#maybe after i get more than like forty minutes of sleep at a time i will come back to be gay or whagevr | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

t1red-twilight · 22 days

Text

1.5 pints

summary: you get injured on a case and spencer is…worried to say the least.

warnings/content: gn!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, medically inaccurate (i googled stuff but idk), spencer has ptsd, reader is implied to maybe have ptsd, cannon typical violence/injury (bullet wound), reader has self destructive traits, spencer is worried and quite overbearing, non-sexual nudity, spencer passenger princess confirmed, idiots pining over each other, like a significant amount of pining, friends totally share a bed regularly, that’s so normal and platonic, reader is an unreliable narrator at times, lmk if i missed anything<3

word count: 1.4k

masterlist

you had gotten injured after a case. it wasn’t anything serious, you had just gotten grazed by a bullet on your upper arm on your dominant side. it stung like a bitch, and bled quite a bit, but it wasn’t anything to cry over. even still, you were bandaged by paramedics before being sent on your way.

the case hadn’t been far from quantico, just a forty-five minute drive or so. spencer had silently insisted on sitting next to you in the suv. the air was awkward. not uncomfortable, per se, it was just that everyone in the car could feel that spencer was definitely upset.

once back at quantico, everyone split up to go to their homes. hotch informed everyone that you would all have the next day off. you searched through your go-bag for your car keys, when you suddenly felt a presence behind you.

spencer’s natural scent of linen and citrus would always be familiar to you. you’d recognize it anywhere. “hey spence.”

“how’d you know it was me?”

you turned around, shrugging. “lucky guess,” you smiled a lopsided smile. there was a momentary pause.

“is your arm okay?”

chuckling lightly, you shifted your weight onto one foot. “yeah, i’m alright. do you need anything?”

he was avoiding eye contact more than usual. “i think you should come over to my place tonight.”

you quirked an eyebrow. there was this unspoken arrangement the two of you had; you’d switch off spending the night at each other’s apartments. it had started when spencer began having ptsd-fueled nightmares again and you had recurring bouts of insomnia. and this consisted of sleeping in the same bed, to comfort each other.

“yeah?” there was an overwhelming feeling that he was more upset than he was leading on, and this was even more evident considering his behavior on the ride back to quantico.

“…yeah. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you snorted. “of course you do, spencer.” he finally looked up and resumed eye contact.

“what do you mean?”

“i don’t mean anything.” you twirled your keys around your finger, chuckling lightly at the thought of spencer being caught up in what was to you, a very minuscule injury. gesturing to your car, you add on, “well, we should get going then.”

he walked around to the driver’s side of the car and motioned for your keys. spencer wasn’t very keen on driving; he much preferred his passenger princess privileges and tendencies. confusion and minor amusement flooded your features. “you want to drive?”

“uh, yeah. you shouldn’t be lifting your arm, it could tear your stitches.” the sass in his tone almost made you double take.

“hey, i think i’ll be fine, okay? you don’t have to worry about me because i got scratched.” your tone was more genuine but still held a playful element. he sighs and looks a little incredulous.

“just let me drive. please.” taken aback, you hand over the keys and walk over to the passenger side. you raise your dominant arm to open the door. spencer quickly rushes over to open the door for you. “please don’t.”

“uh, okay,” you reply in a quieter voice. as you buckle your seatbelt, spencer gets into the drivers side seat. he somehow finds a classical station on the radio (it’s not all too surprising that he probably has them memorized), and the rest of the ride goes on without a hitch or bump.

when you arrive at his apartment, spencer runs to your side of the car. he opens your door for you, and helps you out of the car. “you don’t have to baby me, spence.” he mumbles out a response. “what?” you question back.

“can you please take this seriously?” your eyes widen at his more stern timbre. a semi-sarcastic thumbs up is all you give him.

the walk up to his apartment is exceedingly more tense. you try to focus more in the scent of the old building rather than spencer’s apparent disappointment in you. the building smells like, well, old building, and the floor creaks fifteen times on the way to the elevator and to his front door.

you both cross the threshold and he sets his crossbody bag down near the entryway. you didn’t bring up your go bag, as you have plenty of things at his apartment already.

he grabs your hand and leads you to his bedroom. he proceeds to hand you some pajamas: an old mit shirt and soft shorts that you left prior. you wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. “are you going to let me change?” he looks at you exasperatedly.

“you can’t move your arm.”

“yes. i can.”

“you can, but you shouldn’t. please let me help you.” you just about roll your eyes, but you stop yourself.

“i can undress myself. i just got grazed.” you’re getting more annoyed.

“grazed? you almost fell over from the blood loss. morgan had to hold you up. the average human body has around ten pints of blood and you lost one and a half- that’s 15%. that’s not a graze-“

your eyebrows raise. he was taking this very seriously. “the bullet didn’t penetrate. i didn’t need a transfusion, and it was by no means fatal in any way.” injuries like this have occurred before on the team, and the team has recovered.

“yes, but if you lost 5% more blood, you might have lost consciousness and needed a transfusion. can you please take this seriously?”

surprisingly, you didn’t respond immediately. spencer, and everyone for that matter, had known you to be quite stubborn and not known to back down.

“you got shot. you should be taking this more seriously.”

“you could barely even consider it a shot, spencer. besides, it’s better me than anyone else.”

his eyes widen. “how can you be so reckless?” you don’t respond at all this time. you just look down at the clothes in your hands.

“please,” he quietly says your name, “you just really mean a lot to me. i don’t want anything to happen to you.”

if your eyebrows weren’t high before, they sure as hell were now. “can you promise me? that you’ll take your health into consideration more? i have no clue what i’d- what the team would do without you.”

his slip-up does not go unnoticed. “okay.” you swallow your pride. “i will.”

he sighs in relief. “now please, let help you.” his eyes glance up from the floor to meet yours. you nod and he steps closer. both of your movements are awkward as he places his hands on the buttons of your shirt. he unbuttons it quite slowly, and pulls it down your arms.

he’d seen you in more compromising situations before, so this is nothing new. “put your arms out, but not up, please.” he then proceeds to put his old college alumni shirt over your arms first before pulling it over your head. “i think, you can, uh, put the shorts on yourself. just don’t lift your arms too high.”

“i won’t. i promise.” you give what you think is a convincing smile and he leaves to the bathroom.

when he returns, he is also dressed for bed. he guides you to the bathroom to brush your teeth. he babies you as much as is physically possible, but you draw the line at him brushing your teeth for you.

“dude. i’ll be careful. i’ll just use my other arm.” the task proves to be weird and uncoordinated.

you both finish brushing your teeth at about the same time. you follow him to the bedroom.

his feet pad across the carpet softly. the socks he’s wearing isn’t shocking to you at all; it’s a habit of his he’s gotten used to. he turns on his lamp on the side table, and turns out the big light.

he draws back the covers before you can, and you swing you legs onto the bed. you pull the covers up to your chin before he can tuck you in or something. one can only handle being babied for so long, after all.

he has one of those fancy dimming lamps. it casts a soft glow over the room without being too overwhelming. and because he likes it this way, so do you.

he turns onto his side and places his hands under his pillow. you begin to turn onto your side, but he stops you. “don’t put too much pressure on it.” you compromise by turning your head towards him.

his eyes are big and his lips are slightly parted. his breathing is deep and slow. you don’t know who falls asleep first, just that you both slowly inched closer so that eventually there was only about two fingers worth of space between you.

#i’m so normal about spencer #everyone in this just lowkey needs a hug #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #fluff #spencer reid fluff #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #fanfic #hurt/comfort

661 notes · View notes

ellemj · 6 months

Text

Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope Pt. 2

Bucky Barnes x Reader

**If you haven't read Pt. 1 yet, READ IT FIRST.**

Summary: You fight the effects of the chemical compound for as long as you can, until Bucky makes you an offer that your body can't seem to refuse. But, you each have a rule that the other has to follow.

Warnings: this one is a huge fucking tease, I'm so sorry (I won't be sorry when I release part 3 tonight), masturbation, talk of unprotected sex, profanity, use of y/n, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires more warnings.

Word Count: 4k (I just couldn't stop the build up)

Author's Note: I cannot believe the overwhelming response on part one of this, I was just in a silly goofy mood and decided to finally use my Tumblr for something other than reading y'alls AMAZING fics every night before bed. I didn't expect anyone to really even see it. My heart is racing as I get ready to post this rn lmao. PLEASEEE tell me what your fav part of this one is, I have to know. Part 3 will be out tonight, I can't make you guys wait too much.

Bucky’s resolve has been steadily crumbling for the past hour, and truthfully, he’s barely placing any blame on the chemical compound that’s interacting with the serum coursing through his veins. He’s placing the blame on you and the needy, whimpering noises that you’ve been making for the last forty-five minutes. After the video conference with Bruce and Tony ended, you were quick to lock yourself in one of the bedrooms of the safe house. You didn’t even say another word to Bucky, you just stood up from the couch with one hand clutched over your stomach, and hurried off down the hall. He wanted to say something to you, but what the hell was he supposed to say? I’m sorry that we’re in this situation? That wouldn’t help a damn thing. You’re in it and there’s nothing either one of you can do except pray that you’ll have enough self-control to make it through the night with your doors still locked.

Bucky sat on the couch for a few minutes after you left, replaying Tony’s last warning to you in his head. You won’t feel relief until your body thinks it has a chance of reproducing, until semen is introduced into your system. It made him feel like shit. He can find relief on his own, he can take care of himself tonight, but you? You’ll suffer for a minimum of eight hours, possibly nearing death, alone behind a locked door. It’s not that he thinks you can’t handle yourself. He’s perfectly aware of how capable you are at handling practically anything. He’s been your partner in the field for two months now and he’s never once had a doubt about your skills, your ability to tolerate pain, or even the split-second decisions you have to make sometimes during missions. You might give each other shit the majority of the time that you’re working together, but when it comes down to it, you trust each other with no reservations. So, why then, does he find himself so fucking worried about you?

He’s been locked in the bedroom across the hall from yours for the past hour now. He thought maybe things wouldn’t be so bad when he heard you tucking yourself away into bed, when he heard you go still and silent for a few minutes. It was smart of you, trying to sleep as much as you could before the chemical fully set in and began to wreak havoc within your body. But after only fifteen minutes, he heard the faintest sound carrying across the hall. He wasn’t sure what it was at first, thinking maybe you’d gotten up to use the bathroom and it was the creak of a floorboard or maybe a door hinge. It was wishful thinking. The second time he heard it, he was sure. You were whimpering in your sleep. For a few moments, he was able to deceive himself into thinking it was whimpers of pain, maybe from your stomach aching in your sleep. When you grew louder, the sounds of your soft, breathy moans mixing with the sound of the sheets rustling as you tossed and turned restlessly, that’s when his resolve began to break apart piece by piece. He sits on the side of his bed in total darkness. His shirt and tactical pants are strewn across the floor where he previously discarded them when the heat emanating from his body became too much to bear. His hands grip the edge of the mattress with enough force to break through the layers of fabric there, but he fears that if he lets go, the next thing his hands will grip will be either his cock or the two door knobs separating you both. Focusing on your suffering is keeping him from feeling his own pain, but the noises you’re making are making it significantly harder for him to ignore the needs that are bubbling to the surface within him. Shit. How the fuck did he end up in this situation with you?

