’s stupid, but you didn’t come to town until senior year. Mike was a grade ahead of us, already playing at State when you arrived. Even though he was older, we were always in competition. Football, baseball… girls…”

The lightbulb came on in your mind.

“Ohhhhh I get it now. And I remember you saying something about Becca dating an older guy before she dated you.”

Sy huffed and tried to pull you close again, because you were trying to get out of his grip.

“That's not what this is about. There were other girls as well. People said we looked alike–”

You laughed at the thought.

“I don’t see it.”

Sy rolled his eyes.

“Me neither. But it became a game to us. It started as a bet my freshman year with Angie Cozart, and–”

“I do not want to hear about the bonehead things Baby Pimp Sy did before I met you. The things you did after I met you take up enough space in my brain.”

Sy winced.

“You’re right. Buttercup. This is dumb.”

You shook your head.

“I’m not saying that what you are feeling is dumb, I’m not dismissing it, but I don’t care whether or not Mike Ackerman still thinks you and he are competing for whatever. I am not a sports ball or a chess piece. I am the future Mrs. Buttercup Syverson, and I’m not playing any games about that. Got it?”

Sy grinned at you, bringing the sun back out. Damn, he loved how you kept him in line.

“Buttercup Syverson? The preacher gonna say that at the wedding? That gonna be on the license?”

The grin stayed on his face as he teased you. You reminded him that he was deliriously happy.

You giggled.

“Sure. Why not? I’m grown. I can be called what I want.”

You took his face in your hands.

“As long as you call me ‘yours,’ I’m good.”

And you kissed him again, causing him to wrap his huge hands around your waist and lift you onto his desk. You two kissed for a good long while, his hands roaming all over your body, seeming to take catalog of everything that was his. Your heart dropped to the floor when you realized you’d be leaving him soon.

“Sy…gonna miss you… miss this…”

“Me too, Buttercup. This weekend has been everything. I can’t wait until you come back for good.”

For some reason, your heart skipped a beat with anxiety. What had you done? You really said yes to him.

As if reading your mind, Sy pulled back and looked into your eyes, silently questioning you.

“You having second thoughts?”

He was so damn sweet, and the look on his face snapped you out of your head. You answered with your heart. And your soul.

You raised your hand to run your fingers over his lips.

“No, Captain. My brain is trying to lie to me, but deep down, I don’t want to waste anymore time. I’m coming back. Let’s get married, Sy.”

His heart did a triple flip of joy as he took in the sincere smile on your face.

“I promise you, Buttercup. Everything is going to be okay. You and me were meant to be.”

“Damn straight. I’m your shotgun rider.”

You put your arms around Sy’s shoulders and chucked your chin up, daring him to contradict you; there was no way that he would.

“Absolutely right. It’s why I brought Betty out of storage this weekend. My shotgun rider forever.”

And he kissed you again.

“You make me so very happy, Buttercup. I swear I’m gonna take care of you for the rest of my life.”

His hands started to roam again.

“Sy…”

“Gonna show you the best way I know how. Don’t have much time, but, want to, need to see you cum for me again before you leave. Wanna make you feel a way…”

His gravelly voice got you good and wet for him as his fingers traveled down your thighs in your skirt. The way your breath caught in your throat and your heart rate increased was heady.

“No one else ever has made me feel the way that you do, Sy.”

Sy was nuzzling your neck now.

“And I’m gonna make sure no one else will.”

Sy’s hands moved from your waist to your hips and skillfully spun you around so that you were facing the desk again. You looked back and kissed him over your shoulder

“Sy…”

You were a whimpering, trembling mess as you looked up at him.

“Those fucking eyes, Buttercup.

He pulled away and looked down at your ass, which was now in his hands. He took a deep breath.

“And the way you say my name.”

He gave you a sexy side smile.

“Like I said. Been thinking ‘bout this all mornin’.”

He kissed your lips, licking though to your tongue and doing a quick dance as he held you against his crotch.

“Gotta have you one last time, but you gotta be quiet.”

You licked your lips and nodded, giggling as he dropped to his knees.

Sy grinned up at you as his hands went down to your ankles and started sliding up your thighs, shaking his head and lickng his lips.

“Skin so smooth. Wanna memorize how it feels. You’re so damn pretty…so fuckin’ soft….,” he’d reached the apex of your thighs, having bunched up the knee-length skirt around your bottom.

The next thing he said sounded gruff.

“So wet in all the right places.”

“S-s-Syyyyyy.”

You were nervous, trying to see out the small window to see if anyone was coming, but also kind of turned on that you might get caught. Sy was only focused on one thing: your sodden center that he was spreading your lace covered cheeks to see. The black flowers were glistening over your wet folds, and he just had to verify that it wasn’t a mirage.

Soon, Sy’s nose and mouth were at the split of you, nose inhaling your scent, and tongue testing and adding to the dampness of your panties. You reached back and grabbed his hair, not caring that you were messing it up, and keened his name.

“Love it when you say my name like that, Buttercup.”

Sy pulled back and his fingers deftly moved your underwear to the side, entering your tight heat. You ran your fingers through his hair as his eyes rolled back into his head and he licked his lips again. He looked up and asked a question.

“How many times have I had you in the last three days? And I’m still about to bust a nut in my pants like I’m a teenager. Need you like air, Buttercup.”

“Oh Syyyyyyy!”

You keened again as two of his fingers pumped and in and out of you steadily and you couldn’t help but watch as he leaned forward, tongue out and an obscene smile on his lips as he licked a solid stripe up the center of you before attaching his lips to your clit.

You turned around to flatten your palms against the desk blotter, trying to ground yourself from this feeling as whispered groans and profanity leave your mouth.

Sy sucked and licked at you like a man determined. He was so good at this, and you told him so over your shoulder. He pulled back and spoke, glancing at your pussy again and licking his lips, but then stared into your eyes longingly.

“Only because I wanna be the one to make you feel good, Buttercup. Makes me horny. ‘S so damn hot when you…”

And he curled his fingers as he leaned forward to lick and suck at you again. You raised up on your tip toes as you felt the oh so familiar knot form in your belly.

“Cum for me. Please?”

How could someone command you yet beg at the same time? You flew apart in his hands and on his tongue, but he didn’t stop, Sy just kept lapping at you as you careened into another mind-blowing orgasm.

“Holy fuck, Buttercup. Just wanted your taste in my mouth as I put you on the plane. But now, gotta have this cream on my cock as well.”

You almost cried at the beautiful profanity Sy was uttering in your ear as he stood up and pinned you against the desk with his chest as he undid his belt and pants. You got impossibly wetter at the sound of it.

His hands went to your panties again and ripped them at the crotch seam, balling them up and stuffing them into your mouth.

“Taste yourself and be quiet as I fuck the hell outta you, Buttercup. My cock is aching for you, baby.

“Ohyyyygahhhhhhh!”

Your eyes rolled back as you felt his knees bend and his knuckles against the flesh of your ass as he held his stiff dick against the entrance to your cunt. You gasped against the lace as he entered you in one hot, fluid movement and started fucking you relentlessly. One hand went to press devilish circles around your clit.

“Could spend all day like this, but we need to be fast.”

And you were quickly on your way to heaven. Sy was making sure of that.

You didn’t realize that you were screaming through the fabric until Sy’s hand clamped around your mouth, and the smell of your fluid on your fingers, combined with how rough he was fucking you, caused you to clamp down on his cock.

Sy hissed your given name into your ear and you started convulsing as his hips stuttered and he stopped, huffing into your ear as he tried to hold back, mouth open and latched onto your neck. You grabbed his hair and pulled, and he bit into your neck and tried to muffle the roar emanating from him as his cum sprayed into you: hot, forceful, and so voluminous that it almost immediately dripped out of you.

He pulsed into you for what seemed like forever. He pulled the panties out of your mouth and laved the bite on your skin as he cooed in your ear.

“Gotdam, love you, Buttercup.”

He stepped back to pull up his pants and pocket your panties as you leaned forward against the desk.

“Stay right there…”

You heard Sy walking away, and you turned your head to discover there was a small bathroom in the trailer. You dropped your head to the desk as you noticed that the room smelled like sex. You smiled at the fact that you two were doing it like rabbits. Anywhere and everywhere.

“Love you too, Sy. So much.”

You let Sy clean you up as you thought of the rest of the afternoon.

When you had straightened up and arranged your clothes, you gave him a kiss.

“Gonna miss you.”

He pulled you close and gave you a hug as you sighed into his chest. You looked at the clock on the wall. Your flight left at 3:45, you needed to be at the airport by 2 pm at the latest.

“Almost noon. Need to swing by your place-”

“Our place,” Sy’s eyes were shining. You grinned.

“And get my bags, also need a quick shower. Thanks to you.”

Sy smiled at you.

“Alone.”

Sy pouted, and you laughed at him.

“We also need to get you something to eat before you get on that plane.”

You agreed.

“At the finest dining establishment.”

“You read my mind, Buttercup.”

—-

Ackerman called and offered you the job, great salary, benefits, and even a moving package as you and Sy were leaving the work site. You calmly told him you would think about it as you gesticulated excitedly to Sy as he drove.

“Told you it was a done deal, Buttercup,” he said as you disconnected the call. “I could tell by the look on his face today.”

“Don’t you start, Sy.”

You swatted at his shoulder and Sy caught your hand and kissed it.

“He wants me to start in a month, right after the 4th of July. That’s so soon, Sy.”

Sy was thinking it was not soon enough to have you back with him permanently, but he swallowed that thought. He shrugged.

“So tell him you need more time.”

You caught the tone in his voice and turned toward him.

“Well, in four weeks, I could put in my notice at the University, get packed up, find a management company to rent my house…”

Sy raised his eyebrow at that.

“I’m keeping my house Sy. Went through hell to get it after moving across the country from Scott. And the housing market in Cali is crazy. I could make a lot of money on the rental,” you replied to him.

“Hhhmph,” grunted Sy. He let it lie. Your spirit is what attracted him to you in the first place.

“But as I was saying Mr. Mighty Grumpy Even Though He Just Got Some Ass Syverson.”

Sy barked out a laugh at your audacity as you continued on your spiel. He pulled into Cardin’s Drive-Thru and pressed the order button.

“As I was saying, I was thinking that I needed another 2-4 weeks so that maybe we could meet up in Vegas in a month and tie the knot, that is, if that’s not too soo-”

Sy grabbed you up and had you in his lap, kissing you as the attendant knocked on your window.

“Give us a minute, please!”

You climbed off his lap and giggled as Sy grinned over at you.

“‘S Not too soon, Buttercup. Hell, we could go to Vegas tomorrow. I’m more than ready.”

You chewed your lip as you considered Sy’s idea. You wanted time to think and get everything settled.

“I see you Buttercup. I’ll give you some space. But what about this idea? You go back to your house, start getting ready, packing up a little but don’t over do it, and I drive out in about three weeks, right around the 4th, pack you up in one of those containers…”

Sy leered at you as you laughed at him.

“... then leave it for the moving company to pick up while we drive back at a leisurely pace in Betty, go to Vegas, get hitched, and come back to married life and you start in August.”

“Honeymoon on the road? In Betty Bronco?”

Sy looked over at you, worried that it wasn’t enough for you.

“Well, we could–”

You hurled yourself over to him again and started peppering kisses all over his face.

“It’s perfect! We could do the Hoover Dam, the Grand Canyon, Cadillac Ranch…”

Sy held you back from him as you cheesed. He could tell that your emotion was genuine.

“You’d really want that for our honeymoon?”

“Yes! A small wedding and road trip in Betty is perfect for us, Sy. I’ve done the fancy wedding honeymoon in Paris thing. That shit doesn’t matter. I told you, I just wanna be your shotgun for lifeeee!”

Sy felt himself getting emotional. He was going to give you the world, even if you didn’t ask for it.

“You’re the one that’s perfect, Buttercup. I can’t wait for you to be my Mrs.”

You felt the window rattle against your head as Sy held you in his lap. You were a giggling mess as he gladly ordered your burgers while you were safely ensconced in his grip.

—

An hour later, you were on the road to the airport, your suitcase full of Sy’s shirts, lighter some of your underwear. Your heart was full of bittersweet emotions, so happy that you were soon going to marry the love of your life, but not knowing how you were going to survive without him for the next 24 days.

You shook your head and laughed at yourself.

“What’s so funny, Buttercup?”

Sy looked at you, shining in the afternoon sunlight, showered and ensconced in tank top and leggings, layered with the dress shirt he’d been wearing that morning. God, you were beautiful.

“I’m just thinking how I came into town Ms. Independent and leaving anticipating being Mrs. Syverson.”

He picked up your hand and kissed it.

“Yeah. That is funny. Isn’t it.”

He grinned at you and turned his attention back to the road. You shook his head as you thought of the balls he had to step to you the way he did just four days earlier. You loved this man.

“Gonna miss your face, Syverson.”

“Well, the next time you see it, you’re just gonna have to sit on it to prove that statement, Buttercup.”

It was your turn to laugh at him.

“I can’t with you.”

Sy gave you a cheeky grin.

“Yes you can. But in all seriousness. I miss you already. It’s gonna be tough, but soon, I’ll be rolling down your road ready to claim my bride.”

“God, you make it sound like we’re in a western and that I’m your mail order wife or something, Sy.”

“Hmmmm. Sounds like a good little fantasy to me. Maybe we’ll roleplay that soon.”

He waggled his eyebrows at you as he pulled into the short term parking lot at the airport. Your heart dropped, but you sucked it up as Sy got your bags out of the car and walked in with you to check them in. You lingered until the last minute you needed to go through security to say goodbye.

Sy held you tight as you started crying, realizing it as your tears started soaking through the polo he’d changed into. He kissed the top of your head as his own eyes started watering.

“You text me when you get to your seat, and text me when you land, and facetime me when you get home. I’ll be tracking your flight…”

Sy’s gruff voice betrayed his smile as you pulled back to fix your face. Good thing you weren’t wearing any makeup. Sy was marveling at how beautiful you looked in pigtails and watery eyes as he gave you one last kiss.

“See you soon, Buttercup. I love you.”

You gulped down a sob and decided to be a big girl.

“See you soon, Sy. I love you too.”

You knew he was watching you as you walked toward security. And you felt his eyes on you as you made your way through, until he couldn’t see any glimpse of you anymore.

——

Next Part Here.

Hope you liked it! Please Reblog if you did! 😊

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twilghtkoo · 1 year

Text

ride: rendezvous [part two] jjk

“where we going?” “you’ll see.”

summary. you’re having one of the worst days so jungkook takes you to his favorite place

pairings. biker!jungkook x reader (f)

genres/aus. fluff, comfort, s2l, f2l, college au

warnings. slight peek of popular!jk, reader has anxiety, mentions of a panic attack

word count.

notes. this series is in chronological order so this is a bit after their first date!! a scene that i wrote is inspired by a tiktok i saw 🛐 guys i was deadass when i said i keep seeing motorcycle tiktoks on my fyp T__T it was so random but my brain somehow connected it to jungkook, anyway !!! stream still with you and likes/reblogs are appreciated >_<

[ series masterpost | masterlist | taglist ]

—

you failed.

you failed the test.

you stared at your laptop screen, the big, bold, red colored fifty-nine almost mocking you in a sense. if the nine grew a pair of eyes and a mouth it’d be laughing at you right now.

you don’t get it. you’ve studied for this test, knowing it’d play a big part in your overall grade, and you still managed to flunk it.

tears started to form, blurring your vision, before you remember that you’re in the library that occupy other fellow students that don’t need to see a mental breakdown and a forming anxiety attack. even though they probably would’ve understood. you shut your laptop and shove the electronic inside your bag, standing up to push your chair in to make your way to the exit doors.

jungkook isn’t here with you today. he was working on a project with a couple of his classmates somewhere on campus, you can’t remember his text.

and although you wish you could just dial his number and cry to him, you don’t. no matter how bad your chest is tightening. instead, just taking the bus home and already deciding to have a crying session with your pillows.

“see you later jeon.”

jungkook waves one last time to namjoon and taehyung, his classmates, before he heads in the opposite direction. shoving his hands in the front of his jean pockets as he takes his time to walk to the campus’s parking garage.

he can feel the stares of the people who pass by but he ignores them.

he’s reminded of the one girl who’s been on his mind and he pulls his phone out to see if he’s gotten any notifications from you. but there’s none.

that’s strange. he pouts at his screen, only a few notifications being emails from his teachers and some from social media. but they don’t speak out to him the way yours do. he’s familiar with your schedule so he knows you’re out of class already. you usually text him to tell him how your class went and spam his tiktok with a dozen of tiktoks— he watches them all by the way.

before he concerns any further, his phone dings and he freezes.

“oh, jungkook!” a girl shouts from behind him, waving to get his attention. quickly glancing at her before he starts to pick up his pace. is she from one of his classes? he can’t remember.

he gives a tight lipped smile before he starts jogging. “can’t talk right now.”

yn 👑

ur out of class aren’t u, can u come over? ;-;

you got home about an hour ago and you still haven’t broke down. the heavy weight on your chest was becoming too much, but why won’t your body let you give out.

you groan out loud, turning over on your bed and clutching your plushie that looks like it’s been through hell and back— you’ve had it since you were a kid, okay— tighter against your chest. hoping it’ll ease the pain in your chest.

the familiar roar of a motorcycle awakens you and you’re quick to hop on your feet and rush to your door.

by the time you open your front door jungkook was just walking towards you.

“hey princess, eager to see me?” he chuckles, brushing back the strands of hair from his forehead with his tatted hand. it’s the same strands that have you itch to brush them yourself. an action that seemed too intimate, you weren’t sure if you could handle that. but you wanted to test the waters.

not trusting what you would say if you opened your mouth so you nod.

“you okay? anything happened today?” he asks while stepping into your home after you told him to come in. it’s not the first he’s been inside your home, your safe space that surrounds colors, photos and a scent that screamed you.

from his questions, the tightening feeling in your chest returned and you wince.

your fists are by your sides, opening and closing.

“i think i’m okay, i don’t know. and yeah, something did happen.” you responded softly. he observes the way your eyes dodge his and lower at his feet. something was definitely clouding your mind.

he sighs. “wanna come with me somewhere? you can tell me when we get there, if you want.”

“where we going?” you ask, as you get yourself comfortable behind him, before circling your arms around him.

he kicks the kickstand off, turning his head with his helmet on. “you’ll see.” revving the throttle as you both head to your destination.

“a park,” you giggled. “are you healing your inner child?”

he smirks at you, helping you with your helmet. since your first date, every time you are on his bike he becomes so attentive towards you.

“no, but i thought we could go on the swings and if you’re comfortable enough you can tell me who or what made you sad.”

your eyes dance over to the vacant playground behind him and back up to his eyes that are studying yours.

“you gonna beat up somebody for me?” you joke, but his face remains the same but with amusement behind his orbs.

“yah,” you nudge his side with your finger making him break his tough side, finally breaking out into a smile. the mole under his bottom lip reveals itself and you have to fight yourself to not reach on your tippy toes and kiss the beauty mark.

he gently places a hand on your waist, pulling you along with him. “come on, i’ll push you.” he tells you, leading you to the two swings.

you sit on a swing, holding onto the rusty chains as jungkook gets behind you. the mulch underneath you both crunching from his chunky boots.

“don’t push me too hard.” you tell him, a bit scared.

he lets out a laugh, “i won’t, promise.”

jungkook and you fall into a comfortable silence as he pushes you, careful not to push you too high.

“i failed my test.” you confess, you watch your still feet pass by the scenery blur beneath you.

“and i’m mad at myself because i studied so hard for it yet i managed to fail. god, and i don’t even want to see how much it dropped my grade, i literally almost had a panic attack in the library, but i left, and i wanted to contact you but remembered you were with your classmates so i had plans to cry into my pillow and fall into a pit of self-deprecation—“

jungkook grabs hold onto the swings chains to still you. “woah, woah princess, shhh.” he comes around to crouch down in front of you.

jungkook has never comforted someone, never been in a situation where a person in front of him showed their weakness. but you’re different. the way your voice cracked before he cut you off broke something inside him. it was an act of instinct how he’s crouching in front of you, his hands wrapped around the rusty chains next to your hips. he doesn’t know the first thing on how to console someone but for you he’ll learn today.

“do you want my advice or do you want to be held?” he asks you, his eyes raking over your facial features.

you purse your lips, curling your hands into your thighs before shyly answering, “can you hug me?”

he softly chuckles before straightening his legs, his figure towering over you before he envelopes you in a hug. cradling your head close to his chest.

once you were engulfed in the boy who slowly yet managed to warm up to your heart, you let out small cries. your fingers gripping the denim fabric of his jean jacket.

“you can cry princess, i won’t ever judge you.” he mumbles, his large hand brushing your head.

you don’t want to scare him but those words make you cry harder. like you’ve always wanted to hear those words.

you gasp, the palm of your hand is covering your mouth as you turn to jungkook. “let’s play rock, paper, scissors.” you suggest, grinning at him.

you cocks an eyebrow, “for?”

“if i win, i get to take your spot and you have to sit behind me. but if you lose…hm..i don’t know.” you laugh.

“i really like you princess, but i won’t let you ride us to our death.”

did your brain even process his words?

you smack him on the shoulder, he doesn’t even flinch. “no, just to sit. please,” you beg, putting your hands together and poking out your bottom lip and batting your eyelashes.

jungkook observes you with a smirk. do you even know that if you weren’t begging he would have said yes to you. because you affect him in that way.

in a way he’ll do anything for you.

he scoffs, letting out sigh and bringing out his hands out of his pockets. “okay.”

“rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

you: paper

jungkook: scissors

“two out of three!” you exclaim.

he laughs but accepts it.

“rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

you: rock

jungkook: scissors

“rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

you: scissors

jungkook: paper

“i won, you lose!” you bring your index and middle finger to cut his imaginary paper that’s his hand before jumping up and down.

he shakes his head. “you win,” he states, taking a step closer and leaning in.

“hop on, loser.” you jog over to his parked bike, throwing your leg over the seat to sit. you lean forward to grab the hand clutches with a big smile on your face.

“vroom, vroom,” you mimic the sound of the bike coming to life in an adorable way that has jungkook turning his head so you don’t see the goofy smile on his face. the way your figure looks tiny on the seat of his usual spot compared to him. your feet can barely even touch the ground.

he reaches in the front of his pant pocket. “let me take a photo of you.” he spoke, you nod giving him permission.

he quickly snaps a few photos of you before he finally makes his way over to you. leaving a mental note to send them to you and to look over them when he gets home. with one hand placed over your hip he manages to sit behind you. his legs are placed a bit uncomfortable but he doesn’t complain, instead he grabs your waist and squeezes it.

you let out a breathy laugh, “we look so silly right now. my feet can’t even touch the ground.” you wiggle your feet in front of you.

“what if i got a bike?” you ask, dipping your toes in the water. you would never get a bike, but you want to see his reaction.

he shakes his head, the wavy strands framing his face swaying left and right. “definitely not. bikes are dangerous, plus princesses can’t ride bikes.” he tries to reason with you.

you pout your lips, “princess peach does.” you mutter.

he scoffs, “babe, this isn’t mario kart silly. and, i enjoy having you as my backpack.”

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waklman · 1 year

Text

Not Strong Enough

summary: bradley struggles to understand his grief or you ask bradley why he doesn’t like when people take care of him.

warnings: heavy talks of parental death, mental health, and medicine/medication. 18+ blog.

word count: 1.8k

this is for boygenius fans who also took the line ‘once i took your medication to know what it’s like’ line quite literally bc haha same 👍🏻, not sure if it'll even translate well but lol

something ‘bout you masterlist.

Bradley Bradshaw had been a freshly twenty three when he first discovered that yellowed pill bottle hidden away in his bathroom cabinet. For all these years, the plastic casing was stashed behind a deteriorating box of waterproof band-aids and a decade-old bottle of rubbing alcohol, not meant to be found by anyone else but Carole Bradshaw.

So, when his innocent search for a first aid kit ended with him blankly staring at a cluster of tiny blue tablets spilled into the palm of his hand, the first thought that crossed his mind was to put it away. He knew his mother was no longer around to finish off her prescription, he should put them back where she had originally left them. It’d be wrong if he were to toss them down, especially when they weren’t his to take.

But Bradley Bradshaw did it anyway.

In swallowing down the expired medication, cupping a handful of sink water to aid himself, a sick expectation had welled up within Bradley that night. A part of him hoped that once they dissolved in his stomach—he’d finally be able to understand why she needed them in the first place—that it would give him a glimpse into the mind of the woman he was so curious about. That, if he just had a mere taste of what Carole Bradshaw had taken daily without his knowledge, he'd somehow be closer to her in that way.