You awake suddenly, drenched in sweat, your sweats especially making you feel like damp towels are wrapped around your legs. You waste no time throwing the covers back and ripping your sweats off, tossing them onto the floor and moving your hair to lay it across your pillow so it’s not sticking to your neck. Fuck HYDRA. Fuck Zemo for killing Dr. Nagel. Obviously, you wouldn’t have wanted him running around recreating the super soldier serum either, but if he was still alive maybe you wouldn’t be lying here in this state. You take a deep breath in, counting to three in your head as you breathe it back out. Focusing in on your symptoms, you try to make a mental list. You think that maybe if you can remind yourself of the science behind the symptoms, you won’t become an irrationally horny mess, you can just reason your way out of the most intense arousal you’ve ever felt in your life. Sweating, tachycardia, abdominal cramping, bone pain…you stupidly let your right hand slide down between your legs. Your fingertips briefly grace the exterior fabric of your black boyshort panties, feeling how wet they are adds another symptom to the mental list, not that you needed to feel it to know. Arousal.

You lean over to the bedside table and feel around blindly for your phone. The screen illuminates and you see that it’s only 10 pm. You’ve only been sleeping for an hour. The chemical compound isn’t even at its peak activity level yet and you’re already beginning to feel a type of desperation that you haven’t felt before. You need relief. Tony’s words swirl around in your mind, making you feel lightheaded and making you want to hunt him down and make him take the words back by force, like that would change the reality of the situation you’re currently in. You won’t feel relief until your body thinks it has a chance of reproducing, until semen is introduced into your system.

You could try finding relief on your own. Tony isn’t lord over all things scientific. When has he ever dealt with a compound like this before? Never. He doesn’t know shit. You’re trying so hard to convince yourself that he could be wrong. Sitting up in bed, you reach over and flip on the lamp that sits on the bedside table, casting a pale glow across the room. You will yourself to think clearly, to make a plan and implement it. You can fight this. You need something that’ll take down your body temperature, slow your heart rate, and ease some of the pain you’re feeling everywhere. A cold shower.

Bucky listens intently as you open your door and your feet patter softly down the hall. He listens as you shut and lock the bathroom door behind you and then as you turn on the shower. He mentally curses his heightened sense of hearing when he hears the tussle of your clothes hitting the floor. He’s been ignoring his hardening cock as it grows beneath the black fabric of his boxers. He’s been ignoring it because he feared if he tried to relieve himself, you’d likely hear him across the hall and he’d never let himself live it down. He can’t be the first one to break. But maybe, with you being in the shower, you wouldn’t be able to hear anything coming from his room. Why the hell are you even in the shower? He imagines the pain you’re in would make it hard for you to stand in there for very long, and it’s not like a shower is going to give you much relief at all. He can’t wonder for more than a quick moment, before the chemical begins to really cloud his mind, his clear thoughts becoming hazy behind thoughts of chasing relief. Fuck it. You won’t hear a damn thing.

Bucky sighs deeply as his lays back on the bed, still in darkness, pushing his boxers down a few inches and freeing his hard length. His flesh hand quickly wraps around it, giving it a slow stroke from base to tip, pre-cum quickly coating his fingers.

“Oh, fuck.” He groans lowly. It’s never felt like this before. It’s as if every nerve in his body has shifted, has traveled down to embed in his cock. His head falls back into his pillow, his eyes squeezing shut at the sensation of his shaft finally being handled. He works his fist up and down, picking up speed and reveling in the feeling of temporary relief. As he strokes his cock, he feels the pain throughout his body slowly dissipating, easing up but not fully disappearing. Before he can stop himself, he’s picturing exactly what you’d look like right now. Your perfectly toned body standing under a stream of water, your hands running down your smooth skin, your eyes closed as you let the shower wash away your discomfort. He feels guilty. Truly, he does. But it's as if he has no control over his thoughts when his hand is on his cock and his veins are corrupted with a potent chemical from hell. Especially not when you’re naked a mere ten feet down the hall. As Bucky nears his climax, his balls tightening and his cock twitching in his hand, a loud crash resounds throughout the house and he’s brought back to reality. He’s on his feet, his boner tucked reluctantly away in his boxers, and his bedroom door flying open in less than two seconds, fearing the worst. He thinks you must’ve passed out from the effects of the chemical, fallen in the shower, maybe split your head open. When he reaches for the bathroom door knob and finds it locked, he’s giving no second thought to breaking the door down. Hell, he decided he was going to break it down before he ever left his room. He takes one step back, ready to use his leg to kick through it, when he hears the shower water cut off and the curtain pull back.

“Y/n?” His voice is laced with concern and it takes you by surprise. You’d only been standing in the ice-cold shower for two minutes when you realized it wasn’t going to do shit for you. You aren’t usually one to lose your temper, but feeling so hopeless and helpless, your only plan failing to provide you with any relief, you ended up slamming your fist into the tiled shower wall out of pure frustration. You didn’t do it hard enough to really hurt yourself, but apparently hard enough to alarm Bucky.

“You’re supposed to be locked in your room.” You call out, your voice coming out a little timid and quieter than you intended. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you step out of the shower and examine yourself in front of the bathroom mirror. Your cheeks are still flushed, your pupils are dilated so much that you’re surprised the lights aren’t hurting your eyes yet, and your rapid pulse is nearly visible in your neck. You let your hair down from the bun you threw it up into for the shower and then pull on the same shirt and damp panties you had on moments earlier.

“I thought you fell.” Bucky says quietly, barely above a whisper. You can tell he’s standing close to the door. You’ve never heard him speak so softly. You freeze, your hands clutching the edge of the bathroom sink as your body responds to his voice, against your rational mind’s will. You feel a familiar heat gathering between your legs and you squeeze your thighs together. He needs to go back to his room. Now.

“Bucky, go back to bed.” Your voice is firm, without a single hint of hesitation. Bucky knows that he should heed the warning. He knows he should turn around right now and go back and lock his door. Instead, he stands there in the hallway with his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers and a conflicted expression on his face. You said earlier that your only option was to lock yourselves in your respective rooms and ride it out until morning. Was that really the only option though? He could easily think of a few more options, though admittedly, he might not be thinking with his brain anymore.

“You have to go back to your room before I come out.” You’re starting to sound like you’re pleading with him. As much as you want to act strong and like you have all of the self-control in the world right now, you’re worried that if you step out into the hall and see him, you won’t be able to stop yourself from reaching out for him. You want to feel his skin beneath your hands as you run your palms from his shoulders, down his chest, straight to the waistband of whatever the hell he’s wearing right now. You want to have him completely bare in front of you, with nothing stopping you from dragging him straight to your bed to find the relief that you both so desperately crave right now. A sharp pang in your lower stomach causes you to let out a soft groan, and the sudden inhale you hear from Bucky through the door doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Not until I see that you’re okay.” Bucky says, still worried that you fell in the shower or hurt yourself somehow. Not wanting to waste any more time letting the chemical stew in your reproductive system, you flip the bathroom light off so you’re thrown into darkness, before unlocking the bathroom door and pulling it open slowly. You can just barely make out his form in the dark hallway, the curve of his broad shoulders, the glint of the black and gold vibranium making up his left arm, and fuck…the ripples down his abdomen. You’ve always thought he was frustratingly attractive, but now? Just looking at him has you insatiable. You realize quickly that he’s not wearing anything except a pair of black boxers and his dog tags. He’s really not making this easy on you. Your eyes flutter closed and you sigh, telling yourself to suck it up and walk past him. Just walk past him. But now you what he looks like with nearly no clothes on, and he’s so close to you. So. Damn. Close. A foot away from you, to be exact.

“I’m fine, just go back to bed.” You whisper. You don’t trust yourself to speak any louder, worried that raising your voice might awake something much more primal within yourself.

“Look at me.” He says, matching your whisper volume. Shit. Shit, shit. Shit. No.

“Don’t—” You’re cut off by the feel of his cool vibranium fingers wrapping around your right hand, lifting it so he can see it better. You suck in a harsh breath at the contact. It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, it’s not even what you need. You need skin. You need him against you. But something about the cool metal contrasting against the warmth of your heated hand feels electrifying.

“Did you punch the wall?” He questions, examining your reddened knuckles with narrowed eyes. Your eyes remain closed as you nod your head, and he takes the moment to scan his eyes down your body. Your t-shirt skims along the tops of your thighs and he knows if you turned around, it wouldn’t even fully cover the curve of your ass. Fuck, he wants you to turn around. He drops your hand as quickly as he first grabbed it, letting it fall back to your side as he begins running his flesh hand through his disheveled hair.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?” Bucky has to know. He knows how high your pain tolerance is, he knows how good you are at putting on a brave face in the worst situations. He has to know how much you’re really suffering right now before he makes an offer that he can’t take back.

“Four.” You fib, pressing your lips together and daring to open your eyes and look back at him. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark a little more and you can see the sweat glistening across his chest, his quick breaths drawing your attention straight to his pecs.

“Don’t lie to me.” His gaze hardens. He hates that you’d try to lie to him. Do you really not trust him enough to just be open with him? Jesus, he’s standing in front of you in his fucking boxers with a hard-on that you haven’t even noticed yet and somehow you feel the need to keep things from him, like he isn’t just as vulnerable as you are right now.

“Seven.” You admit truthfully. The pain in your stomach has intensified, and all you want to do is curl into a ball right there on the floor. You feel like you’ve been doused in gasoline and lit on fire, you feel like someone attempted to extinguish that fire with a gallon of hot sauce, and then ran you over with a semi-truck. You reach out for the door frame with your right hand, using it for balance as your legs begin to feel weaker.

“Y/n-” Bucky starts, ready to make you an offer, but you don’t let him continue. He knows it’s crossing a line. He’s fully aware that if he offers and you say no, things could just get weird between the two of you. He’s even more aware that if he offers and you say yes, it could effectively end your working relationship. But he can’t stand to see you like this. You might give each other shit more often than you’re civil with each other, but something about you being in pain has always sat wrong with him. He worries more about you in the field than he worries about himself.

“Don’t say my name, just…” You cut him off, but your voice trails off as your eyes wander down to the front of his boxers, finally noticing the way he’s straining against the fabric, his tip resting just barely under the waistband. “If you keep standing here, if you keep saying things to me, I’m not going to be able to go back to my room. I need you to walk away before I lose the power to let you.” Your warning should be clear as day now. He needs to leave you alone.

“No.” His refusal hits a nerve, angering you more than you would’ve thought possible. You feel a rush of adrenaline surge through you as you lose control of your actions. You place your hands against his chest, shoving him back, hard. He barely moves, which just further enrages you. “Y/n, we can fix this. I can fix this for you.” His offer is out in the open now. He holds his breath as you freeze in front of him, your hands falling away from his chest and your eyes squeezing shut in contemplation.

“Do you even realize what you’re offering?” Your question hangs in the air between the two of you, and the tension in the hallway makes it feel as though lightning is about to strike the tiny cobblestone house that you stand in. You wish lightning would strike. When you open your eyes this time, the look in Bucky’s eye has changed. There’s something in place of his usual hard gaze, something that nearly draws you in.

“Yes.” He’s offering to fuck you. He’s offering to give you the relief that you so badly need, the relief that can only be found when he finishes inside you. You’re hallucinating. That’s what this is. Because there is no fucking way that he’s standing in front of you right now, the six-foot tall super soldier who you can barely get along with outside of mandatory missions, offering to fuck you raw. “I know what I’m offering.” You only take a moment to weigh your options. Go back to your room, lock the door, and suffer for the next 7-10 hours or have sex with him and hope that it doesn’t ruin your entire life. Why would it ruin your life? Because he’s the only partner that you’ve trusted enough to work with since Nat passed, and there’s no way that things can just be fine and normal after you’ve seen each other naked. Things would get awkward, it’d be hard to look at each other, hard to see each other as professionals anymore. And your work, your job, is your life. Outside of this you have nothing. No family, not a single friend that isn't connected to this damn line of work, not a damn thing to turn to when this inevitably goes to shit.