Once they settled, Bradley would be able to encapsulate her essence, gaping that bridge he wedged between them. Perhaps then, he'd stop feeling so guilty for looking like a splitting image of her dead husband while she was combating her grief.

But for a plastic tube so brightly colored, it held something so unbelievably numb.

Laying stiffly across the bed he’d already started to outgrow, limbs dangling off the ends of the mattress, a black hole began to materialize—tearing right through his chest that night.

Carole Bradshaw never had to outwardly say it, but Bradley knew she struggled with things he couldn’t begin to fully comprehend as a young boy, barely grazed by the cruelty of the world. So, he did his best to not be another problem for her to deal with growing up, as she had fair share of those in her lifetime.

In elementary school, Bradley was the only student seated quietly, scribbling drawings of airplanes into his name tag with a thick blue crayon, while everyone else cried for their parents on the first day of school. It had been a strange revelation for a child to come to, that he needed to learn how to be alone—how to be without his parents, in case they both weren’t there anymore.

Yet, by the second grade he came to terms with that.

And throughout highschool and college, Bradley made sure to stay out of the line of trouble, for the sake of his mother who made herself sick with worry. Despite what others may think, Bradley paid special attention to his grades, in the same way Carole tended to the burst of star shaped lilies planted in their backyard. And in times where he felt alone during his youth, it almost felt cruel to voice that back to his mother when she asked him ‘How was your day sweetheart?’

It was only when she passed that he finally cried out to her, gripping onto that limp hand by the hospital bedside. It was only when Bradley was truly alone in his life that he felt it was enough to finally say it outloud.

But in his true nature, Bradley bounced back.

The realization that came to him when he was a child, that he’d eventually stretch out the rest of his life alone, hit him again. Moving forward, he had been so sure that he’d be fine with that. There was no room to feel a semblance of pain if he kept everyone at an arm's length away. It somewhat worked to ease him off the loss of Carole, and it should work with everything else in life. But, the universe had different plans for him, when they led him to you.

It had been another night you two spent staring at the stars, sitting on the same blanket on his front lawn, where Bradley found himself not thinking twice about everything he said. Maybe it was the comfort the night sky provided him, or maybe it was because he was just talking to you.

“Hey Bradley?” you call out for him, cutting through the silence. “Why don’t you let people do things for you?”

Bradley keeps his eyes trained on the lights dusted besides the full moon, knowing you were looking at it too. “What do you mean?” He softly asks, delaying a bit.

Slowly, you turn your head, admiring freckles that speckled across his cheek. They lightly danced over the scars adorning his face, and just barely kissed over the tip of his nose. And despite the array of stars twinkling right in front of you, trying to catch your attention again as they glimmered—you had always found him much more mesmerizing.

Bradley Bradshaw was a once in a lifetime sight you had the privilege of seeing up close. And for that reason, you can’t look away from him, not now at least.

“When people let you skip them in line, you don’t do it,” you warily pause, watching Bradley nod as you start. “Then you do that thing where you buy your own beers before your team gets to the Hard Deck, so they don’t beat you to it,” you bite your lip, digging through your list of observations.

“And you have this look when I do stuff for you, like, you don’t understand why I’m making you lunch or why I’m buying you stupid things that remind me of you,” you finally share, stretching your legs out.

The silence that lingers after is heavy.

Bradley takes in a quiet breath, reminded by the life sized teddy bear you lugged into his apartment just last week. “It’s not something I’m used to,” he provides weakly, recalling the way you excitedly screeched at him when the bear fit perfectly on his couch. He’s still not looking at you as he continues. “It’s..it’s dumb. But the idea of someone looking after me, even if it's in a small way. I just…it feels weird for me.”

Everyone he knew, acted as if they hit the jackpot when someone else confessed that they loved them ardently. But while others wished for a moment like that, Bradley wished against it—it would be too burdensome for him. Bradley never wanted someone to love him again, not until now.

“Do you…not like when I do things for you? Is that something you don’t–”

“No. When it’s you, it feels different, ” he cuts you off suddenly. “When you pack me lunch, I feel good eating it. I don’t…I don’t feel guilty eating it,” his head drops, hanging forward like a weight. There had been so many times he secretly threw up his own mother’s cooking, thinking it would hurt less if he didn’t take her token of love. “I hate feeling bad about things like that, it’s not normal,” he confesses.

You blink back the tears coating your eyes, not wanting to lose sight of his starlike freckles. “I want to help you feel good Bradley,” you whisper, fingers twitching at your side.

Swallowing thickly, your eyes dart between the solemn expression he’s wearing and the scrunch his fingers give the thin blanket below him. “I want you to feel okay with being loved, you deserve it as much as anyone else does. I want that for you now, and I think…I would’ve wanted it for you if we were both kids.—if I was lucky enough to know you when I was ten.”

At that, Bradley finally smiles, and it doesn’t seem so tasking to do so. “Would you have sat next to me in class?” He finally turns to you, starting a study of your face, realizing that you glow brighter than the stars shining above both of you.

“In class, and during lunch time. Then we would have hung out during recess too because obviously I win you over with my charms,” you softly smile at him, playing with the idea.

It’s too late for it now—the possibility of you two growing up together as kids. But a part of Bradley likes to imagine it anyway.

If you had been there during his quiet walks home from school, it would have kept his tears from falling. If you fell over in a heated game of tag, he would’ve kissed over your bruised knees like he does now. And if you were there when he came home to an empty house, he wouldn’t have taken Carole’s medication to know what it’s like to be someone who loved him.

“What if all I did was draw the ugliest airplane models?”

“I was a pretty weird kid. I’d probably sit there drooling while watching you doodle,” you confirm, biting your lip to suppress a small laugh.

Bradley extends his hand out to you, uncurling your lip from your teeth to hear it spill from you. Right as he does, you finally giggle in his palm. “Hey, don’t start droolin’ on me Babybear,” he warns, laughing with you.

With his hand cupping your cheek, he leans in to press a quick kiss to your smiling mouth. “I wish we could’ve been kids together,” he cements, pulling back.

“Bradley,” you lean into his hand, warming his calloused palm. “Did you forget about us snatching the last toy plane right from that kid in Target the other day?”

Bradley lightly shrugs, tracing his hand up to tousle your hair. “We have more fun with that plane than he ever will,” he decides, leaving his hand there, holding the top of your head firmly.

Head clamped under his fingers, you nod. “I bet he wishes he could fly it as high as we do when I’m sittin’ on your shoulders.”

“That’s right,” he gradually nods in agreement.

“Speaking of, let’s go back inside and fly it after you take your medication,” you sternly point a finger at him, pairing it with a look.

Bradley mindlessly begins to draw an outline of a plane into your scalp, using his index resting over the back of your head. “Will you feed it to me?”

“That’s a silly question. You know I always do,” you tilt your head slightly.

Bradley softens, finishing off his invisible sketch, adding the detail to the airplane wing.

“Yeah, you always do,” he echoes.

Lieutenant Bradshaw had been thirty nine when he first discovered he’d been prescribed the medication his mother once took. Instead of her name printed across the label, there was his name. Bradley Nick Bradshaw.

But, when it finally came time to take it, Bradley was never shaking above the sink, apprehensive as it spilled out into his palm, no. Because you were always there, softly whispering I love yous as you gently dipped it into his mouth.

Bradley Bradshaw was never left curious about how it felt to love someone like him, not when you kept telling him how rewarding it was.

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @s0uz4s @bradswolfe @swiftsgirlfriend @djs8891 @cherrylipgloss-baby @mannsachds @strokesofstokes @grxcisxhy-wp @anna1523 @coconut152 @goosterroose @chicomonks @pedrohoe04 @cruelmissdior @angelbabyange @shanimallina87 @ohgodnotagainn @cottagecori @maplesyurp07 @atarmychick007 @Olivia21blunt @s-u-t @hangmanscoming @geraltsaxiii @wkndwlff @sammyrenae68 @bradshawed @roosterbruiser @gracelyn-writes @bubblegumbeautyqueen @angeliccks @zombiedeathsworld @blueoorchid @averyhotchner @laylaskywalker

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster x y/n #tgm fic #rooster x you #rooster x y/n #rooster angst #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Congrats on the 5K! You deserve it! Also good luck with the florist job!

And so happy that request are open for 5K special! I hope that Im not too late-

I'd like to request a Alex Keller fic, I have this wholesome idea. Reader would be a librarian who is fascinated with military stuff, you know always reading those history book about wars or military forces! And Alex could have days off from his work and decided to spend those days in library reading some books? Reader gets to know that he is from military and instantly ask stuff!

Yes I was inspired by the fact you're working as a florist now. I just love these tropes!

Take care! 💗

—Bright-Eyed History Lesson

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [A librarian with a fascination for war history and a soldier who loves how her eyes light up. Like a dog, he can't stop himself from coming back; smiling like a fool.] ❞

“I knew it,” you smile widely, looking smug. The blond ahead of you furrows his brow, releasing a gentle puff of laughter at the look on your face, grinning.

“And what do you mean by that?” Your book has been long placed down on the counter, expression lively and your shift finally brought to a point of enjoyment. It was a good day when Alex Keller showed up at the library, and it was even better when he went out of his way to talk to you and entice your little quirk. It had been an obsession since grade school, really, a need to inhale all knowledge about anything warlike.

“It means,” your voice echoes out over the quiet area, “that I have an impeccable ability to read people.”

Alex rolls his eyes, arms going to cross over his chest as his feet reset themselves. His blue eyes level you with a fake expression of exasperation. The light blush on his cheeks gives him away.

“You did not know that I was involved with the Forces just by how I looked,” he says slowly, shaking his head. “I have no doubt you’re smart, Sunshine, but that’s a stretch even by me.”

“Keller,” you raise a brow and smirk. “You’re like a walking enlistment form, c’mon. A literal picture boy.”

“Are you going to let me check out or is this going to be an hour-long back-and-forth?”

“Well I don’t know,” you tilt your head, eyelids crinkled. “Are you going to let me ask you questions?”

Alex raises a brow, itching at his mustache as he sighs through a chuckle. “Aren't you on the job, Ma’am?”

“My curiosity,” you hold out a palm for the book he wishes to check out, and he produces the item from one of his hands and lightly passes it to you with a soft expression, eyes melting as you chuckle. “Stops for no one.”

“Yeah, I’m seein’ that.” He takes back his book and you smile, skin going hot.

“Am I coming on too strong?” He blinks at you, putting his rented item under his arm and shaking his head firmly soon after.

“Hell, if all I have to do today is talk to a woman like yourself, I’d count it as time well spent.” Your confidence fizzles into shyness, eyes going wide at the hidden compliment in the smooth words. Alex smirks, lips twitching before his head tilts to the twin chairs in the corner of the entryway. “Sit with me?”

Your smile turns sheepish, and your heart skips a beat in your chest.

“Okay.”

Alex had been coming around for months, and you’d be lying if you didn’t say you’d become a bit infatuated with the handsome blond and his mustache; those tattoos that span up his arms in splashes of color. He was kind—respectful. He gave you a soft smile every time he walked through the front door, tilting his head your way in greeting as you waved from behind the counter. When he began checking out books on war history, stories from long past conflicts, you’d given tidbits of your own knowledge over in passing, not expecting much of it.

But, well, Alex had that air about him—the one that gave you a feeling he was either in for forces himself or had been previously.

You both sit in the soft chairs in the entryway, your eyes alight with interest that the man can’t help but stare at as your lips start dancing. Your questions make him happy because it makes you happy to ask them, and the sight of your shining grin is like a blanket on a cold day.

He wouldn’t have checked out all of those books if not to see you again, of course. He’s not some scholar—there are only so many hours in the day to read. He still has a stack in his room he needs to get through.

Alex laughs, easing out with a raised hand. “One at a time, Sweetheart.”

You itch at the side of your neck, shrugging as you take him in with a tease. “At least try to keep up, Alex.”

His body shifts as you say his name, the warm lights of the library around you and the air filled with the scents of cinnamon and old leaves. Blue eyes shine, blinking away with a laugh as he clears his throat to try and hide the plain happiness in it.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’ll try, but at least show me a bit of mercy over here, Doll.” You hum, leaning on the arm of the chair to be closer to him. Alex’s breath lightly hitches as you smirk.

“How long until you need to leave?” Your voice asks out, and he watches you as if you’re the only person to exist.