“Stop overthinking it.” Bucky’s voice breaks you out of your whirlwind of thoughts. Against your better judgement, you make eye contact with him and the way he’s looking at you gives you butterflies. Butterflies? Who the fuck are you right now? “Close your eyes.” His voice is low, making the butterflies in your stomach explode and spread outward until it feels like your skin is tingling. You don’t know why you do as he says, but your eyes close and you stand there with bated breath as the floorboards creak. He’s stepping closer to you, stopping when you feel his breath fanning across your face. He trails his flesh fingertips from the back of your left hand and up your arm slowly, drawing goosebumps to the surface of your overheated skin but leaving some kind of calmness behind. You relish the way your left arm becomes the only part of your body that isn’t in pain, the only part that he’s touching.

“Okay…” Your voice is raspy as you cave to his touch. “But I have a rule.” He pulls his hand away and you wince as the pain quickly returns to the bones deep within your arm. He raises an eyebrow at you as he waits for you to continue. “You can’t kiss my lips.”

Bucky hesitates for a second, caught off guard by your insane rule. No kissing? During sex? Do you hate him that much? Fuck, he shouldn’t have offered to do this in the first place. It’s obvious that you really don’t want this, and he won’t be able to get off knowing that.

“Who’s overthinking now?” You laugh out, brushing past him and heading straight for your bedroom door. You took his hesitation as a rejection of your rule, and if he rejects your rule then you’re not doing this. If he kisses you, you’re scared you’re going to feel something. You can have sex and find absolutely zero meaning in it, that’s not that hard. It’s just a physical act. But kissing? Kissing makes it too intimate, too much of a real connection. You won’t give that away so easily. Just as you’re nearing the door, you feel Bucky’s hand wrap tightly around your wrist and pull you back, spinning you around so you’re facing him. In less than a second, he’s walking you backwards until your ass hits the wall and your hand is pinned above your head, with his body pressed firmly against yours. His nose brushes over the tip of yours and you shudder at the feeling of his skin, his body giving off so much heat that you’re regretting having put your shirt back on earlier.

“Fine, I won’t kiss you.” He rasps. His vibranium hand is gripping your hip, holding you solidly against the wall as he moves to run his lips along your jawline. He doesn’t kiss your skin, he simply lets his lips ghost over it, making you tilt your head to the side in anticipation. “I have one rule of my own.”

“What’s that?” Your voice sounds a lot more confident than you expected it to, like you’re not fighting to hold yourself together inside. He nips at your earlobe softly and you feel the tip of his tongue against it so lightly that you’re not sure if you imagined it or not.

“You’re going to wear these while I fuck you.” He guides your right hand up over the perfect ridges of his abs, across his chest, and straight to the dog tags that hang around his neck.

Next Part

TAG LIST:

@sarcastickiddo @donttalktosposts @marygoddessofmischief @its-daydreamer23 @lightsonnoonehome @gyokujyn @kandis-mom @millercontracting @alicia-bman @littlemiss-yeehaw @sdddoobydoobydoo @a-rotten-chicken-nugget @browneyedgirl22 @charmedbysarge @i-dont-know-how-to-words @maraaaamartinnnn @hensawweston @traderjoesmints @fictionallyunavailable4ever @black-cat-2 @just-act-natural @phoenixstark1708 @ladyvenera

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #the winter soldier #winter soldier #james bucky barnes #bucky imagine

2K notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 10 months

Note

oooh okay but what if the guys find Darling right before she’s about to give birth?? She took off after the confrontation and just never went back, and they gave her space hoping she’d come back. So then they were actively looking for her and finally found her? What’s one of the ways that could go down? Sorry I’m sure your ask box is absolutely full of asks about the baby trap au and other things but this idea struck me and I had to get it down 😩

👀 these little stories have completely consumed my brain.

🩵🩵🩵

18+ / baby trap AU / mature/dark themes

Deep breath.

Just breathe.

You can do this, you can do this. It happens all the time. You’re not the first person on earth to have a baby, for Christ’s sake.

Your feet step one in front of the other in a pattern down the hall, to the kitchen and then back to your bedroom, over and over while you try to stretch your back. It’s been almost forty minutes since your last contraction, and your muscles are sore, everything from your fingers to toes cramps.

It’s way too soon to go to the hospital.

But it’s not way too soon to be really uncomfortable, and nervous, and kind of freaking out, which you currently are.

You’re unprepared, even though you’re not sure there’s anything more you could do. You have the nursery set up, to the best of your ability. You even painted her room a soothing sage green color, and got all her clothes put away. You baby proofed everything. You have bottles, and formula, and nappies. Blankets and a boppy, even some pacifiers. On the outside, it looks like you and your little flat are totally ready.

But the reality, or at least how it feels, is the opposite. You don’t think you’re ready. You’re not even sure you can do this, if you’re being honest. You don’t know if you can be a mum, if you can take care of a baby, a defenseless little human who will need you for everything.

You struggled to take care of yourself half the time.

Your muscles tense, slow building pain splintering across your lower belly and you blink away some tears that threaten to form. It’s not just the pain… it’s everything.

You’re alone. You’re alone, after the two people you loved more than anything did the worst thing in the world to you. After they took your choice away. After they ruined everything, betrayed your trust, hurt you beyond repair.

Even worse was… you missed them. You hated them for it. Hated yourself for it. Everything felt so complicated, so fucked up. You were so angry, so heartbroken and still… couldn’t stop yourself from mourning their absence. Couldn’t stop from thinking about them at every doctor’s appt, every night when you closed your eyes to sleep.

You couldn’t even think about what was going to happen… after.

It was torture. It was hell.

It was affecting your health.

You had long been on restriction, light duty, almost mandated to bed rest. You had trouble eating, trouble sleeping, trouble with your blood sugar. It was exhausting.

Bee moves, not kicking but something else, a ripple pinging across your belly and you rub there soothingly.

“I know, I know.” You murmur, eyes wandering to your bed. Laying down sounds really good right now.

When you wake one hour later, it’s to pain. More intense, more sharp, lingering in the muscles of your back and thighs. It’s clearly a contraction, much more intense, and nausea rises in the back of your throat.

Fuck. That hurts.

You bite your tongue, heaving yourself out of bed as the pain fades, leaving you a little breathless while you waddle to the closet.

Maybe you could take a bath, or try to walk some more.

Just as you’re about to turn the tap on your tub, you hear a noise, a knocking on your door. That’s odd. You hadn’t ordered anything, food or packages. And you definitely weren’t expecting anyone either. Your stomach does a somersault, and you approach the door hesitantly, standing on the other side, staring at it blankly.

Without even checking the peep hole, you know who it is on the other side. You don’t need to look.

You always knew this would happen. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that sometimes, in the middle of the night, you didn’t dream about this. Even though it was wrong. Even if it meant you were weak. Stupid. Foolish.

You take a deep breath, and pull the handle.

Johnny’s holding his breath when the door creaks open. He doesn’t know what to expect, he just prays to nothing that it’s you on the other side. That after months of trying to track you down, they’ve finally got it right. He just hopes that you’ll give them a chance, that you’ll listen to them for even a second, so they can get down on their knees and tell you how sorry they are. So they can tell you they love you. So they can beg you to come home.

You peek around the door, just barely, enough for them to catch a good glimpse of your face.

He feels like he’s gotten the wind knocked out him. It’s been so long since they’ve seen you, too long, and you’re so pretty, so perfect he has to squeeze his hands into fists to try to calm his racing heart.

“Hi.” You keep the door more than half shut, and he swallows dry.

“Darling.”

“What’re you guys doing here.” You don’t phrase it as a question, and your voice is flat. Unenthused.

“We wanted to see you.” Simon starts. “We… wanted to check on you. See if you need anything. If you’re okay.” You give him a grim smile, and shake your head.

“Let’s not pretend.” You shoot back, and Johnny feels his heart wilt.

“We’re not pretending, love. We’ve been so worried. We’re so, so sorry. I cannae start to explain, how sorry we are. We did something awful. We-“

“I don’t want to hear it.” The door moves, just a little bit wider, and reveals more of your body, swollen belly, heavy on your frame. You look tired, like you haven’t been sleeping.

Johnny wants to break down. He wants to cry, if he’s being honest. He failed you. They failed you. They were supposed to love you, protect you, care for you. Instead… they allowed their twisted, selfish desires to influence their decisions.

He can’t imagine how this has been for you. Pregnancies were difficult for anyone as is, and you weren’t just anyone. You never have been.

“Can we come in?” Simon tries, voice soft. His eyes haven’t left your frame, taking in everything he’s seeing, Johnny’s sure. Coming to the same conclusion.

“No.” You bite out. “I don’t want you here.” He’s about to start begging, start pleading with you, but you make a face, brows pushing together, mouth screwing up like you’re in pain and his blood runs cold.

“Darling?”

“It’s nothing.” You breathe, but your hand cradles your belly, and your eyes are closed, face still screwed up in discomfort. “You should leave.” Not bloody likely.

“You’re in pain.” Simon summarizes the obvious, and you shake your head.

“I’m fine. I just uh- am having some cramps.” Cramps? He knows you’re pretty far along, by the math. Worry prickles along his spine.

“Cramps?” He takes half a step, not even. It’s enough to startle you, make you draw back, door jerking in your fist, closing it to only a crack, and he holds a hand out, cautiously. “Darling. Hey, it’s alright.”

“Go away.” You spit, but the words are choked out halfway, and they sound rough. Like you’re in pain. He tries to count, in his head. How far along you are, how close to a due date you might be.

“What’s going on?” Simon tries, and they can just barely see your palm press over your mouth. Johnny’s heart is galloping in his chest now, scared. Panicked. You’re in pain. You’re in real pain, and you won’t talk to them. Won’t let them in.

He’s about to ask you if it’s more than cramps, if you need help, or a doctor. But he doesn’t get the chance.

The door slams in their faces.

#peaches asks #peaches writes #tw pregnancy #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #pregnant reader #baby trap au

689 notes · View notes

doiefics · 11 months

Text

can't we be like the others?

pairing: jungkook x gn!reader

prologue: what was supposed to be mini date turned out to be an argument, but do you and your famous boyfriend even know how to argue in the first place?

genre: angst + established relationship!au + idol boyfriend!jungkook

wordcount: 1,037

warnings: mentions of camsex + crying + possible breakup?

Unlike the hands of the clock that still managed to meet eleven times in twelve hours, you barely met your boyfriend.

When was the last time you saw him in the flesh? Maybe around two months ago, when he stopped by your place for a quarter of an hour.

At this rate one could label it a long-distance relationship if this was how things were going to be even after four years of apparent togetherness.

One thing you realised pretty early on in your relationship was the fact that there was nothing fancy and glam about dating a man this famous.

Dates? That would be counted as a privilege, you could not even let it be know your circle.

The invisible veil somehow always made you feel the distance between the two of you, at times, more than often, he was more of the industry than he was yours.

It was barely the second week into dating when he begged you not to let anyone about this secret love affair because he was scared it would leak out and ruin things for him, he had always been scared.

Video calls were the only means, then, whether it was random calls out of boredom or helping each other with sexual needs.

And phone sex could never be what the touch-to-touch was.

Tonight, you had second thoughts floating over your brain.

Were the time and effort invested worthwhile? Were you a weight for him to carry?