Bless his soul, he was absolutely lost to you.

Alex’s face goes a shade of red.

“I’m here as long as you need me,” he says and matches your level of mischievousness with a quirk of his brow. “You’ve heard about the cat that got killed by his curiosity, yeah? Well, I’d hate to have that happen to you, Ma’am. Seems I’ve got my work cut out.”

If it was possible, you think you just fell in love.

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rubyreduji · 1 year

Text

Failing Grades — csc

summary: when you first walked into professor choi’s class, this is not where you were expecting it to go (professor choi and y/n’s beginning)

tags: smut (minors dni!), college!au, professor!seungcheol warnings: explicit unprotected sex, age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, praise, oral (m. receiving) wc: 2.6k an: giving the people what they want (may be the last one though bc honestly i don’t know how invested i am in this series anymore im sorry ahfdkla)

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

When you first walked into your Intro to Biology class you weren’t expecting much. Why would you? It’s a required course that you have to take to get your degree and as long as you get a passing grade you’ll be fine.

The first thing you noticed when you walked in was that your professor wasn’t in the room, but his things were. A tweed jacket was draped over the back of the chair behind the desk and you sighed to yourself. Another old man professor who’s going to yell at you all semester. Great.

You looked around the room to see there’s only a couple seats left, near the front. You guess that’s what you got for getting to class a minute before it started. You reluctantly took your seat and glanced at the door. Right as you looked over, the door swung open and in walked the most handsome man you had ever seen.

He had raven black hair that was styled neatly out of his face and full lips that were a tempting pink color. He looked to be middle aged and was wearing a white button up shirt and tweed pants to match the jacket on the chair. You could see the outline of his muscles through the material of his shirt. This guy was your professor? Holy shit.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he walked over to the board and scrawled his name across the board in neat handwriting.

“Welcome to Introduction to Biology. My name is Professor Choi, and I’ll be your instructor for the next fifteen weeks. Now let’s get started.”

You couldn’t pay attention the whole class, instead just staring at your professor the whole time. You couldn’t get over his good looks. His strong facial features and his large hands and his piercing eyes. So maybe you weren’t able to answer any of the questions he asked you, it really wasn’t your fault that he was just so…distracting.

Even three weeks later, it’s still not your fault that you can’t pay attention in class due to your gazing at him. You can barely even listen to what he’s telling you now, as you sit in his office after you failed your first big test for his class.

“Miss L/N, are you even paying attention to me?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, yes I am.” You’re paying attention to him, just not in the way he wants you to. “I just don’t get the material. Maybe it’s the way you teach it or-”

“Is there something wrong with the way I teach?” Professor Choi's eyebrow goes up and you have to stop yourself from squeezing your thighs together.

“No, no! I’m just saying maybe if I got some extra help or-”

“That’s what you need, is it Miss L/N?”

This isn’t the first time you’ve been caught up in a situation with your professor like this. It’s not uncommon for Professor Choi to talk to you after class about one of your assignments or the way you blatantly don’t take notes and keep spacing off. This is the first time he’s ever called you to his office though.

“Biology is just hard for me and it doesn’t help I keep getting distracted and so maybe I need a tutor or-”

“What’s been distracting you, Miss L/N?” He keeps cutting you off, but you can’t find it annoying because his voice is just so goddamn sexy. It also drives you crazy the way he calls you Miss L/N, in more ways than one.

You pause, trying to think of a good enough lie but then his eyes pierce into you and you can’t help but let it all out. “You have! How can I learn about genes and whatever, when you’re walking around the lecture hall looking like some sex god.”

“...Sex god?”

“Oh no.” You automatically hide your face behind your hands. “I just mean- I’m- fuck. Please don’t fail me.”

Professor Choi is quiet for a moment but you can’t focus on what he’s doing when your heart is beating a hundred miles per hour in your chest and your eyes are starting to water up with tears.

“You’re close enough to failing due to your own volition, you don’t have to worry about me failing you,” Professor Choi finally speaks up. “I don’t like seeing my students fail, Miss L/N, so perhaps you are correct, maybe you do need some extra help.”

“Professor Choi…?”

“I like you Y/N, you’re a good kid, so let’s strike a deal.”

“W-what kind of deal?” You don’t miss the way he referred to you by your first name.

“I’ll regrade your test, and in return you do something for me.” Your professor’s voice drops low as he finishes his sentence. Your face heats up at the implications. Before you can respond, Professor Choi continues. “If you do not see this solution fit, I’ll set you up with a tutor I have on hand and you can retake the test.”

“N-no Professor, I think that your, uhm, solution should work for me.” You don’t actually know what he means by “do something for him”. In all honesty this could just mean you run his errands for him when you’re not in class, but something is compelling you to say yes to him.

Professor Choi stands up from behind his desk and takes his jacket off. You stare at him as he does, your eyes trailing over his form. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you, staring down at you like you’re his next meal.

“You are one hundred percent sure, Miss L/N?”

“I’ve never been more sure of something in my life before, Sir.” You take note of the way Professor Choi reacts to being called sir.

“Good. Now get on your knees for me like a good girl would.” The tone of his voice changes as he commands you and it goes right to your core.

“Yes Professor -”

Suddenly your chin is being grabbed and a thumb is pulling down on your lower lip. “Call me Seungcheol.” You nearly cum right there.

All you can do is nod, speechless, as you sink down onto your knees in front of your professor. In front of Seungcheol.

He slowly undoes his belt before unbuttoning his pants. He takes his time unzipping his pants and pulling his cock out from its restraints. The wait is driving you crazy, thinking about how you’re about to suck the sexiest man alive’s cock. Your pussy has been wet ever since Seungcheol called you into his office after class, but now you’re soaked.

You shift a bit on your knees before going totally still at the sight of Seungcheol’s hardened cock. It’s long and thick and his tip is an angry red, already slightly sheen from precum.

Your mouth is slightly opened out of shock and Seungcheol takes the opportunity to press his tip up against your lips. This kicks you out of your trance and you’re quick to wrap your lips around his tip, sucking and licking at the head of his cock.

Above you, you can hear the way Seungcheol’s breathing stutters for a moment from the acceptance of his cock into your mouth. You slowly add more of him into your mouth until almost your entire mouth is full of him. You make sure to incorporate all of your best dick sucking tips, using every bit of your lips and tongue you can.

Without thinking much your hands reach up to grab the rest of Seungcheol’s cock that doesn’t fit into your mouth. You can barely focus on the obscene sounds your mouth is making, too focused on making Seungcheol feel good.

It isn’t until you feel fingers carding through your hair that you glance up Seungcheol, mouth still full of cock. “You’re doing so good for me, taking my cock like the pretty little slut you are. How about you let me take though.”

You nod the best you can, but Seungcheol seems to get the message and is quick to shove your face farther into him, your nose burying itself into the dark coarse hairs on his pelvis. You gag a bit at the forcefulness of his cock shoving deep down your throat, but you do your best to regain your composure.

Seungcheol doesn’t stop there though, yanking your head back only to thrust right into you again. Your hands fly up to grab Seungcheol’s hips, the purpose more to steady yourself than slow the man down. Your mouth waters up with saliva as Seungcheol continues to fuck your mouth at a brutual pace.

You’ve sucked cock before, of course, but never one that was as large as Seungcheol’s. You can feel the way his tip presses against the back of your throat and you have to remind yourself to breathe through your nose so you don’t choke. You’ve also never sucked a dick that was attached to someone who had such a commanding presence as Seungcheol. Your pussy clenches at the way your professor’s fingers dig into your hair, guiding your head along his length.

“If only you were as good at biology as you are at taking cock. Then again if you were, we wouldn't be in this situation now would we? It’s okay, gorgeous, I think I like you like this better anyways.”

You whine at Seungcheol’s words. You can’t help but relish in the praise being laid on by your professor. You can’t count the number of times you went home after his class to jack off to the idea of this very moment.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol growls. “Cumming.”

That’s the only warning you get before warm, thick cum is being spurted into your mouth and sliding down your throat. You do your best to catch it all, but you still end up with some of it running down your chin, mixed with your saliva.

Seungcheol pulls out of your mouth and stares down at you as you take a moment to finally breathe properly again. Your professor grabs a tissue and wipes your chin off for you and you can’t help but think how it’s sort of a sweet gesture.

“Do you need a break, or can I bend you over my desk and fuck you right now?” You shiver at the way he’s so transparent.

“Fuck me. Please, right now. I need it,” you beg. Your pussy is aching with a need to be filled and fucked that can only be satisfied by one man.

Seungcheol helps you to your feet only to push you down over his desk a second later.

“God, you’re perfect. I’ve never seen anyone as perfect as you before doll. You’ve driven me crazy since the first time I saw you in class, sitting in the front row staring at me the whole lecture. Should have known you wanted to fuck me the moment I caught you staring at my ass.”

As Seungcheol talks his hands run over your body, awaking goosebumps on your skin. His hands finally slide down to your hips and he pushes down your skirt and panties in one swoop, leaving your bottom bare to the room. Seungcheol’s hands knead at the soft flesh of your ass before he lifts his palm and brings it right back down in a loud crack.

You let out a strangled yelp and your pussy clenches at the feeling. Seungcheol chuckles to himself at his own actions. His fingers reach between your legs and drag over your slit, collecting the slick that has accumulated there.

“Oh baby, you’re so wet for me. I bet I could just slide right in, you needy little thing.”

“Please, please do. I need you. Daddy please,” you whine. It isn’t until the words are out of your mouth that you realize what you said. You’re about to take it back when Seungcheol starts talking again.

“Daddy? Heh, you naughty girl. Call me that when you cream all over my cock, okay?” With that Seungcheol’s cock pushes into your entrance and you let out a high pitched moan from the back of your throat.

Seungcheol’s grip on your hips is tight as he pushes your hips forward and back into him. His hips snap to the rhythm he’s set and your mind goes numb at the feeling. You can’t think of anything else besides Seungcheol, Seungcheol, Seungcheol.

Your fingers dig into the edge of the desk as Seungcheol’s cock digs deeper and faster into you. You can’t do much but just lay there and moan as Seungcheol continues to fuck you, flooding your sense with nothing but pleasure.

“You like that, don’t you baby girl? You like how daddy’s cock fills you up nice and deep.”

“Yes daddy! I love it,” you cry.

Seungcheol’s hand drags down your spin and you arch your back at his touch, whining as he does. Seungcheol chuckles again, pleased with your reaction.

“Pretty girls, with nice tight cunts. You’re the best of the best doll.” You can barely even react to what Seungcheol is saying anymore, too blissed out to focus properly. Seungcheol’s hand smacks your ass again and your pussy clenches down around him. “Fuck, don’t do that or I’ll cum. Would you like that? If I came inside of you?”

“Yes, please. Please cum in me daddy, I want it. I need it.”

“God, you really are the goodest girl. But if you want me to cum inside of you, you have to cum first, okay baby girl.”

“Yes, daddy.”

Seungcheol reaches around you and his fingertips connect to your clit. They rub at you in rhythm to his thrusts and you want nothing but to stay like this forever.

You can feel your resolve starting to break as you get closer and closer to your climax. Your legs start to shake and before you can even warn Seungcheol, your pussy is clamping down on him as you hit your high. You can’t do more than let out breathy moans as Seungcheol works you through your high.

It doesn’t take long for him to finish as well, releasing him cum into you as you lay sprawled out on his desk. You whine when you feel him pull out, sad to experience the empty feeling of not having his cock in you anymore.

You can’t move a bone, but you can hear Seungcheol walking around his office. It isn’t until you feel him wiping you down and pulling your skirt and panties back up that you realize what he’s doing. When you finally sit up, Seungcheol is standing there with a water bottle held out to you.

“T-thank you,” you stutter before taking the water bottle and downing half of it in one go. “For uhm, all of it.”

“I’ll see that your grade is changed to something passable,” Seungcheol tells you as he leans against his desk.

“Professor- I mean, Seungcheol, sir. I just was thinking that you know, I’m really bad at biology and I’ll need a lot of help so maybe we could…do this again?”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment like he’s thinking over his answer. “I think we can make an arrangement.” You’re about to celebrate when Seungcheol opens his mouth again. “On one condition though.”

“What’s the condition, sir?”

“May I kiss you?”

It’s framed as a question, giving you an out if you wanted. You don’t. Instead you just lean over and press your lips against his. He brings his hand up to the back of your neck and deepens the kiss. Your lips slot together perfectly and you can’t help but think it’s a sign. A sign that this was meant to be.

Who knows, maybe something good could come out of this other than just a passing grade.

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candyflossfairy · 2 years

Text

𝑚𝑟. 𝑚𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑜𝑛 (𝑒.𝑚. 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: Dad!Eddie x Teacher!Reader. It's that time of year for parent-teacher conferences, and you finally meet Ronnie's father, Mr. Munson.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 18+ only, unprotected sex (p in v), slight choking, Jacobs Ladder piercings.

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 3.7k

𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠: Eddie manip by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple . My work for @newlips milestone of love!

Your first year of teaching was going by pretty well. The students were sweet, fun, and for the most part, they listened. Of course, sitting in a classroom all day was tough work for second graders, they got a little restless after lunch. You didn’t mind it, though. There was a lot of gift giving that made it all better. Notes, drawings, coloring book pages, apples, even one gave you a glass apple with the words World’s Best Teacher! on it that you kept on your desk. It was sweet, really. All of them were, in their own ways.

Even the ones that acted out more than others.

Like Lucy Carver who had a knack for acting like a princess and bribing others with lunch money to do classwork for her.

Or her step-brother, Ronnie Munson, who would pick on his sister relentlessly and talk loudly in class for attention. You knew it was for attention, because you saw who picked up Lucy every day and who picked up Ronnie. He was missing out on some motherly love. You hated Chrissy Carver for that. There were days when she did pick him up, but most of the time it was Mr. Munson, or Wayne Munson, Ronnie’s great uncle that would pick him up.

You hugged Ronnie a little tighter than the other kids. You made sure he did his classwork and helped him when he needed it because of it. Not to say you had a favorite, you just knew which kids needed an extra push. It was sad that at such a young age he felt like he wasn’t getting enough love from his mother, even if he didn’t know that’s what he was feeling.

He was a cute kid, too. Looked like a carbon copy of his dad—dark curls and chocolate eyes. It was better that way, you thought. When he was older he wouldn’t look in the mirror and see his mom staring back at him.

It was parent-teacher conference day. You were nervous for your first one, but your colleagues assured you that there wasn’t much to be nervous about. Some parents were dicks when it came to their child’s grades, but for the most part it was manageable. Plus you got a better insight on what parents helped their kids at home, and which ones left them to their devices.

“Lucy is doing great as far as her social skills. She’s developing them very well. She also has a talent for math—on the days she decides to do it.” You explained to Mr. and Mrs. Carver, “I think a little more encouragement from the two of you and she will be on top of her schoolwork more.”

“So you’re saying it’s our fault?” Mr. Carver spat.

“Jason—” Mrs. Carver chastised.

“I’m not saying that at all, Mr. Carver.” You said calmly, giving him a smile, “But I do think restricting the amount of money you give to your child will keep her from paying others to do her schoolwork for her. She’s a very smart girl when she applies herself.” You continued.

“Thank you very much for your time. We will keep that in mind.” Mrs. Carver said, as they stood up. She picked up the progress report and the two of them stepped outside.

You sighed, pressing a hand to your face.

“I feel that way after interacting with them too,”

You shot up straight, a soft flush to your cheeks.

“No, really, they can be pretty awful.” Mr. Munson stepped inside, shutting the classroom door behind him.

“Is… Mrs. Carver not joining us?” You asked, clearing your throat as you shuffled your papers before looking for Ronnie’s.

“Chrissy? Nah, she tries to forget that we both exist as much as she can.” Mr. Munson told you with a playful grin, as he grabbed a chair on the other side of your desk. He turned it around before sitting in it backwards, his legs spread widely and his crotch on display from the wide hole in the back of it.

You kept your eyes on his face, even though it was in your peripheral. Mr. Munson was attractive, covered in tattoos, a labret piercing above his chin, one in his eyebrow. He also had muscles that strained against his shirt from many days working at the mechanic shop in town. You hadn’t been there since you’d moved to Hawkins, but you did know he worked there.

Single mom’s talked about him quite often. He had a little bit of a reputation for fixing problems that they’d had.

Not to mention, he was a bit older than you — not by that much. He was in his late 20s, you were in your mid, it wasn’t bad.

You didn’t know why you were thinking about this. You were having a parent-teacher conference about his son. It had nothing to do with the fact that you hadn’t had sex since you’d moved here. It didn’t have to do with the fact that Mr. Munson was too sexy for his own good.

You swallowed, and looked down at Ronnie’s progress report.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You responded.

“Nah, no biggie. I’m more upset for Ronnie’s sake than my own. She’s been a bitch since she married Carver.” He shrugged.

You snorted a chuckle at that, trying to hide it. You’d seen how snooty she was, too. You couldn’t imagine her ever being any other way.

“It’s true. She used to be a sweet little thing. Loved me and our boy. Carver’s…persuasive. I’m just glad we split up before Ronnie could remember much. He doesn’t remember her like that. I think it makes it hurt less — sorry, didn’t mean to like — spill on you. Anyways, how’s Ronnie doing in class?”

You swallowed back your thoughts. So, you’d been right. Mrs. Carver didn’t care for her son much.

“He needs a little extra pushing from me from time to time. He does like to aggravate Lucy and awful lot and cause disruptions, but he’s been getting better since the school year first started.” You started off, looking over his progress report. You highlighted a few grades and slid the paper over to Mr. Munson.

“These zeros are homework assignments he never turned in. It’s not particularly hurting his overall grade, but if you can get him to do them, I’ll give him seventy-five percent credit for them. I know single parenting is much harder than it looks on the outside, so I’m willing to work with you, and him, to make sure he’s able to move up next year.” You smiled at him kindly.

“We appreciate that.” Mr. Munson nodded, looking at the report, “These aren’t hard assignments either, huh? I guess they just got lost in the fray of things.” He laughed, before his eyes flicked to you, “Though, it’ll be a shame that I don’t get to see your smiling face every morning after he moves up.”

Your cheeks flared pink at that, and you brushed some hair behind your ear. You couldn’t tell if he was flirting or not, but… God, you hoped he was.

“Well, I’ll still be here next year… so there’s no shame in dropping by to see me.” You smiled at him, folding your hands on your desk.

“No? Wouldn’t be weird if I… came by and saw you without my kid?” He asked, grinning back.

“Definitely not.” You hummed.

Mr. Munson looked at the time, before standing. “Our time slot is up.” He mused, turning the chair back around the right way.

You bit your lip, before standing. “My last one ends at eight.” You said quickly.

“Oh? Did you…want me to come back?” His brows lifted.

You nodded.

“Alright, I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harrington. Goodnight.” You shut your door after your final meeting and bellowed a sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you leaned back against the door. It had been a long day, and for the most part people hadn’t been awful, but there had been a select few who had been awful.

There was a soft knock on your door, and you opened it back up.

“Oh, Mr. Munson —” You had forgotten, so wrapped up in everything, you had forgotten he was going to come back. Your cheeks flushed again and you stepped aside to let him into your classroom.

He kicked the door shut behind him, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Did you not expect me to come back?” He asked, grinning a bit.

“No—it’s not that.” You laughed, “I just. You know.” You shrugged. “I’m glad you’re back.” You rubbed your arm nervously.

“Yeah?” He chuckled, stepping closer to you, “And why’s that?”

You were almost nose to nose with him. You could feel his breath fanning over your skin. You swallowed, thickly.

“Mr. Munson—”

“You can call me Eddie.” He cut you off.

“Eddie—” You started, “Is Ronnie taken care of for the night?” You had to make sure.

“Took him to his great uncle Wayne’s. He loves it over there. He’s set.” He gently lifted a hand and brushed some of your hair back.

You wet your lips, and his eyes flicked down to them.

“Why don’t we go back to my place?” He suggested, his hand gently resting on your jaw. He rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip and you couldn’t ignore the warmth that flooded between your legs at that.

You nodded, numbly, and turned to gather your things. He watched you from afar as you placed all of your paperwork into a binder and shoved it, and your laptop, haphazardly into your school bag.

“Wanna meet me there, or ride with me?” He asked, winking at you.

“Either is fine.” You cleared your throat.

“You like motorcycles?” He chuckled. You raised your brows before nodding.

Fuck, that was hot. He had a motorcycle? He should just breed you now.

You let that thought wash over you as you followed him out of the school, stopping only to put your bag into your car before swallowing thickly as Eddie handed you a helmet.

“Safety first.” He winked at you, pulling his long hair up into a bun at the base of his neck. You tried to not think to hard about him putting his hair up to eat you out, but it wasn’t easy to ignore.

You slipped the helmet on and clipped it into place. He straddled the motorcycle.

“Alright, throw your leg over like I did and hold on tight.” He grinned at you.

“What happened to ‘safety first’?” You asked, raising a brow at the fact that he didn’t have a helmet on.

“For you, sweetheart. Not for me. I like to live dangerously.” He laughed loudly.

You shook your head in amusement as you took his hand, throwing your leg over the back of the bike. Surprisingly, you didn’t fall on your face or stumble, and settled into the seat behind him.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and held on tight.

He was warm, body toned. You couldn’t wait to see what it looked like naked.

He turned on the bike and kicked up the kickstand, revving the engine a few times before he took off out of the parking lot.

You couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in you as he raced down the street. It had been a while since you’d done anything fun. Moving to Hawkins had been a bit of a poison to your social life — sure, you had the other teachers at Hawkins Elementary, but most of them were much older than you and had lived there their entire lives.

He pulled up to the only apartment complex in Hawkins; a newer building you had been told. They looked fairly nice from the outside, and you couldn’t wait to see the inside.

Eddie pulled into a parking spot and kicked the stand back down, shutting the bike off.

He helped you off of the bike and tilted his head towards the stairs in front of you. “Just up those.” He told you.

You followed him up to the second floor and he unlocked the door first door you came to, letting you in.

“Home sweet home. It’s not much, but it’s ours.” Eddie smiled, shrugging his jacket off. He hung it on a chair in the small dining area and stepped into the kitchen.

“You like beer?” He asked.

“Yeah, a beer would be nice.” You nodded as you looked around.

The front area was a decent sized living room, connected to the small dining room that held a small round table with four chairs. The kitchen was connected to that. There was a short hallway right in front of you. You had to assume the bathroom and bedrooms were back that way.

“Here,” Eddie handed you the beer, popping his open before sitting on the couch. “Make yourself comfy.” He said, propping his boots on the edge of a beat up coffee table.

You followed his suit, sitting next to him on the couch. You crossed one leg over the other, popping your beer open.

You took a sip. It was cheap, but it would take the edge off of whatever nerves you were feeling.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, just quietly sipping from your beers. It wasn’t awkward persae, it was just… different? You both knew what you were here for, so you weren’t sure why he was playing worlds best host.

You just wanted him to fuck you already.

You downed your beer in the next second, placing it on the coffee table.

“Woah, want another one?” Eddie asked.

“No,” You said, and feeling a spur of confidence, you uncrossed your legs and threw one over his lap, straddling his legs.

He smirked up at you, letting his legs fall from the coffee table.

“Hi,” He said, learning around you to put his beer down.

“Hi,” You responded, smiling down at him.

His hands gently rested on your waist, pinkies on each side pushing up your shirt to feel your skin.

You reached forward, and brushed his hair off of his shoulder.

“Kissing, or no?” You asked, your voice a soft whisper.

“Why wouldn’t I want kissing?” He chuckled.

You shrugged. “Some guys think it’s too intimate.”

His brow furrowed. “Sex is intimate.” He laughed.

You shared a smile with him before leaning in to kiss him. His lips were softer than you had expected, the stubble on his lip scratching your skin softly. You didn’t mind it, really. He was…so fucking hot.

He nipped your lip softly, and you parted them for him, allowing his tongue to invade your mouth. He tasted like beer, and cigarettes. You didn’t mind it as much as you thought. However, maybe it was because it was him.

You brushed the thoughts from your mind, biting at his bottom lip, your teeth lightly clanking against the piercing there.

Tattooed hands pushed up the sides of your shirt, fingers squeezing your sides, pinkies slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You could feel them toying with the edge of your underwear, too.

You broke the kiss for a breath, panting softly as his mouth made its way to your neck.

“No hickies.” You said quickly, “I don’t need the kids asking questions.”

Eddie chuckled against your skin.

“Bedroom?” He asked, nipping softly at your pulsepoint.