It wasn't like you had no love for Jungkook. You did, and you loved him fervently but love wasn't always shared, sometimes it had to be abandoned.

The dinner table that took you forty minutes to set still found itself in the same condition as before, except for the food that had gone cold.

It was 2:28 am sharp and your boyfriend who promised to reach by 9, was still nowhere to be seen.

The doorbell startled you out of your sleep. Blinking a few times to get used to the brightness, you managed to gather yourself as you made your way to the door.

"I'm sorry." He engulfed you in a hug even before you could properly let him in.

This very feeling of having him with you made you shut your eyes and senses, the only thing that you were focusing on was his presence.

His wood-scented perfume and the cozy fabric of his grey sweatshirt made you melt right on the spot.

"I missed you." Jungkook planted a little peck on your forehead as his starry eyes gleamed into yours.

You nodded and smiled gently.

Similar to how married couples would behave during a disagreement, the supper, although at an ungodly hour, fell hushed.

Jungkook did try to initiate anumber of conversations in the middle, but when he noticed that you mostly just hummed and nodded, he stopped talking.

Perhaps he assumed that you were weary.

Minutes after, you both seated yourselves on the balcony of your apartment.

The sky was full of stars that night, just as your heart was full of uncertainties.

Moonlight was illuminating your boyfriend's face, he placed himself on your lap.

It's better to let emotions out when you can, or else they end up boiling in a vessel and blasting.

"Jungkook," you hesitated.

"Yeah?" He looked up at you with those bambi eyes of his.

"What.. what about us?" You stammered, It took a lot of effort to speak these words at last.

What if something awful happened instead?

"What do you mean baby?" He pouted, playing with your fingers before he ended up intertwining them with his own.

"How long do we have to be like this? Why can't we be just like the others?"

You shook away his hand as you fumed at him, visibly mad at him.

"Are you even trying?" There you said it.

He was quick to get off your lap.

"What on earth makes you think that?" He revolted back. His facial expression was unlike anything you had ever seen, you could tell he was close to tears while still enraged.

"I'm here trying my best to live this life" He reverted, irritated.

The scene changed quickly.

"I can't even recall the last time I could sleep till my content or eat what I wanted to, I can't even breathe without letting people know!"

Jungkook was in a never before seen emotion as he kept on massaging his temples, and all you did on the other hand was sit on the ground as you looked up at his face, tears were now trailing down his cheeks.

"I still fucking love you." He broke down and got on his knees.

His phone started ringing, and you were a hundred per cent sure it was one of his managers. That is how it ended up every time, he would quickly grab his phone and pack his bags before kissing you goodbye.

But this time, he didn't.

"I'm sorry." He pleaded, tear drops falling like rain on the floor.

You stood there the same, reconsidering. Maybe you could never imagine yourself in his shoes, but you were also not unknown to his harsh life and it's requirements.

Without adding a word more, he walked over to you and pulled you into a hug.

The warmth of that physical contact seemed to heighten your feelings, and before you knew it, you were crying as well.

You had lost the track of time by now.

"Jungkook?" You called his name, and that was followed by a hum from his side.

"What about us?" You asked again, but with a different intention, letting out a chuckle.

"Hmmm, marriage, kids, and lots and lots of sex." Jungkook replied as he crunched his nose.

"I hope we have two." He added.

"Both girls," His face lit up with pride.

"What do you think?"

"We have talked about this a thousand times already" You bopped his nose, never getting out of his arms.

"I can't stop thinking about them already. Our kids are gonna be mwah!" He pouted as he bragged about his unborn kids.

"I wish they have your eyes, nose, and lips..." He traced down your facial features with his index finger.

The sun was already coming up and the glory of the dawn brightened your skin to a tint of orange.

"I love you" Jungkook mumbled with a soft breath, caressing the top of your hands.

"I always will."

masterlist please refrain from plagiarising, translating or posting outside of this platform

624 notes · View notes

enhaheeseung · 6 months

Text

Come back to me - L.HS

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, depression, crying, cursing.

WC: 1,900k+

Part eleven

Masterlist

“Hey, bro.”

“Heeseung?”

“Bossman”

“Hello?

“ANSWER ME!”

Little did Jake know his texts would go unanswered for days.

After the first couple of days, Jake thought maybe heeseung was just working things out with you and focusing on repairing your guy's relationship.

However, after a while, he started to get suspicious of what was happening. It was unusual for heeseung not to respond, and it was even more unusual for him not to show up for work after weeks of being absent.

“Have you heard from heeseung? He’s not answering my calls or texts.” he sent a text to Jay, trying to piece together the current situation.

“No. Not since his date with y/n.”

“Strange, this isn’t like him at all.”

“I know, he hasn’t been to work in forever. Do you think we should check on him?”

“Already three steps ahead of you. Meet me at his house. I’ll send the address.”

“Sounds good”

Jay arrived a few minutes after Jake, and they stood outside heeseung’s door, knocking softly. “Took you long enough to get here” Jake rolls his eyes.

“Not my problem. There was traffic!” He defends.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake sighs and knocks on the door again, becoming more anxious than he already was. “His cars in the driveway. He must be here.” Jay went to the window, trying to peek in, but all the lights were turned off.

Jay looked for a spare key but had no luck in finding one.

The knock on the door became more erratic as Jake grew more and more worried.

He gave up and tried to dial Heeseung’s number again, but it was futile when he got no answer. “Fuck”

At this point, Jake was about to kick the door in, and he all but did. “Wait!” Jay shouted and twisted the doorknob, and lo and behold, it was open this whole time.

He stuck his tongue out at Jake before entering heeseung’s home while the other just shook his head in disbelief.

“Heeseung?” They called as they stepped inside, it was dead silent, almost as if no one was home.

Of course, there was no answer, and Jake quickly jogged upstairs, heart racing as his mind went to the worst scenarios. “Heeseung? Oh, thank goodness.” Jake stopped in his tracks, sighing in relief, and Jay did as well when they spotted Heeseung in bed. “You had me worried, you idiot,” Jake scolded him. After his initial panic faded away, he noticed how Heeseung had absolutely no reaction to them practically breaking in. “Hee?” Jake whispers, walking towards him on the bed. It was dark, but once he got closer, he could see that Heeseung had his eyes wide open, blankly staring at a picture of you.

“Go,” was all he said before he turned around on the other side of his bed.

“Go? What the fuck, man? I drove forty five minutes to get to your ass,” Jake elbowed Jay in the side.

“Can’t you fucking read the room?” Jake whisper shouts while Jay holds his side in pain.

Before saying anything else, Jake turned on the light illuminating the room. “Hee, what’s going on? “

“I said fucking go,” he yelled, making Jake jump in his spot. “Just go.” he broke down in tears, sobbing quietly as he pulled the blankets over his head.

“O-okay, we’re going.” Jake put his hands up, slowly backing out of the room along with Jay as they quietly shut the door and left.

“What the fuck?” Jay said once they both got outside.

“Yeah,” Jake sighed.

That incident was about two weeks ago, and there was still no sign of him at work, and he wasn’t answering his phone either.

As much as heeseung dreaded the idea, he still pulled himself out of bed to shower every now and then, and his diet consisted of water and stale crackers. basically, he was doing just enough to sustain himself.

Most of his time was spent crying or sleeping or having very vivid dreams, memories, and flashbacks of you and him together.

And that was it.

This was his life without you if you could even call it living.

“That’s it.” Jake slams his computer shut, gathering the attention of Jay and his other coworkers.

“What the hell, Jake?”

“Shut up. I’m going to Heeseung’s house. Are you coming or not?” He says, snatching up his suit jacket.

“What for?” Jay asked while he lowered his specs.

“I hate you.” Jake glared at him, heading straight for the elevator.

“Why?” He asks as Jake gets further and further away, he follows his coworker scrambling to get his jacket on. “Why?!”

This time, the door was actually locked cause they locked it before they left, and this time, Jake didn’t waste any time kicking the door open and heading straight upstairs, where his friend was withering away.

“Get out,” heeseung says.

“Nope, not today,” Jake storms into his room, flicking all the lights on and ripping open the curtains, letting some light in finally.

“What the hell? I said Get out,” heeseung shouted.

“No!” Jake shouted back, taking heeseung by surprise. “Look at yourself. What the hell is happening to you?”

Heeseung went silent, turning his head away from the two.

“Stop! You can’t just keep shutting us out like this.” he ripped the covers off of Heeseung’s body, revealing his frail frame.

“Just leave me alone, Jake. I’m fine.” he said quietly as he sat up on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest.

Jake knew this was more than an invasion of privacy, but he had it up to here. First, heeseung was drinking himself to death, and now this, he wasn’t going to take it anymore. He refused to stand on the sidelines watching heeseung throw his life away. He walked over to the bed, grabbing Heeseung’s shoulders, and forcing him to stand up. “Jake, don’t yo-“

“Be quiet, Jay,” Jake says angrily while guiding Heeseung to stand in front of his wall mirror.

Heeseung quietly gasped at his appearance. The reality of what he was doing to himself finally set in as he quickly turned away.

“You think we want this for you? You think y/n wants this for you?”

“Y/n,” Heeseung whispered, tears gathering in his eyes. He was so caught up in the past that he hadn’t even thought about you in the present. He didn’t know what you were up to these days.

Jake’s eyes softened as he guided heeseung to the edge of the bed. “Tell us what happened,” Jake encouraged him. “You’re always helping us, and we never help you, so let us return the favor.”

“Yeah, besides, you owe me the details on your date.” Jay tried his best to smile as he closed the bedroom and joined them on the bed.

Heeseung nodded softly after they knocked some sense into him. “Okay,” he says, opening up to the idea a lot easier than he would have imagined, but he knew he needed help. He knew he needed someone to talk to other than a still picture frame.

It was nightfall by the time they had finished talking, and to say a lot had happened between the two of you would be an understatement.

And they realized it wasn’t so much the initiated divorce that turned Heeseung into the person he is now. It was more less the guilt eating away at him, and, of course, being cooped up all by himself in the silence of his house for days was not helping his case one bit.

But they were determined to get him on his feet and hopefully get you both back together because it sounded like a lot of self-pity and a large sum of miscommunication and unfortunate circumstances.

Not to mention, heeseung was literally deluding himself into thinking he wasn’t good enough for you, and that was a whole new can of worms that, on top of the fact that he was basically the reason why things weren’t moving forward with you both it sounded hopeful all he needed to do was be persistent cause obviously the love was there, but every time his guilt kept getting in the way of that, leaving him where he is right now crying in the arms of his friends but everything was soon going to change.

“Okay, so we’re gonna make a plan for you to get y/n back.” Heeseung shook his head back and forth, not even trying to give the idea a chance. Lucky for him, he’s got two friends that actually care about his emotional ass. “Yes, we are.”

“Indeed we are,” Jay agreed. “But first things first, go take a shower before I lose my sense of smell.”

“You think I look okay?” Heeseung nervously checked himself out in the mirror one last time.

“You look fine. Stop worrying about that,” Jay scolded. “Do you have it?”

“I do” heeseung replied nervously. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know where I’d be without you.” he gave them a long, big hug.

“You’d be ten pounds lighter, in bed, and unshowered,” Jay jokes but gives him a hug, nevertheless dropping his hard exterior for once.

Heeseung chuckled softly. “Remember what we said,” Jake reminded him of the conversation they had had days ago.

Heeseung nodded.

“Okay, now go get her back.” Jake smiled, making it sound so simple, moments later they headed off, driving heeseung to his destination.