You nodded; and up you went. He had lifted you like you were nothing and he carried you down the hallway. He dropped you on the bed and pulled his shirt off, displaying more tattooed skin. He climbed onto the bed, pressing a knee between your legs as his hand cupped the top of your head, his elbow resting near your shoulder as he kissed you, his entire body covering yours.

You moaned into his mouth as his knee rubbed against your mound. You reached between you to press your hand against his half-hard cock in his jeans. He responded with a soft groan.

You stayed like that for a long while, teasing each other, him with his knee and you with your hand, your lips never leaving one anothers.

It had almost became a game. See who would last the longest before they asked to go further.

You were losing. Your hips were guiding themselves up against your will, rubbing your clothed pussy against his thigh. You weren’t getting much friction from this, but what you were getting was making you soaking wet.

You popped the button of his jeans open, and reached past his boxers as a concession. He had won.

You gasped at what you felt in his pants, breaking the kiss.

“What?” He asked, his voice deep and husky as he continued to rub his knee against you.

“You’re—”

“Yeah, I know.” He chuckled, leaning down to kiss at your neck again.

He hooked his fingers in your shirt and you lifted up to let him pull it off, still a little in shock at what you felt.

His hands were then working at your pants, unzipping them and dragging them, and your panties off in one fell swoop.

His pants were next to go, and you were both naked, but—

Your eyes met his cock. It was large, the tip red and wet with precum… Your fingers gently brushed across the bottom of the shaft. Nestled there in a row were five bars. He had his cock pierced.

You swallowed thickly, wondering what it felt like for those piercings to be inside you. Especially with how big he was.

“Doesn’t hurt — at least no one’s complained.” He chuckled, “And it’s been fully healed for a few years, so nothing to worry about on my end.”

“You did them all at the same time?” You asked, a little shocked.

“Yeah, hurt like hell. But looks fuckin’ hot, don’t it?” He grinned.

You nodded.

He grasped himself in his hand and slapped it against your pussy, making your insides clench tightly. With his other hand he spread your lips and started tapping again, this time against your clit. Your legs jolted softly with each tap, your lips parted in a soft moan.

“Damn, you’re so fuckin’ wet.” He sighed, rubbing his cock against you. “You on the pill?”

“Yeah,” You nodded.

“Good.”

Neither one of you needed for you to get pregnant right now. That was unsaid between you.

He tapped your pussy a few more times, before lining himself up and pushing in.

Your back arched, a low moan leaving you. Your eyes fluttered and your head tipped back.

“That’s it… that’a’girl…take it.” He sighed into the warm air between you.

“Fuck, Mr. Munson..” You moaned.

He laughed softly. “You like callin’ me that? Alright, honey. We can pretend I’m a lot older than you. Bet you flick that pretty little clit of yours at home thinkin’ bout me and the other dads, hm?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you nodded. There was just something so fucking hot about fathers to you. You wanted to have someone like that in your life. Someone to raise kids with you.

“Say it.” He grunted, as he pressed fully into you.

“Ah—! I touch myself thinking about you!” You gasped, your legs circling tightly around his waist.

That’s not how he wanted it, though. He grabbed you tightly by your thighs and wrenched your legs up until they were on his shoulders. He scooted closer to you so that your hips were angled up.

Now, now he was impossibly deeper.

You moaned helplessly, grasping at the sheets.

“You got a pretty little cunt here for me. Soaking wet and tight, mmm…” He sighed, pulling out and thrusting back in.

He found a medium pace that you both seemed to like for now, his hand sliding up your thigh and squeezing.

“You like being choked, baby?” He asked breathily, his free hand brushing up your chest.

You nodded, your lips parted. You couldn’t make words come out right now, you were fucking gone.

His fingers circled around your throat, fingers pressing into your pulse point. Your back arched higher, your head tipping back as you moaned out.

“Fuck, you’re a sweet little thing..” He groaned, speeding up his pace.

“Mr. Munson—!” You whined out, his cock pressing over and over into that spongey spot inside of you.

“Yeah, baby. Say it.” He chuckled.

There was something so inherently dirty about this, even though it was all legal. It was probably because you taught his son at school, really. You couldn’t think about it now, not with his cock pressing into your gspot, and his piercings rubbing up against your walls with every thrust.

“Mr. Munson!” You moaned out again, your hips lifting higher with every thrust.

You could feel your orgasm growing, the heat in your belly getting hotter and hotter until the rubber band snapped, your cunt clamping down on his cock and spasming as you cried out helplessly.

He released your throat, his thrusts never stopping. He groaned, and a few moments later he was pulling out and spilling his seed on your belly.

You were both panting heavily as he dropped onto the bed next to you.

You laid there in silence for a long while, your insides burning from overuse. It had been a while since you’d been fucked, especially by such a thick cock.

Fuck if you didn’t feel good, though.

“Here,” Eddie said, leaning over to grab you a few tissues.

“Thanks.” You hummed, sitting up slightly to clean the cum off of your belly. You tossed them into the trashcan nearby as Eddie stepped across the hallway into what you now knew was the bathroom.

You waited for him to finish cleaning up before you went in yourself, relieving your bladder and cleaning up.

When you came back into the room, Eddie had laid out a shirt for you on the bed.

“You can stay over. Wayne is supposed to take Ronnie to school, so he shouldn’t be here in the morning.” He said, smiling.

You nodded, pulling his shirt on before climbing into the bed.

Eddie flicked off the lights before climbing in after you, his arm wrapping around you waist. He pulled you close, your back flush against his chest.

You felt safe that night, and got the best rest you’d had since you moved to Hawkins.

The next morning you were awoken by the front door slamming loudly.

“Daddy!”

Oh, shit.

#newlipsmilestoneoflove #eddie munson x reader #reader x eddie munson #eddie munson x reader fanfic #eddie munson x reader fanfiction #reader x eddie munson fanfic #reader x eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #you x eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction

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sixeyescurseuser · 5 months

Text

part 2

“Satoru? What color are your eyes?” Geto asks one day, when they’re sprawled on the couch together. Gojo’s head is pillowed on Geto’s chest, where the snakes happily nestle in Gojo’s fluffy hair.

“Hm, blue.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Geto is silent for a long moment.

“I bet they’re magnificent,” Geto says, then startles when Gojo lifts up slightly, one hand tugging underneath the blindfold. “Satoru, whatever you’re planning to do, stop it.”

“Darling, I’ll keep my eyes closed, I promise,” Gojo solemnly swears. He waits until Geto gives his consent before lifting the blindfold off, diligently keeping his eyes glued shut.

Geto observes the shape of his lover’s closed lids, how his eyes contribute to his facial structure, and the white color of his lashes.

“Pretty, right?”

Geto nods. “Hn.”

Geto still doesn’t trust himself without the trusty barrier of the blindfold.

Thus, he brings a hand up to cover Gojo’s closed eyes, and leans in for a kiss.

***

Gojo buys Geto a pair of his own special-grade glasses that block Geto’s entire field of vision, ensuring he can see perfectly fine while others will never make direct eye contact with him.

It’s certainly an adjustment for Geto because the glasses, shaped like visors, feel very restricting. His snakes hiss at the glasses because they don’t don’t like not being able to see Geto’s eyes.

But the glasses do give Geto more confidence in leaving the cottage to prevent him from freezing any innocent bypassers.

***

Once, when Geto is out on his own, he spots a couple kids wearing the same style uniform as Gojo often does. Jujutsu Tech!

Geto decides to watch over them.

Thank fucking god he did, because there’s no way in hell whoever the fuck is in charge just let these kids walk straight into a curse’s domain.

Before Yuji switches with Sukuna, Geto intercepts and annihilates the other special grade, even without the powers of his eyes. Once the job is done, Yuji jogs up to his side.

Yuji: “Hey, thank you so much-GAH?“

At the speed of light, Geto pulls Yuji out of the crumbling domain and disappears.

The first years are completely bamboozled by what happened!

(Yuji: “Gojo-sensei, that special curse showed up again today! Well it didn’t need to help because Kugisaki and Fushiguro and I had everything handled, but I could feel it watching. Isn’t that weird?”

Gojo: “Huh, that is strange indeed.”)

Afterward, Geto presents Sukuna’s finger to Gojo. Gojo realizes Geto was looking after his students, and falls even deeper in love with him.

***

Yuuta learned early on who Geto was because once Geto was watching over him but Rika was not having it! 😭

She was like “Who is this beetch?” and tries to off Geto, who flees and never looks back.

The snakes want to pick a fight with Rika so badly, but Geto has to shush them because he’s not sure even HE could take on this kid’s curse.

Also, Geto is technically supposed to be exorcized. That’s what Gojo told the higher-ups, that he had successfully defeated the infamous curse Geto Suguru.

Gojo has to do damage control, of course.

“You have Rika, and I have Suguru,” Gojo says with a shrug. “Simple as that.”

Beside him, Geto’s jaw drops open from the total lack of explanation by the fool that owns his heart. From behind his glasses, Geto pities the way the wheels furiously turn in Yuuta’s mind.

Rika pops out jus to growl at Geto.

Great. Good talk everyone.

Yuuta: “You’re telling me you’re in love with THE special grade, Geto Suguru, who’s been alive for centuries and has been constantly compared to the king of curses, SUKUNA??”

Gojo gives him a thumbs up while Geto smiles with sharp teeth.

***

Gojo Satoru is known as the strongest sorcerer alive, but that doesn’t stop Geto from being incredibly protective of him. While out on a date, Geto brings up the higher ups that clearly do not give a shit about overworking his beloved.

“Say the word and I’ll kill them.”

“I thought you didn't like killing?” Gojo asks with a cheeky smile. He takes a sip of his milkshake, then bumps his foot against Geto’s under the table.

“Satoru, I’m a curse and they are assholes. It’s the natural order of things,” Geto sniffs. His snakes hiss in agreement, very excited at the prospect of killing for Gojo.

Gojo extends his hand out, palm facing up. Geto slides his hand on top. Interlocking their fingers, Gojo conveys all the adoration he can through his uncovered eyes, hoping it penetrates through the special-grade glasses Geto wears.

“I love you too. My one and only.”

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

#jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #satosugu fluff #satosugu headcanon #satosugu fanfic #goge #cerdrabbles

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whorediaries-09 · 5 months

Note

Hi! if you still taking requests I'd love to make another one about the love of my life, James Potter.

I know it might be super cliche but I was thinking about professor! James forgetting his lunch or maybe reader is a sweetheart who brings lunch to him and everyone at Hogwarts it's obsessed with them because they're sooo cute and they're like their cool school parents

Please and thank u, muak right to youuu.

ugghh this is so cute!! i loved writing this one!! i hope you like it!

labyrinth;

pairing- professor!james potter x professor!reader warning(s)- fluff. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- i literally changed a lot but it's low-key similar?? i'm sorry though i hope you understand, my brain could only come up with this.

little train.

' you would break your back to make me break a smile you know how much I hate that everybody just expects me to bounce back '

'good morning students! i hope you've got your models ready for today.' you say, walking into the class. the curtains have been rolled up perfectly by your plethora of eager art students, who chant a good morning, staring at you as your steps fall into the classroom. they know you like to work with the sunlight.

they scramble around their canvases and models, the soles of their shoes rubbing against the newly polished tiles. they look at you with eager faces, waiting for your model to appear. you raise your hands, addressing them.

'okay so this the first class is for realism - which annoys a lot of people over here, i know. but everybody has to pass these few assignments okay? i've to send them for supervision to the higher authorities so that they can ensure i've put on the correct grades according to the quality of the work.'

'because unlike you, they don't care about the creativity,' the political science professor enters the classroom, wearing his dazzling white smile. the students turn their heads, watching him enter the room. among the few students who know both him and you, there's rumbling. and among those who know you, there's questions rising of the cause of the sudden rumbling.

'quieten down kids, no more talking. this is a very important class. you'll learn the basics and the importance of this branch of art. mr. potter,' you look him in the eye. he visibly tones down his raised arms and shoulders, 'i need you to bring me two tools and a canvas.' he nods.

james is sitting directly under the rays of the sun. they are golden, reflecting upon his beautiful dusky brown skin. it hits him in the eye, but he's still, letting you take your sweet time while you explain the theories and the basics of the art.

he likes how patiently you teach them the correct ways and methods while also consoling them by reminding them every other artist has a unique style and shouldn't be bound by some rules. you stay to teaching them the outlines of color theories, which couldn't be modified much when this art style was practiced.

he's also never felt this nervous and giddy. he's usually a very confident man, but within your presence, a few ties of his uptight confidence break, and all hell loses free. he's turns into a puddle right under your piercing gaze, which is unusual for a man like james potter. he would still remember the day you'd asked him to model for you. he'd gone home and giggled into the pillow like a high school high on hormones.

'hi, mr. potter,' you'd whispered behind him. he'd been talking to sirius. he'd been taken aback by your sudden appearance- and sirius' lack of reaction, considering he'd been sitting facing james.

he turned around, and by habit ruffled his already messy hair. he smiled, trying to hide the pleasant shock behind his eyes. he felt his cheeks warming up with the way you looked at him. sliding him a paper cup, you stood, twiddling with your thumbs.

'this is?-'

'chai! masala chai! consider it a bribe for the awkward question i'm about to ask.'

'nothing is awkward james, love. i think you'll be fine.' sirius said. he slipped his fingers within the crook of his jacket that had been hanging on the edge of the chair. he smiled, a mischievous uplift of his lips. 'but just in case,' he said, walking out of the room, leaving you and james alone. james gulped, following his friend's silhouette.

'so...'

'yeah, uhm so i was wondering whether you'd model for me? only if you're comfortable though!' james was sure the red hot blood rush into his cheeks was extremely was visible. he felt his nerves turn mush and stomach flip with giddiness.

'i don't particularly mind it no,' he said. he took the burning cup into his grip, taking a slow sip. he only hoped it wouldn't be too spicy.

'so you're up for it?' you asked. he saw the tension from your back literally lift up, and a glee float in your eyes.

'i am up for it,' he said taking another sip of the tea. 'but you need to tell me why me,' you rubbed the back of your head, laughing nervously.

'uhh... i think you've gorgeously complicated features which would allow me to teach my students with enthusiasm because i teach the best with complicated features. i don't mean it in a harsh way, i also think you're beautiful so...' he nodded letting your words sink into his brain and stop himself from taking you by your neck and press his lips onto yours.

'is it any good? the tea?' you asked, breaking the awkward tension and the lack of his response. you wondered whether you made him uncomfortable with your answer.

'it's perfect. the sweetness and the spiciness.'

it was not.

'okay so carefully outline your vision for the model, and let your brains take over your mind! this has been a boring class i realize but please submit your homework by the deadline so i'll suggest ways for improving your work-'

'-because this is extremely important for your grades students. now the kids over here who are also in my class, i'll deduct grades if you all don't take her words seriously.' james completed for you, cracking his back and rolling his shoulders. the students booed mockingly. one of them, a fiery person too raised her voice,

'you're barely serious in your own classes!' james knitted his eyebrows.

'are you questioning my abilities of teaching?'

'no, i'm not. i'm saying you're not serious in your own lessons sometimes- and you're a pretty much of a goofball yourself.'

'that's fine, i can be a goofball and be a good professor too. ms. grace, please mind your tone, or i'll be obliged to turn into an insufferable old prat.'

'okay come on let's not create an unnecessary drama over here, you have theatres and mr. pettigrew to help with that.' you said, trying to calm down bubbling waters. the students picked up their bags, walking away. yet again, leaving the both of you alone.

james helped you put on your coat. he wondered whether his part was done. he wondered why he cared so much about whether his part was done or not. the question lingered at the tip of his tongue before he spat it out.

'is my work done now?' he asks. you linger, your back faced towards him. he feels a wave of heat from your body crumple over his senses. you turn around, facing him. the remnants of the sun rays surround him, filtering out his outline. there's something in his eyes. a string of vulnerability you've never seen in his eyes. a string of vulnerability he's never felt within his.

'no.' you say. your breath is hot, which falls on his lips. he gulps, noticing how close you are. somehow it feels natural. in your piercing gaze he feels his beating heart stop. it's as if your features are one hell of a drug, reeking him into a spiral of things he's never felt before. your beauty is surreal, captured within his memories and his heart. he wishes he'd capture the way he sees you onto the canvas.

'are you bored of me, james?' you ask. you've never said his name before. it sets his senses on fire, a creeping hotness melting onto his nerves.

'no,' he says. he moves closer, his mouth so close to yours. he wants to touch them, get drunk upon the reminiscent taste he's never tasted before.

'are you sure, james?' you ask, your eyes falling onto his lips. he nods, unable to answer. in your eyes, he sees his portrait in a beauty he's never seen before. his fingers slips into yours, and he feels them.

and he wonders, when your fingers work on the canvas, how you conceive him, how you decipher him. all he's sure of is that he's the most beautiful when you portray him.

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****************************************

#q1wjames potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter smut #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #marauders #harry potter fanfiction #the marauders #james potter #james #james potter x y/n #marauders era #james potter x you #dead gay wizards #the marauders era

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laurensturniolo · 8 months

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Class reunion - sub!Chris Sturniolo X Y/n (fem)

‼️ SMUT ‼️

my first post !!

leave recommendations in the comments or send me things anonymously!