He was so grateful for them helping him. Not only did they help pick an outfit and gift for you, but they even counseled him and gave him advice. Now, all that was left to do was to put it into action, and right now, he felt like he could take on the world, and this time, he wasn’t leaving until you took him back. “This is it.” he took a deep breath, waving bye to Jake and Jay as they backed out of the driveway.

A few seconds later, he knocked on your door.

You sat on your bed blankly, staring at the positive pregnancy test in your hand, thoughts muddied as you wondered where to go from here. You haven’t told anyone yet, only finding out today after you missed yet another period. The gears started turning, and it only made sense that you were pregnant after the symptoms you were experiencing the missed periods, and the fact that you didn’t use any protection the last time you had sex.

You wanted to deny it at first, brushing it off, saying you just weren’t feeling good and that missed periods happened sometimes, but deep down, you knew you were just trying to delay the inevitable, but with the positive test in your hand, there was no more getting around it.

You were pregnant.

You wanted to tell someone, but you also were so overwhelmed by the new information, and the tears would not stop flowing. You were so happy that you were going to have a baby, but at the same time, you were nervous, given your current circumstances.

You were about to call your mom, but a soft knock on your door stopped you from doing so. You cleared your throat and quickly hid the test under your pillow. “Come in.”

The door soon swung open, revealing no other than.

“Heeseung?”

Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night♥️

Permanent taglist:®• @nyxtwixx @iamliacamila @ramenoil @mimisamisasa @scarlet127

Come back to me taglist @mimikittysblog @woahsehun @dunnoshim @skzenhalove @enhastolemyheart @helenngxz @markleeisdabestdrug @hanjisunginc @wanlore

#enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #enha heeseung #engene #heeseung smut #lee heeseung x y/n #enhypen angst #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen heeseung smut #enhaheeseung come back to me #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfic #heeseung angst #lee heeseung smut

241 notes · View notes

foreveralbon · 5 months

Text

“remember that night?” - ms47

pairing: mick schumacher x ex!reader

in which they spend one last night together

word count: 2.4k

content warnings: none, lazy writing towards the middle i’m sorry

song: remember that night? by sara kays

masterlist

you don’t know how long it took to get over him the first time, but you remember how hard it was. sleepless nights spent crying and reading old text messages, sad songs made as a soundtrack for each of your memories, endless rants to your friends about how you were so good together and you don’t know what went wrong.

eventually, you found it was easier to just forget about him than to patch up the hole shaped like him in your heart. it worked - you hadn’t thought of him in the weeks since you finally deleted all his photos and messages from your phone.

his contact was the one thing you didn’t delete though, but even then, when your phone starts ringing on a quiet tuesday night, you never would’ve expected it to be him.

you start to reach for your phone to mute the call, then pause, waiting to see if it would keep ringing. then the buzzing stops, and it’s just his name sitting as a missed call in your notifications. you contemplate messaging him to see if everything is okay, but quickly decide against it.

but maybe it’s the sight of the blue heart still next to his name, or the sudden longing you feel at the realisation you were so close to hearing his voice again after so long that it strikes something in your chest and compels you to pick up your phone and dial back his number.

it rings once, twice, and you’re already anticipating his voice after the third ring. he’s never let it ring more than three times when it comes to you.

“liebling?” his voice is raspy, like it how it used to be when he was close to falling asleep or had just woken up. the sound of your old nickname masked in the voice you once so ardently loved makes you grip your phone tighter in both hands as you try to stop yourself from saying something stupid. “y/n? are you there?”

“hi, mick,” you finally breathe out.

“hi. i didn’t think you’d answer.” and you must be imagining it but as his voice starts to clear, you can hear the underlying hints of a smile in his tone.

“is everything okay?”

“yes. i just… i mean you can hang up if you want.” then he falters. “no, actually. can i pick you up?”

“like… now?” it’s almost 11pm, and while you’re nowhere close to sleeping, it’s sure as hell not a time you go out.

“yes.”

“you’re in town?”

“yes,” he repeats.

“why?”

“because why not?”

you’re tempted to say yes, even though seeing him again would just unravel all the effort you put into getting over him. but he’s always had that effect on you, where because of him, you make stupid decisions. the first was falling in love with him. the next?

“yeah,” you say quickly before you can take it back.

there’s rustling on his side of the call as he makes his way around the house. “i’ll be there in thirty minutes. dress warm, it’s going to rain out.”

you’re about to thank him for the tip when he hangs up, leaving you alone to wonder what the fuck you just got yourself into. just then, it starts to pour.

—

his car pulls up in front of your house forty minutes later. the driver’s door slams as he gets out, rounding the car to open your door for you.

“hi.”

“hey,” he grins at you, jacket and beanie engulfing his large frame. he gives you a quick side hug and even through all your layers, every nerve in your body is set off at his touch.

he waits for you to get in the car and you realise that he put on the seat warmer for you, just how you liked it when it was cold out.

the gesture warms your body and face. you hadn’t thought he’d remember that about you, but that was only one thing to add to tonight’s list of surprises.

he’s quiet when he gets in, starts up the car and drives away from the curb, before asking, “how’ve you been?”

“i’m good. i got laid off a while ago, but i start a new job on friday. what about you? i heard you’re a reserve driver for mercedes now?”

he glances over at you, raises a brow. “you still keep up with formula one?”

“i like the drama,” you shrug.

he whistles lowly. “drive to survive fan over here, guys. tell me, what’s drs?”

“no,” you say softly. “someone i used to care about recommended it to me.”

and even though you said used to, he suppresses a smile at the fact that you’ve kept something from your relationship close to you.

you make small talk for a while - how’s his mother, father? is angie doing well? how’s the past seven months fared you? you fire questions back and forth between each other and for a while, there’s a semblance of normality in whatever is going on between you.

soon, he notices the way you shiver slightly despite him having run the heater.

“are you cold? here, take my beanie.” he tugs his beanie off his head before giving it to you to put on. you take it gratefully, slipping it on.

you both fall silent for a second, and just as you open your mouth to ask him what the hell you’re doing here, he’s blurting out, “why did you call me back?”

you freeze. that hadn’t been what you were expecting. but you reckon if there’s a time for honesty, it’s now. “because i missed you.”

you catch the way he throws his head back in relief, a grin spreading across his face. “why did you call in the first place?” you ask.

“because i missed you.” he states simply. truthfully.

it’s like a weight has been taken off your chest at your admission. in that little moment, with him by your side, you feel content. happier than you’ve been in a long time. it’s a brave move when he nudges his hand against yours, but you accept it quickly, placing your palm over his.

you look out the window as he drives, headlights casting shadows over the rainy streets. through the dim lighting you can make out the familiar scenery.

the long winding road brings back memories of singing karaoke in the car, conversations with no meaning and driving around with no place to be and nowhere you wanted to go, so long as you were with each other.

you recognise the path he’s taking - towards the small observation point that overlooks the whole town. you know he’s going to swing by the 24 hour ice cream shop on the way there, and there when you realise he’s taking you out for a night of old traditions.

the car rolls to the stop and then he pats your thigh with an i’ll be back, running out into the rain to the store before you can even remind him of your order. you doubt he’s forgotten. and in his absence, you can’t help but smile to yourself at his kind words and sweeter gestures, despite knowing better. despite knowing that going with him was stupid and risky and chances are, when you leave him in the morning, you’re going to leave with a broken heart.

your thoughts are cut off by mick sliding back into his seat, a cup of chocolate chip ice cream in one hand, a cone of strawberry in the other.

“strawberry, please,” you say and he hands you the cone, watches you take it then wrinkle your nose before grabbing at the choc chip.

his laughter rings through the car, clear through the pounding rain and you’re sure you’ve never heard something more joyful than in that moment. “you’re so predictable.”

mick drives you to the lookout so you can watch the views as you eat. you sit in silence at the top, “strawberries & cigarettes” by troye sivan playing softly from the radio. the town is quiet below you too, lit by the starry night sky, only a few stray lights on in the odd night owls’ home. it’s peaceful and calm, and you’re content with mick and for moment all feels right, despite everything about your night being completely wrong.

and when you’re both done, he turns you, brows furrowing as he realises something.

his hand cups your chin, guiding you to look at him. “you’ve got a little…” he mutters, thumb gently swiping the ice cream from the corner of your mouth.

“thank you,” you whisper. his gaze flicks across your face - from your eyes to your mouth then back again. you find yourself mimicking his actions and there’s an intense panging in your chest when your eyes meet his again.

“i want you back.”

your heart plummets - those were the words you’d been dreading to hear. “mick, don’t say that. don’t do that to me.”

he rears back at the sudden sharpness of your tone, and you see the exact moment he begins to disassociate, his composure breaking and demeanour falling. “but i do, i’ve always-”

“mick, can you please not?” you beg. you reach up to hold his face so that his gaze is focused solely on you. “what we had, mick, it was good. but when we ended, it hurt me, because losing you felt like losing air. yes, i miss you but missing you is different to still wanting you. i can’t afford to want you again because it might just kill me this time.”

“liebling-”

“this, right now, is good. so can we please keep it just like this? nothing more.”

it’s as though the light in his eyes dim at your words and he just nods, before turning away and turning the ignition on. his voice is hoarse when he says, “it’s way too late. let me take you back home.”

an apology is at the tip of your tongue - if you take back what you said, what would change between you two? you didn’t want to go back to what you used to be, you just wanted him. but wanting him again is impossible. you don’t know what to do; you just want him to stop frowning. so you reach out for his hand, and he lets your fingers find home in his palm before closing his fist around yours.

“mick, we’re okay,” you reassure. “but we can’t do this again.”

he nods again, swallowing deeply. “i understand.”

and you leave it at that.

the ride home is silent and tense but not awkward. things are never awkward with mick. he parks in your driveway before getting out of the car to open your door. you step out of the car with a thank you and stop in front of him. it’s still raining heavily, so he goes to pull the beanie he gave you further down your head, but stops halfway to rest his palms on your cheeks.

“can i have a hug?”

and with mick’s hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, deep blue eyes staring into yours, you have no choice but to nod, and he practically falls into your hold, arms dropping to wrap around your waist and keep himself steady. “nothing more.”

“then i just need this,” he mumbles into your neck. but you know it’s more than that, so you just hold him. you feel his body loosen as he relaxes, breaths evening out. he emanates warmth and goodness and-

“it’s getting late,” he groans, tearing himself off you. “i have to go.”

you don’t want him to, you’d much rather stay wrapped up in this moment forever. wrapped up in him forever. but you know better so you just nod. “okay. okay.”

he leans forward as though to kiss you, but you flatten a hand to his chest. “mick…” you warn lowly.

his eyes soften before he whispers an apology and presses a light, barely there kiss to your cheek. he moves to reach behind you and get your things, then hesitates for a second.

and then his lips are crashing to yours in a desperate kiss, and he’s telling you every i’m sorry, i love you, it’s okay through it. it’s frantic and passionate and everything you’ve loved about him since you first met him. so you grip onto his jacket, pressing into his body as much as you possibly can, savouring the moment because you know you’re never going to have another like it.

he pulls away first, resting his forehead on yours, before handing you your things, even going so far as to tugging your jacket tighter around your body. so my girl doesn’t get sick.

even though you’re just in your driveway, two steps away from warmth, you’d stay standing in the pouring rain just to keep his hands on you longer.