NOT READ OVER!

~~~

Y/N POV:

I’ve always liked Chris. Always, but especially since one day in 6th grade.

“Give me that back!!” he yelled at me.

“No, beg for it!” I start giggling at him.

Something changes in his eyes, almost like he just seemed in my control.

“Please. I’m sorry. Just please”.

My expression drops. He sounded so weak, like he needed something from me. He was quite literally begging. I immediately gave it back to him and he smirked at me, almost an evil smirk.

I still think about that day often. Especially when he has a certain look on his face. The look just screams pure submissiveness. His puppy eyes, his red pouty lips… oh my god. He makes me feel weak. I think it would be wrong to say I’m obsessed with him but I'm definitely obsessed with him. He’s just perfect and I just can’t deal with it.

~ ~ ~

It’s our 4 year class reunion. It’s only been 4 years but when I show up, I feel like I don’t remember some people. I’m 21 now, and I guess everyone else is my age or older too. I came in a tight silky black dress and some brand new tennis shoes, nothing fancy. I do some fancier makeup though, just so I look nice for people. Though I never cared how I looked during high school.

“Hey y/n!” A familiar voice calls out from behind me. I turn around and it’s my high school friend, Tessa.

“Oh my god, hey Tess! I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Ugh, I know! You look amazing, how’ve you been?” she asks, smiling at me.

“So do you! I’ve been good, everything’s going good.”

We talk for 10 minutes and then I go around to look at food and decorations. I run into a few familiar faces and give a short conversation. I decide to get some fruit punch just to carry around and drink while I’m here. I finish filling up my class when I turn around and bump into someone, spilling some of my drink on them.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry”.

I look up at this person's face and realize it’s Chris. Chris Sturniolo. My school crush. I slightly blush at him due to embarrassment but also the fact that I’m right in front of him. He seems slightly pissed but he calms down.

“You’re fine, I know it was an accident. You’re y/n, right?” he says in a fun tone.

“Yea, and you’re Chris, right?” I already know who he is.

“Yup, surprised you didn’t call me Matt”. He jokes. God, I missed him.

“Couldn’t mistake you for Matt, trust me”.

He smirks and tilts his head slightly. “Oh really? Why not?” I suddenly freeze. I can’t just tell him I had and still have a crush on him, that’s so awkward. I realize I’m blushing so I disguise it with me being “nervous”. “Oh uh, you were just in a lot of my classes, especially in senior year.”

“Ohhh, right right. So, how’ve you been? You’ve changed… a lot”

I look a little confused. Have I really? I mean I was still going through puberty until senior year. My boobs got a little bigger and my face got skinnier along with the rest of my body and just a minor color difference to my hair. But god, Chris is realizing this? Does this mean he noticed me in high school too?

“Really? Thanks I guess”

“Of course… you look good” He says ‘good’ almost seductively. I want to ignore it but I just can’t.

“Thank you… you do too” I smile sweetly.

We talk for a little while longer and I play everything off well, almost no hints I like him. I’m still talking to him when I look down just to avoid eye contact.

He’s hard.

My eyes widen at the sight. I avoid eye contact at all costs to make sure he doesn’t know I know.

“Hey. Whatcha lookin at?”

Shit, he knows.

“O-oh nothing. Sorry” I laugh it off to avoid embarrassment. He walks closer to me. The 3 feet in front of me turns into a foot or less.

“I know what you’re looking at, sweetheart.” He whispers seductively. “I’m not fooling you, you saw what you saw. Neither of us can hide it now”.

I can’t believe this is really happening. I’m silent for a few seconds when his hand reaches up to bring my chin to look at him.

“I’m talking to you.”

“I-I.. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry sweetheart. Wanna help me with this?” He tilts his head down to look at his erection. I know what I want to say. But do I say it? I just nod dumbly. He chuckles and says, “Let’s go find a room then, pretty girl.”

We walk upstairs and Chris waves at a few people on the way. God I forgot he’s popular. We finally find a bedroom and Chris opens the door. The second we’re inside, He pushes me against the door and kisses me roughly. He pushes me back a little more so he can lock the door while still in the kiss. His tongue slides on my bottom lip, asking for an entrance to which I immediately obey. I whimper into the kiss only making him get rougher with me. His hands make their way up to my lower hips and he grabs them, making me whimper again. I can feel him smiling.

He pulls away suddenly. I look at him and his eyes are blown out, almost no blue is seen anymore. He looks needy, so needy.

“Awww you look desperate”. I say in a joking tone.

“Please” is all he can blurt out. I smile and kiss him, I’m taking all control. I kiss him rougher and he starts whimpering. God, it’s so attractive. After a minute, I pull away from the kiss.

“How about we lay on the bed? That okay baby?”

He blushes and his eyes get wider at the nickname. He nods eagerly. I grab his hand and he sits on the edge of the bed. I sit on his thighs to straddle him. I look down to look at his eyes and he looks desperate. I grab his face and kiss him again but this time, I tilt my head a little to really get into the kiss and I can tell he likes this way more. My hand makes its way down his neck, to his chest, then right down to his bulge in his pants. I lightly palm over it and he inhales sharply at the touch. I start palming a little harder and little whines and moans come out of his mouth.

“Tell me what you want baby,” I tell him, looking in his eyes.

Something in his eyes changes in that moment.

“P-please suck me off. Please y/n.” He says in a whiny voice. I smirk and get on my knees in front of him. I motion for him to take his pants off and he immediately obeys. He takes his boxers off and he’s rock hard. I look at him to make sure he’s fully okay with this and he nods, looking down at me. Finally, I lightly stroke his dick with my middle finger and he squirms slightly.

I hold his thigh down with my open hand, “Stop squirming or i’ll stop.” He nods and immediately replies, “I-i’m sorry.” I stroke harder and a little faster with just my middle finger still and everything in his body is trying to stop him from squirming. I use my whole hand now and he moans quietly.

“Be loud, baby. It’s okay” I reassure him.

I start stroking him faster and he moans louder. “Y/n, pleaseeee.. o-oh please”

I look at him right in the eyes. “What Chris? What do you want?” He looks down right at my eyes and says, “suck me off.. please y/n/n”

Everything in me changes after he says my nickname while he’s begging for me. I immediately open my mouth and go for it. I start with the tip and he gasps. He’s trying so hard not to move at all and it makes me smile slightly. Then, I finally lower my mouth and bob my head up and down at a decent pace. He’s a whimpering mess at this point. He keeps saying shit like,

“Pleaseeeee… oh my god”

“So good baby, so good for me”

“Holyyyyy…”

I start bobbing my head faster and I suck a little harder as he’s moaning louder by the second.

“Y/n god… HOLY-“ I cover his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up, Chris. Do you want everyone at our goddamn class reunion to hear you moaning for me?” He shakes his head aggressively. “Yea, I didn’t think so.”

I move faster and he’s a mess. His eyes are watering, he’s sweating, whimpering non stop.

I keep doing this until finally I let go. He whines at the loss of contact, I finally take off my dress and reveal that I’m not wearing a bra. His eyes almost immediately look at my tits and he’s in awe. I stand up to take off my black lace panties and he whimpers at the sight.

“God please y/n.. I need you, all of you. You’re so fucking gorgeous” I blush.

“Thank you chris..” I straddle his thighs, right below his dick. He looks directly in my eyes with desire and I lift myself up, right above his dick.

“How badly do you want this, Chris? Tell me baby.”

“So… so fucking bad y/n. God, please baby. Please ride my cock…” His little whiny voice is so sweet, I can’t say no.

I finally lower myself on his cock and he throws his head back. “You're such a good boy… right? My good boy?” Doe eyes. He gives me straight doe eyes. “Y-yes y/n. I’m your good boy, only yours”.

I finally bottom out and kiss him while I wait a minute to get used to this feeling. Once I finally get used to it, I start bouncing slowly.

“H-holy shit.” He exhales. I whimper slightly at the good feeling.

I start bouncing faster and harder and Chris is a fucking mess, this guy doesn’t shut up. He’s whining or whimpering every second, begging me to keep going. “Please, baby. Don’t stop now, please…” “I’m not gonna stop Chris. Calm down, sweetheart…”

I bounce harder and kiss his collarbones while doing so. His legs start shaking and I know what’s about to come out of his mouth. “Y/n… f-fuck I’m.. I’m so close…”

“Yea? Be a good boy and hold it for a little while longer”. I don’t want to sound rude, I just really want us to enjoy our orgasm together. “P-please… please let me cum”

“Almost baby.. it’s okay, almost.”

Tears fall from his eyes as he grabs my hips hard. “P-please!! God y/n/n. PLEASE” His legs shake, indicating he’s so close. “Y/N I NEED TO CU-“ He cuts himself off with a moan while releasing inside of me. I follow with my orgasm a few seconds later, moaning his name quietly.

I slow my actions down, letting him finish. “F-fuck y/n. I’m so sorry… I-I couldn’t hold it…”

I grab his jaw to force him to look at him. “It’s okay baby. I know… I know it was hard.” I grab his face and kiss him sweetly, reassuring him. “You did sooo good for me, Chris. So fucking good” He blushes at my compliment.

“Let’s get us cleaned up” I say, walking to the bathroom to get a wet towel. I cleaned us up for 5 minutes and we lay in bed for a few minutes. We both get our clothes back on and walk out. Yes, my dream with my goddamn crush came true. When we got out, no one looked like they knew what happened.

Until…

“You dirty little whores.” Nick looks at us both, disgusted.

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets #smut #christopher sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #class reunion #first post

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slutshamethesquirrels · 3 months

Text

Behind The Cover - Chapter 2

Your POV

“So, just to clarify, you found some shitty, shady, crusty, dusty ass little hole in the wall bookstore?” Maki’s leaning across the small circular table, peering at you through half-rimmed glasses like you’d lost your damn mind.

You nod.

“It has a 3 star rating and looks abandoned? Has the world’s weirdest business hours.”

“Yes.”

A deep breath, followed by narrowed chocolate eyes “And you went?! Then when it looked abandoned and sketchy you just continued to walk right on in-”

“It wasn’t sketchy on the inside!” You defend, crossing your arms across your chest and pouting pointedly. Maki ignores you.

“-only to be greeted by some fucking anti-social loser who was a dick to you, and all you can talk about is how bad you wanted to fuck him?!”.

Your eyes meet Nobara’s on the other side of the table, and you both have to quickly avert your gazes, trying to stifle the giggles swelling in your throats. The three of you had been friends since your senior year of highschool, following a forced group assignment. You all belonged to different crowds back then. Maki graduated top of her class, and was still currently working her way through a doctorate program with a focus in business. If there was an award to be won, best believe she would be sure to achieve it if it wasn’t already tucked under her belt. Nobara had been your classic band kid, with her bob cut and obnoxious need for male validation. She always did well, but never quite out performed the others in her grades or extracurriculars. After high school, she went on to be a human resource officer for a major tech company. And you? You hadn’t really been popular throughout most of high school. You had an honorary seat at the “loser” lunch table amongst the socially inept and non-conventionally attractive. Post-graduation, you’d had a glow up that would have the same boys that tormented you flooding your instagram directs. The more followers you gained, the more opportunities started to pop up in the world of content creation, and you found an odd niche with your generally barbie-esque aesthetic and insatiable fascination with herpetology and entomology.

These days, Nobara serves as the mediator of the group, a solid middle ground between Maki’s objectively blunt demeanor and your easy going (at times, careless-) nature, but she wasn’t being much help in the present moment.

“In my defense, he was insanely hot!” your voice is broken up by chuckles, causing Maki to roll her eyes so hard you thought they may simply roll right out of her head and onto the table before you.

“You know what, this is your problem, you have a thing for ‘bad boys’. Problem with that is, real life bad boys aren’t fun and sexy! They’re misogynistic bitches-”

“I do not! Nobie, help me out here-” you send her a pleading look, but she’s all apologetic honey brown gaze and pursed lips.

“I’m kinda with Maki on this one, dude. Didn’t your last boyfriend get mad at you for making him wear a condom?”

You blink, and try not to smile. Yes .

“And the one before that wanted you to delete your socials and be fully dependent on him financially-” Maki adds.

“Yeah, and that one guy who tried to mansplain how to take care of your animals all the time, even though that's literally half of your career-” Nobara is quick to follow up.

They continue to list off failed situationships, relationships, and flings, with you trying hard to defend yourself against the on-slaught, but not getting a word in edgewise. From the outside, it would’ve been quite a sight to see. The three of you bantered with ease, but on looks alone one would never guess you all ran together. You, with your pink floral backless romper only covering the most important parts of your body, your hair curled and blown out to supermodel levels of perfection, and your white heels tapping restlessly against the tile of the cafe. Nobara, and her business casual slacks and cream colored button up, with minimal makeup and a sleekness to her hair that meant business. Maki and her edgy street wear that she only donned on her days off of school, the unnatural green of her hair that she swore she’d keep until she had to enter the workforce. It was the small bit of delinquency she allowed herself to enjoy.

“Okay okay okay!” You hold your hands out in front of you, commanding their silence “Just hear me out-!”.

A chorus of groans from both of them as Maki throws her head back in disappointment and Nobara brings her hand in front of her face, as if hiding from your next words.

A few moments of silence before you state, doing your best not to give away your cheekiness about the entire situation:

“I could fix him.”

The both of them explode with fervent disagreement as you laugh. Of course, all of you knew on some level that you were kidding, but they weren't even taking the risk of being perceived as supporting your shenanigans.

“Why don't you just go out with that Yu guy from the bar the other night? He seemed so sweet!”

You gag at Nobara’s suggestion. He had seemed sweet, but that wasn't exactly what you were attracted to. He had approached, his number and name already written down on a stray napkin, and barely made eye contact with you as he’d sputtered out something about you being pretty and going out sometime before shakily passing it to you and practically running away.

“He’s not my type.” You summarize.

“Okay, fine then. What is your type?” Maki asks, a sarcastic edge to her tone.

“Uhm,” you feign pondering for a moment, looking off to the side like you don't already know exactly what you're about to say “Probably… tall, dark features, kinda beefy… long dark hair, flawless skin, acts kinda like he hates the world but is totally fixable-”.

“Are you talking about the bookstore guy again?!”

Eventually, you wrap up your weekly brunch with the girls and make your way home on nothing more than a prayer and a general lack of concern for the countless warning lights that flicker on your dashboard. You jokingly told all your friends they were for decoration every time they rode anywhere with you, and that you could fix that weird grinding noise with a simple upward turn of the radio dial. See no evil, hear no evil, or whatever they say.

Suguru's POV

Certainly, most certainly, Suguru had lost his mind, and he feared he may simply never find it again. What started as something so simple had turned into an obsession the likes of which he’d never felt before.

A simple call to the DMV claiming to be a tow company had granted him access to your name and contact information upon providing your license plate information, which he’d intended to use to send you a faulty link hooked to an IP logger to grant himself access to your location. It was simple, effective. If you didn't fall for it, he’d pursue other options, but he was relatively sure you wouldn't be even a single step ahead of him. You didn't seem like the type to keep a watchful eye over your shoulder, if anything you seemed to relish in attention, giving Suguru a sure fire way to stay hidden amongst the crowd of others pining for your recognition.

The only thing about this type of phishing was that he had to know a little bit about you in order to conjure something that would lure your attention; a text or E-Mail that would be believable enough for you to click. What type of work did you do? What shopping centers did you frequent? Did you typically order food to go? All of these were quite possibly the key to pinpointing you.

He’d started with the phone number provided to him by one of the very government agencies entrusted with the safety of it’s citizens. Most didn't have the forethought to disable the “find by phone number” feature available on most social media platforms. However, when he’d found an instagram account, he’d immediately realized this was going to be harder than he thought. He was right though, you loved attention.

Two hundred and forty thousand fucking followers. Two hundred and forty thousand eyes on you at maximum, and at minimum, probably a third to a half of that number would notice. A fifth or so of that smaller number would probably genuinely care enough to cause a commotion, if nothing other than for the clout. If his quick math was correct, he was staring down the maw of somewhere between twenty and thirty thousand watchful eyes.

A quick glance from your follower count to the time in the top left corner of his screen let him know that he was still in bed far past ten; damn near unheard of for someone with such a strict routine. And yet, he couldn't stop. How many hours had he laid here like this? Shirtless, midnight tendrils tangled and unkempt, weary body begging for a shut down but all he could do was scroll and learn and scroll and learn-

With each passing post, he could swear he could still smell you in the storefront, could conjure up the sound of your breathing on a whim. One fifteen minute walk through his path and you’d managed to turn everything on its head. He had to have you, to satisfy the craving before he lost himself entirely. Shit, he’d almost fought Satoru over the right to you. That night when you’d stopped by the store, he thought that maybe this instinctual pull towards your scent was something that he only would experience, but when Satoru had returned from his hunt he’d immediately been able to smell you there still. Hours after you’d driven away, even with complete satiation.

To complicate things further, the only thing pushing him to take your life was just that. You were unlike anyone he’d murdered in almost the past century. You had no criminal record, no violent past, nothing; it drove him mad. Your biggest crime was wearing revealing clothing and dropping one too many swear words per capita. You had a stark interest in reptiles and insects, nearly all your pictures being of yourself posed with some exotic species of reptile or insect, captioned with facts about said animal, littered with emojis. One of these captions burns its way into Suguru’s brain:

this big lady here is daisy!! she's a burmese python! fun fact: snakes don't have the intellectual capacity to feel emotions like love, or really any emotion at all!! funny how such a creature can make me feel so much love for her!

Stupid, stupid girl. That thing could easily swallow you whole, you have to know that-

It's time stamped from two months ago under a post of you in a lavender bodycon mini dress and a pair of white gogo boots. You're striking a pose, legs crossed as an ungodly large snake grips around your hips and one of your thighs. It winds around your body all the way up to your face, where it rests against your cheek. You look like you're maybe laughing, flashing a toothy grin through painted lips and squinting liner caked eyes, lacking any fear of the creature that could easily consume you. You’ve tagged a zoo that upon further investigation seems to be three or so hours away, and left an additional comment with a link for donations. The connected organization seems to be some sort of rescue, its primary purpose being intake of reptiles and amphibians that ignorant assholes purchased not realizing they’d never be able to properly care for such a creature.

All of your posts are like that. You, dazzling the camera while showing off one of god’s many abominations. The other abominations seemed to trickle into your comment section. Men talking about the vile things they’d like to do to you, hinting at their formicophilia, saying the most desperate of embarrassing cringe in an effort to get your attention. Something burns in Suguru when he stumbles across them, something ancient and angry, but he can't quite place it. He had the urge to shift his hunt to those individual commenters, but the effort it would take wasn't worth the trouble just to clear out a few internet freaks. Plus, the overwhelming majority of your following seemed to actually be women who identified with the “alternative” label. Besides all that, the thoughts that operate the forefront of his mind are more important, more taxing.

Why didn't you shy away from things that could hurt you? Things that could kill you?

And more importantly, why did he care if his very goal was to do just that?

“Getou!!!”

He recognizes Itadori’s voice immediately. A frenzied knock on his bedroom door has him quickly tucking away his phone, finally rolling out of bed for the first time that night to open it, squinting against the artificial lighting of the rest of the home as he did so.

“Im so sorry, I need help. Now!”

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he sized up the smaller man and immediately decided that something was wrong. His eyes were wide, a reddish golden halo around dilated pupils. He looked like he’d stuck a fork in an outlet; his entire being was tense and ragged. When Suguru doesn't immediately jump to action, he continues:

“There's this person up there and she smells- fuck she smells like, like- I’m gonna kill her. If I have to go back up there I-I’m -”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #geto suguru #jjk suguru #geto x reader #ao3 fanfic #getou suguru x reader #geto smut #jjk geto #geto x y/n #geto x you #jjk fic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x fem!reader

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