“i’ll see you around, yeah?” his hand is warm in yours when he holds it for the last time, tightening his fingers as though it would meld your bodies together and you’d never have to be separated again. and then mick is pulling away from you one last time, his face unreadable, and his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

the rain starts to come down harder, soaking you cold to the bone, and you turn around, making a beeline for your front door. you’d never say it out loud but you’re glad it rained - it’s the only thing that keeps you from running right back into his arms.

it’s harder to move on from him this time.

months later, no matter how hard you try, that night never slips from your memory. you can recall every brush of his fingertips against yours, the calloused pad of his thumb on your skin, and the heavy weight of his hand on your thigh when you two finally became comfortable again in each other’s presence. the way his voice changed and his laughter erupted whenever you smiled at him is engraved into your brain, and you’re sure the way he kissed you became your lifeline.

most of all, you remember the way his face fell when you pushed him away again, his dejected sigh as he accepted your decision, blue eyes electric with so many words left unspoken as you turned away one last time.

but the one thing you desperately try to forget is the way he lingered in the driveway, waiting for you to come back.

—

author’s note: thank youuuu @disneyprincemuke i don’t know how i feel about this but i hope i didnt disappoint

#liyah writes #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher fanfic #mick schumacher imagine #f1 x reader

166 notes · View notes

loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

prompt from @teaspelledbackwards-blog: something featuring sick Steve being taken care of. prompt guidelines

It’s almost like a culture shock, adjusting to normality after everything is over: to not have to leap in front of others with arms outstretched, his whole body tightly coiled; to not have to always be ready to fight.

And most of all, to no longer need to worry about the big, life-threatening things. Even back then, Steve felt like he’d had a lucky escape compared to everything else they were dealing with—sure his bites still stung, but they were only in borderline need of medical attention.

“Borderline?” Eddie had wheezed through the high of morphine when Steve relayed this. “God help us for what your ‘real emergency’ looks like, Harrington.”

So when it’s just a run-of-the-mill day, and Steve’s head is pounding, but it’s not that bad, he powers through. It’s not like it’s pneumonia or anything; it’s not like he’s dying. It just mildly sucks. Well. Maybe more than mildly, but the point still stands.

He doesn’t really think anything of it, until suddenly Robin is pinning him with a shrewd look right in the middle of their shift, eyes briefly narrowing in a way that kinda reminds him of Mary Poppins—if she’d thrown away the nanny career in favour of putting ‘new in’ stickers on VHS titles.

“Let’s swap,” she says authoritatively. “You take your break now, I’ll take mine later, then I can do the closing shift instead.”

“Um, sure, if you—why?”

“You don’t know all the intricacies of my life, Steve! Maybe I need an empty store to practise for my secret opera star dreams. Maybe I’m having a clandestine affair by the light of the shitty computer. Don’t question me.”

She whirls him round and gently taps in between his shoulder blades, pushing him in the direction of the backroom.

He snorts. “All right, all right.”

It’s only when he’s actually stretching out on the threadbare couch that he realises she’d gotten him to distractedly agree while she joked around.

Then it’s like he blinks, and he sleeps right through his thirty minute break. It’s technically forty five minutes by the time he wakes and gets up. He pushes his knuckle briefly against the bridge of his nose as he heads back to the counter, but the ache still remains.

Robin doesn’t make one crack about Steve’s break running over. She doesn’t even take her own break until there’s no-one in the store, dealing with any of their especially annoying customers herself, including that old man who always insists on having a tangential rant about “kids these days.”

(She’d slid a note over to him halfway through said rant, a scribble in Pig Latin: ‘illkay emay.’ Ducking under the counter to stifle his laughter was a nice temporary distraction from his headache.)

When she does come back from her break, she tosses Steve his jacket and car keys.

Steve stops by the half-open door, stares her down. “Are you sure? I can—”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, go. The literal only plan I had was watching a rerun of Headline Chasers with my dad.”

“But.” He clears his throat, and Robin’s grinning, he knows she’s only teasing, and yet… “But you love Headline Chasers.”

She softens, then sticks out her tongue before replying, “I know.”

And it sounds like I love you more, dingus.

He plans to drive straight home, but then he sees Dustin biking into the parking lot, and he stops mid-reverse, winding down his window.

“Thought you were closing?” Dustin says.

“Yeah, I was. Robin swapped with me.”

Dustin hops off his bike, looks Steve up and down. “If I’m, like, five minutes, could you give me a ride home?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. He can count the number of times Dustin’s actually asked that on one hand, used to finding him already in the passenger seat, waiting expectantly.

He shrugs. “Sure. I’ll fit your bike in the trunk.”

True to his word, Dustin is in and out of Family Video in barely even three minutes. Steve smiles when he spots that he’s rented out The NeverEnding Story again.

“Dude, just buy it at this point.”

“But then I won’t get the excellent customer service on offer, Steve.”

“What, Robin insulting you?”

It’s an unusually quiet but not unpleasant car ride. Steve doesn’t risk putting the radio on, the pain travelling until it’s a persistent band of pressure across his forehead, and Dustin, strangely enough, doesn’t complain about the lack of music.

By the time he pulls up to Dustin’s house, it feels like his bones are aching, his skin prickling and sensitive. He tries to suppress a wince as he parks, briefly rubs at one eye.

“Hey, Dustin, do you mind if I don’t—” He falters, not sure how to politely put, Normally I love chatting with your mom, but if I delay getting home any longer, I might scream.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dustin says, already getting out of the car. “Stay there, just a sec!”

And instead of slamming the door as per usual, he gently closes it.

Steve only just resists leaning his head on the steering wheel.

Then Dustin is running out of the house, carrying… Tupperware?

“Mom was baking,” he says when Steve rolls down the window again.

“Oh,” Steve says, taking the box, glancing down to see some chocolate cake. “Thanks, man. I should, uh.” He makes to undo his seatbelt, but Dustin waves him off.

“You’ve thanked her, like, a bunch of times, if you do it anymore she’s gonna ask why I’m not a gentleman like you.”

Before Steve can respond, Dustin’s already at his front door, waving as he shuts it and calling out a casual, “Feel better, Steve!”

But how do you…?

Steve knows that Eddie’s in his house by the way that the front mat has been left curled up at the corner from where he’s retrieved the spare key.

He opens the door, sighs in relief at the warmth hitting his skin; Eddie must’ve put the heating on.

“You’re being robbed!” is what he’s greeted with, and Steve chuckles, follows Eddie’s voice to the kitchen, and…

He stops in the doorway.

“You made me dinner,” he says, almost numbly.

Eddie looks over at him from where he’s boiling water on the stove, a jar of pasta sauce by his elbow.

“That’s a kind word for it, but okay.”

“You made me dinner,” Steve repeats, and he has to blink rapidly before he does something stupid like tear up. “Why are you even—did we have plans? Did I forget—”

Eddie smiles warmly at him. “Nah, just passing through,” he says, then laughs when Steve tilts his head, unconvinced. “All right, fine. I might have got a phone call. Actually, two: Buckley got there first, and then Henderson called, gave me shit about the line being engaged, he’s so—”

“You didn’t need to make me dinner,” Steve interrupts. He doesn’t exactly know why it’s this that he’s getting stuck on, but he can’t help it. “I could’ve made dinner.”

Eddie’s smile shifts, turns into something so obviously caring that Steve feels his eyes threaten to burn all over again.

“But I wanted to,” he says. He leans against the counter, eyes flickering over Steve’s face, a gentle kind of surveying. “Besides, you’re not feeling great, right?”

“It’s nothing,” Steve says automatically. “Seriously, I don’t even have a fever. It’s not like I need to go to the doctors or…”

He trails off as Eddie gets closer, kisses him softly on the mouth, then the temple; and there must be a salve on his lips or something, because the awful sensitivity on Steve’s skin feels, just for a moment, like it’s been soothed away.

“Doesn’t need to be the worst thing ever for it to matter, Steve,” Eddie says simply.

Steve affects a huff—Eddie’s always coming out with lines just like that, says it’s the DM’s curse, darling—but he melts against Eddie anyway.

“You use the bow tie shapes?”

Eddie grins, nods triumphantly down at the pot. “Only the very best for you.”

Steve smiles into Eddie’s shoulder. “Dork.”

Tonight he’ll lie on the couch after dinner, Eddie reading with the lamp on low so that it doesn’t hurt his head; will drift off thinking of him, of Robin, of Dustin—knowing that the world doesn’t need to be ending for them to care.

#loved doing the slice of life vibes in this ❤️#loveinhawkins takes prompts #steve harrington fic #steve and robin #steve and dustin #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #eddie and robin #eddie and dustin #steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #eddie munson

560 notes · View notes

the-cookie-of-doom · 3 months

Text

“Rise and shine, P’Kim!”

Kim reluctantly opened his eyes to a kind face smiling down at him, looking much too bright and chipper for the early hour.

“It is six o’clock in the morning. I’ve just finished breakfast—fried eggs and rice, with coffee. Cream, no sugar, and cinnamon syrup. You have a radio appearance in two hours, at eight o’clock, which leaves approximately forty-five minutes for you to get ready.”

“Thank you, Chay,” Kim groaned, rolling over and tugging the blanket over his head. The android had pulled open the curtains, and it was late enough into spring that the sunlight streamed in unmercifully. “Now go away.”

“Yes, P’Kim,” came the responding chirp, followed by Chay’s gentle footsteps as he vacated the room.

After another ten minutes the android returned, brandishing a cup of coffee, refusing to leave until Kim sat up in bed and accepted it. He sullenly sipped it, sighing at the taste. If there was one benefit to having Chay around—there were many, but Kim wasn’t feeling very charitable just yet—it was his consistency. He made Kim’s coffee perfect every single time.

Chay stood beside the bed, his hands clasped in front of himself, watching Kim in that eerie way of his. Kim still wasn’t used to it yet. It unnerved him, Chay’s constant attention, although it shouldn’t; Kim was used to far worse in his line of work. At least Chay never leered. His expression was always soft and friendly, warm no matter what, regardless of Kim’s own attitude.

Maybe that was it. Chay never reacted to him. Not even when Kim tried to shake that unflappable kindness with pointless commands or snappy comments.

“You have thirty minutes before you have to leave, P’Kim.”

He sighed.

“You know, before you, I could sleep in a lot more.” Especially when it came to radio shows, where Kim didn’t have to worry about a stylist or makeup. He could stay in bed until the very last minute, throw on a simple outfit, and arrive with minutes to spare. He rarely took the time for breakfast, helping himself to whatever snacks were provided by whatever event he was attending if he got hungry.

Chay only smiled.

“You would sleep more if you went to bed earlier, P’Kim,” Chay sweetly responded. Kim glared up at the android from behind his hair, falling soft and unstyled across his eyes. “Breakfast is getting cold.”

“I’m coming.”

Forced out of the comfort of his bed, Kim followed Chay into the kitchen, where the android finished cleaning up the mess from breakfast while Kim ate said breakfast. He laughed a little bit at the smiley face drizzled onto his egg.

“Is it to your satisfaction?”

“Yes,” Kim said, making Chay beam at him. Another odd little quirk of his; Chay was always so expressive. Every little thing seemed to fill him with pleasure. He would smile and laugh and wiggle, would bounce in place when he was excited, or flutter his hands through the air while he talked. More animated than Kim in many ways. Kim wondered if it was normal. More than once, he’d been tempted to find someone to ask, but one thing always stopped him: he didn’t want anyone else to know.

Androids were not… uncommon. They were exclusive, though. Personal ownership was difficult to obtain; Kim had gone through great lengths to acquire Chay from a private collector, even more so to conceal his identity while he did.

Companion androids like Chay were by far the most commonly available to the average consumer. While they were expensive to purchase, they were much cheaper to rent from any number of… establishments throughout the city.

Androids were hardy, relatively cheap to maintain—regular living expenses could be avoided—and easy to repair, making them an excellent investment for prostitution. They didn’t have to be paid, either, meaning the entirety of the profits went to the brothel owners. Of course, licensing fees were a consideration. Brothels could be fined if the conditions weren’t proven safe for clients. There have been plenty of news stories about gruesome injuries from malfunctioning androids.

The movement towards android sex work was a complex one. Some people advocated it; who cared if a client wanted to rough up one of them? They weren’t real people, they couldn’t be hurt. They couldn’t carry disease, either, and with HIV rates on the rise, that had been one of the driving arguments behind legalizing android-based brothels. No listened to the few sex workers brave enough to speak out about losing their livelihoods to the machines, and the authorities rarely looked too closely during their inspections. Certainly not close enough to determine machine from human in every single case.

Androids filled other roles, as well. They started with the police force, little more than sentient shields. Then some government officials began buying them up, adding them to their bodyguard roster. Then celebrities joined in as well, when having an android at their heel became the fashionable taboo. Fifty years later, there were over a dozen major manufacturers across Asia alone, and dozens more operating out of shady warehouses, pumping out subpar products—often salvaged and repurposed from the name brands—at a steep markup.

Kim didn’t know where Chay came from. Honestly, he didn’t really care, not enough to chase down his origins. He certainly hadn’t come with any official registration papers. In fact his legal status was in a gray area at best; one of the many reasons Kim kept Chay safely hidden away in his condo, and didn’t let anyone know of his existence.

Even still, regardless of his unknown origins, there was no doubt as to his purpose. Kim watched Chay move through the kitchen, cleaning and putting away the dishes, wiping down the counters. A perfect companion, programmed to serve Kim’s every whim. His previous owner, a salacious high-end collector with an entire room full of bodies, displayed in glass cases when they weren’t in use—Chay being one of them—spared no detail in explaining the full range of Chay’s capabilities.

Kim hadn’t fucked Chay. He had no intention to, either, he wasn’t—he didn’t want Chay for that. He wasn’t one of those kinds of perverts that couldn’t connect with another human, leaving companion androids—sex bots—as their only option. He wasn’t some kind of degenerate with desires that no sane human could safely or willingly fulfill. He just…

He was just lonely.

Honestly, it would probably be less humiliating if he did want Chay for the sex, and not because he was so dysfunctional, he was incapable of letting another person close to him. But that was the truth. That he was too mistrustful—too broken—for any kind of intimacy, yet he still craved it, desired to be close to someone, anyone, until he was driven to a blackmarket collector offering the finest piece of his collection, in exchange for a truly exorbitant price.

Kim hadn’t even tried to negotiate. He’d taken one look at Chay’s sweet face, his round cheeks, the soft curls falling over his closed eyes as he lay dormant, and knew he would do anything to have him. Two weeks later Kim hadn’t regretted the decision once.

“P’Kim, it’s almost time for you to leave. You have ten minutes before you’re late.”

Well, most of the time Kim didn’t regret it, anyway. Sometimes Chay could be even more annoying than his manager.

“I’m going.”

“Don’t forget about your photoshoot after! Or your meeting after that.”

Fuck. He had forgotten.

“Which meeting?”

“Contract negotiations with Vogue Thailand,” Chay dutifully responded, his voice following Kim into his bedroom, where he hastily dressed.

#cookie writes #kimchay #im not super satisfied with this #im brain fried #but here #android au lol #kim is a sadboy #chay is a ball of sunshine #and i promise nothing angsty happens trust me i only write happy things and no angst ever <3

88 notes · View notes

ggomos-maribat · 9 months

Text

5 | in which Marinette Dupain-Cheng is behind schedule

Part 5 of No Mr. Wayne You Can't Adopt Me! | Masterlist

Marinette's schedule had become a mess.

She went to the grocery store to do some late night shopping, but when she got to the fresh produce section, the place had fallen victim to a robbery. So there she was, cart positioned in front of her, leaning against the crates after the customers were all told to get down. She tapped on her knees restlessly—Gotham's vigilantes hadn't arrived yet.

If the robber is intercepted in forty minutes, I'll have fifteen minutes to finish shopping and fifteen more to fall in line and pay. Her face twisted into a frown. That's too much time off from work and sleep.

Marinette yawned and peeked through the aisles where the goons were yelling at the poor cashiers. Does it count as work time if I help the vigilante side of my boss? She wondered tiredly. She'd promised not to get too involved when such things happened (she had a cover to keep after all), but the interruption had become an annoyance.

Fine, if they're not here yet after ten minutes, I'm kicking those asses myself, she decided. She opted to scan her surroundings instead to save some time looking for items.

Finally, the sound of grappling guns whizzed in the air, followed by capes swishing. The Bats wasted no time introducing their fists to the criminals. Marinette rolled her eyes. Seriously, how'd they get the idea to rob a grocery store? It's too big of a space for a small group of robbers—anyone can run out and get some help—ooh, wait, is that half-priced lettuce?

Unfortunately for her, the vigilantes seemed to be taking a longer time rounding up all the robbers. She really really wanted to get the lettuce and go back to her apartment. A few more minutes passed and she made up her mind to transfer her items to a basket and crawl through the floor to continue shopping. If I can get to the self-checkout line, maybe I can still follow my schedule, thought Marinette.

She made her way between shelves, grabbing what she needed while laying low without a care in the world about the grunts and punches and kicks she was hearing. She got her precious lettuce, moved on to the frozen section for a while, and then back to the main aisles to fetch the seasonings she needed. Whenever she got a glimpse of Batman, she ducked out of he way, knowing that he'll fuss over her the next day if he found out that she was in the middle of the robbery.

Alas, she forgot to also pay attention to the other Bats. While she was on her knees, ground pepper in one hand, she looked up to see Robin who was staring at her in shock.

She stared back with a straight face.

"What are you doing? " Robin finally spoke.

"Shopping," she said, putting the pepper shaker in her basket.

"What—how—why now? "

Marinette settled for no more than one word. "Capitalism."

The boy cleared his throat, seemingly still puzzled by her actions. "Have you seen other robbers holding customers hostage around here?"

She distractedly pointed to the next aisle over and he took off.

***

Marinette thought she got the stabby Robin off her back, but he came up to her while she was in self-checkout after the robbers were all rounded and tied up.

"What are you doing?" The vigilante asked. "We need your statement first before you leave, miss."

When Marinette looked up, she saw a number of other patrons continuing their business . . . plus Batman speaking with the commissioner. Seriously, he couldn't have asked anyone else?

"What you did was dangerous. You could've been seen by them," Robin scolded.

"I was in a hurry. There was half priced lettuce." Marinette began to shove all the goods into multiple bags as fast as she could.

"You could've waited—"

"No, I couldn't." With a nod, Marinette took all the heavy bags into her arms and ran out of the store as fast as she could.

***

The company didn't require her to work late at night, obviously, but it became a habit for Marinette just like when she sketched before bed. It helped her set things in order for the next day and go over the details she needed to prepare. WE was by no means the perfect corporation and Bruce wasn't the perfect boss, but Marinette was content with her job, especially since it paid well.

She tucked her legs up her chair, reading the files under the yellow light. Yes, WE had its own faults—there were still supervisors from the Marketing Department who'd send interns on coffee runs instead of giving them actual work, and a few execs seemed keen on pocketing money for themselves. Though if she could pick out those issues one by one and bring them up to Bruce, it would be a good change in the workplace.

Meanwhile, as the girl focused on her work, a few vigilantes hung out outside of her window.

"Tt. Father, are you overworking Marinette?"

"What?"

"I found her in the store shopping while the robbers were still active." Robin crossed his arms. "When I asked she only said 'capitalism'."

". . . What?"

***

One office day, Tim decided to stretch and take a walk outside his office for a break. He wandered into the copy room, where he saw Marinette waiting by the printer. He was a little sleepy by that time, but managed to greet her with a quick 'hello' which she reciprocated, followed by: "Do you need anything, Mr. Drake?"

He yawned. "No thanks."

He'd say he needed coffee but he knew Bruce banned him from consuming any more for the week.

After the copy room, he then went to the break room where he found Marinette again. This time, she handed him a cup of what looked like decaf, freshly prepared. "Uh." He squinted at her. "Weren't you just . . ."

"Hmm?"

"You were just . . ." He pointed towards the direction he came from. "Nevermind."

Maybe he was starting to hallucinate.

Not wanting to decline the drink, he took a seat and began taking small sips. He idly watched Marinette heat up pastries for snacks, probably for Bruce. A few minutes ticked by and he excused himself to go to the toilet.

. . . Where he saw Marinette coming out of the ladies' room.

"Weren't—" he sputtered. "You—you were just in the break room! I left you there!"

Marinette's smile appeared forced, but concerned. "No, I wasn't . . .?"

"You were!"

". . . Perhaps you should get some sleep, Mr. Drake," Marinette advised.

"No, I swear! You were there!"

She gave yet another worried smile and went off towards the elevator. Tim shook his head as he went to the bathroom. Had he lost his mind after all? He finished his business quickly and hurried back to his office to gather his thoughts.

But as he passed by Bruce's office he caught someone going out the door.

Someone by the name of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

"Didn't you go downstairs?!" He exclaimed, wide-eyed. This particular Marinette seemed surprised by his outburst.

"Sorry?"

"You went to the elevator!"

"No, I was here." She raised an eyebrow. "In Mr. Wayne's office."

He grabbed her shoulders and started shaking her. " What are you?!"

He was sure he saw her disappear through the sliding doors. He was certain it was her who was in the break room, and outside the bathroom, and inside the copy room. He didn't stop mumbling nonsense until a curse-spouting, stressed Tamara Fox dragged him away from the confused Marinette.

What the poor Tim Drake didn't know unfortunately, was that Marinette strived to meet deadlines every day. And when schedules were tight, she simply couldn't do all her tasks by herself.

So, occasionally, the assistant would pull off a little Hermione Granger and employ the help of a certain time-traveling Miraculous to be in several places at once.

#maribat fic #maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #dc x miraculous #NMWYCAM #PA!Marinette

298 notes · View notes

writeforfandoms · 10 months

Text

Waking Lions 7

Find the series masterlist

Ace gets in over her head. Fortunately, Laswell knows someone who can help.

Warnings: Blood, injury (relatively minor), death of a minor character, so much spy shit, the plot thickens, Price is not very nice this chapter.

Word count: 3k

Your flight landed in Ireland, and you had to check your phone twice. Once to check the time (you’d gone through multiple time zones in the last week) and once to confirm the location.

You really needed a good night’s sleep, soon. You were beginning to feel stretched too thin. Maybe you’d take this info in person to Kate, crash at her place for a week.

You arrived at the meeting place early, settling in and getting something to eat. You kept a casual eye out around you - it all just looked like locals gathering after a day of work. The gentle chatter was soothing in its own way.

A man stood at your table, looking nervous and fidgety. “How do you like the view?” he asked, speaking carefully. He even sounded a little stilted. Hopefully you’d never run into him again.

“The green does my soul good,” you responded the other half of the code, much more normally. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

He sat and immediately ordered a beer. You frowned, just a little, but complied. So long as he remained sober and talking, you wouldn’t begrudge him a little something to take the edge off.

You were careful not to put your notebook on the table where it could be seen, but you did hit record on your phone. You’d transfer the recording to a USB later - for now, this was the easiest way to get the information down fast.

“You know someone in the group?” you asked quietly, gently leading.

“Aye,” he agreed softly. “My cousin. He was the decent sort, but he got into some weird shit, ya know? And then…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Dunno how he got mixed up in all of this, but he keeps saying that the new world order is coming, shite like that. Crazy shite.”

You nodded, hoping you looked appropriately sympathetic rather than just eager. “I see. What do you know of their plans?”

“Not much,” he admitted, wringing his hands together. When his beer arrived, he downed nearly half of it in one go. “I know they are planning stuff, right? But he’s not allowed to tell me stuff, could get him killed to tell me too much.”

You hummed your understanding, watching him carefully. He was too nervous to be lying to you. If you had to guess, he was nervous about getting caught. “What else can you tell me?”

You sat and listened patiently for the next forty-five minutes as he went on a ramble, a mixture of propaganda you figured the Russians used, a few oblique references to Al-Qatala, how much he missed his cousin, and how he was nervous to talk to people now. Honestly, it was a bit headache inducing.

You weren’t sure you’d exactly call this the font of information you had been hoping for… but it was better than nothing. So you slipped the man cash and stood to leave.

“Can I walk you anywhere?” he offered, cheeks pinked from the second beer.

“No,” you refused gently. “Thank you. It’s better if we go our separate ways and don’t speak again.”

“Oh. Right. Okay.” He bobbled a little, awkward and uncertain. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” You couldn’t help but smile a little. Aw. Darling. You turned to leave, deciding to head back to your hotel to transcribe the information before taking it back to Laswell.

A thump from behind you made you still, heart slamming into overdrive as all your hair stood on end. One look back confirmed what you had feared.

He was dead, slumped to the ground.

The first scream came from the pub the two of you had just left, and you dove for cover behind a car. A bullet pinged into the brick behind you, where you had been a moment before.

You were in fucking trouble now.

Hands shaking, you looked back at the pub to see several people on their phones, likely phoning the cops. Another bullet hit the car you were hidden behind.

You could stay and hope the car provided good enough cover until the police arrived.

Or you could make a dash for it and get the hell out.

Swallowing, you reached into your bag, grabbing the beanie you weren’t using. Quick investigation showed that ahead of you was another car, a line of them going down the street to provide some cover. The opposite direction had no cover but quickly turned into an alley behind the building.

Taking your chances, you tossed the beanie towards the next car, making sure it would be visible from above. And you booked it in the opposite direction, ignoring the bullets behind you. You rounded the corner and could have cried with relief. As you suspected, there was a back door into the pub. You yanked it open and ran through, ignoring the yells of the kitchen staff, getting to the side entrance you’d found earlier.

From there, it was a matter of making as many turns as possible, hoping that the sniper was bogged down by equipment and hampered by line of sight. Any time you could, you went through a building. That got you yelled at more than once, but you ignored every person.

After an hour of this, you felt confident enough that the sniper wasn’t going to snipe you immediately to pull out your phone. You were panting, shaking, rattled.

“Laswell,” you gasped, looking around furtively. “I need an immediate drop point.”

“What’s going on?” she demanded, short and tense.

“Got in over my head.” You sucked in another deep breath. Now that the adrenaline was fading, you hurt. Actually, your side hurt more than you should, and you looked down. Blood had stained the front and side of your shirt. “Oh fuck.”

“What now?” She sounded calmer than you, at least.

“Uh. Might’ve got shot. A little bit.” You lifted your shirt carefully, looking at the wound. “Just a graze. Not really bleeding anymore.”

“You need to get that taken care of, before you lose more blood,” Laswell ordered.

“Yes, thank you, I do–fuck!--do realize that.” You swallowed hard, poking very carefully around the edges. “Nothing broken, no major damage. That was… Goddamn that was close.”

“You are going to explain everything to me,” Laswell ordered. “Now.”

“Not my boss,” you grumbled, even as you looked around again, this time looking for directions. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, hiding the blood. “Followed some intel on some Russians, got shot at, need to drop the info.”

Laswell sighed deeply. You hadn’t heard that particular sigh in… years. “Alright. I’ll send you coordinates. They might not be happy to see you.”

“They?”

“Captain and his team.”

“Oh, well, no problem.” You huffed a little laugh, walking quickly now and sticking to populated areas. “Pretty sure he likes me.”

Laswell huffed an almost-laugh. “Just stay safe.”

“Will do.” You hung up on her, focusing on getting to your hotel. You needed to bug out. Immediately. But you also needed to dress this damn wound and change clothes.

Fortunately, Laswell was as good as her word, and got you the directions to the drop point. Along with a reminder to stay safe.

You didn’t reply, busy putting some bandages over the graze. Which hurt like blazes. Then you put gauze over the whole thing and taped it down.

That would just have to hold you until you could get to an actual medical professional. Preferably one you could pay under the table.

It was a short flight down to London, and you didn’t stop. As soon as you were off the plane, you were gone again, making your way through the city to the drop off point.

By this point, you weren’t sure how long you’d been awake, or how much blood you’d lost. More than you were comfortable with, apparently.

Hopefully you could throw the notebook tucked under your shirt and the USB on your necklace at him and then call it a day.

You made it to the drop off and paused in the street. This was… not the greatest neighborhood. Half the street lights were out, many windows were dark. Honestly, it set your nerves on edge.

“Keep walking,” someone behind you grunted, right before something hard jammed into your back, against your spine. “Captain’s waiting.”

You swallowed, not quite brave enough to look behind you, and started walking. The door ahead of you opened, revealing Captain, looking much the same as ever. He nodded once and stepped aside while the man behind you nudged you inside. Captain took the lead from there, walking down a set of stairs into a basement, and from there through a door and down a hallway. Vaguely, you realized this must have been a hidden entrance to a base of some kind, because you walked much too far to still be in the same neighborhood.

At least there were lights placed regularly in the ceiling, all in working order.

Captain pulled another door open and motioned you first. You went up the stairs perhaps a little more slowly than you needed to, but you were tired and in pain and confused. You figured you could be forgiven.

At the top of the stairs, the man behind you moved up to take the lead momentarily. All you saw of him was that he was wearing all black, was an absolute mountain of a man, and had a full on mask over his head.

But he opened a door and motioned you in with the gun. So in you went, Captain behind you. The masked man closed the door with a soft click.

“Really, Captain?” You huffed as you were more or less pushed down into the single chair in the room. “Is this how you treat all your guests?”

“Is that what you are?” Captain loomed over you, blank-faced, hands tucked into the neck of his tactical vest. “A guest?”

“What else would you call someone bringing gifts?” You spread your hands out, tipping your head up to look at him.

“A spy.” That came from the masked one, still behind you.

You sighed. “Captain,” you murmured. “Still no trust after all this time? I’m hurt. Absolutely hurt.” You pressed a hand over your head, the drama covering up the very real pain.

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You know, Laswell told me about you.”

“All awful things, I’m sure.” You kept your gaze on him as he took three steps over to the table. (Which you hadn’t even noticed, too busy being drawn into Captain’s gaze. Sloppy.)

“Not all.” He didn’t look at you as he picked up a file. “You’re not the only one capable of gathering intel.”

You blinked as he held out the file to you. You took it carefully, opening it. Your own face stared back at you, a still from an info drop. You leafed through it slowly, looking at the pictures inside. You sitting at dinner with Sergio. You playing with Sergio’s girls. You on the phone with someone, cool and collected. You getting off the plane in Mexico, being picked up by Valeria’s men.

“And all of this is…?” You trailed off leadingly, closing the folder gently.

“Evidence.”

“Against me.” You held out the folder for him to take, heart plummeting. This was bad. This was potentially every bit as bad as the sniper you’d escaped in Ireland.

“Laswell thinks you’re not in on all of this.” Captain took the folder and tossed it back on the table. “I disagree. I think you’ve been in bed with the enemy for a while now.”

You drew in a slow breath. So. That was his play here. Honest hurt clenched in your chest, dragged against your lungs. Only sheer bloody-mindedness kept you breathing normally.

“Well.” You licked your lips. “It sounds like you’ve made up your mind about me.”

His eyes narrowed at you. Neither of you spoke for several moments.

“Not even going to defend yourself?”

Your smile was definitely sad at this point, and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it. You were tired. You hurt. You ached. All you’d wanted was a smooth drop off. Not this. “In my experience, there won’t be anything I can say to make you believe me. I could tell you my rules, but I suspect Laswell already has. I could remind you that I saved that young man’s life, but you doubtless took that into account. A conscious ploy on my part, perhaps. A way to get you to trust me.” You breathed in slowly. “You’re a stubborn man, Captain. As I said. I can’t change your mind.”

“You’re probably right.” He remained calm, facing you, hands once again tucked into his vest.

“I think I’d like to give you the information now, before you let your underling at me.” Your fingers did not tremble as you pulled the necklace from around your neck. The notebook had left indents against your skin by the time you wormed it out from under your shirt, and you held both items out to Captain. “Here. Take them.”

Looking suspicious now, he took the items. “What’s this, then?”

“Intel.” You shrugged. “Movements of a Russian terrorist group. Weapons shipments. Numbers. What of the finances I could trace. Shell companies.” You shrugged again, folding your hands together in your lap.

He was quiet as he looked through the notebook, not reading but skimming. The masked one shifted closer to you, banked violence rolling off him like fog, thick and eager.

And then your cell phone rang.

All three of you paused, and then the masked one snatched it and tossed it to Captain.

“Laswell,” Captain murmured, letting it ring through without answering it. But then your phone rang again, and he huffed, holding it out to you.

“Katie Kate,” you greeted, light. Nothing was wrong. Nothing to see here.

“Did you make it?”

You blinked, surprised, and looked at Captain. “Yes.”

“Price grabbed you, didn’t he?” Laswell demanded.

“I don’t do names, Katie Kate,” you reminded her gently.

“Give him the phone. Then tell him where you’ve been for the last 72 hours.”

You blinked. “Not a lackey, Laswell.”

“Do it.”

You sighed but held out the phone. “She wants to talk to you, Captain.”

He took the phone, grunting once in acknowledgement. Then he remained silent for several moments, half-turned away from you, completely silent. “Fine.” He hung up and looked back at you. “Start talking.”

“I spent the last 72 hours getting that information.” You shrugged. “I’ve got friends in arms dealing and movements, so I visited a couple of them to get some of those numbers. Then I headed up to Ireland to see another contact who knows someone in the Russian group, and let me tell you, he rambled. Then he got shot, and I spent the next hour dodging a sniper.” You blinked, going through your memory. Things got a bit fuzzy there. “Took me a few hours to get here after that, and voila.”

“That’s not how Kate put that last part.”

You winced. Just a little. “Does it matter?”

“It does if you bled for this.” He let the necklace dangle between his fingers.

Abruptly, you were angry. So angry. You wanted to shout at him. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to run to the far side of the planet and burn every alias you’d ever made and retire to a quiet beach.

You wished you’d been able to actually see the sniper.

“You’ve made up your mind about me,” you pushed, eyes narrowing, shoulders tense and tight.

“You never defended yourself.”

“Because it doesn’t matter!” You started to rise, only to be pushed harshly back down. “It never matters!”

Captain crouched in front of you, the line of his jaw easing. “Let me see.”

You bared your teeth at him. “Shoot me first.”

“Nah. Someone else did that already.” One big hand caught the wrist nearer him, holding you steady as his other hand pulled your shirt up enough to see the blood-stained bandages over your ribs.

“Let go of me.” Your voice had gone frigid, frame so tense you ached with it.

“Not yet, love.”

The softness in his tone had you blinking, dumbfounded. The emotional whiplash combined with the sleep deprivation and blood loss was doing absolutely wretched things to your heart. “What?”

“Come on. Let’s get you up to medical.” He stood and pulled you up with him. Unprepared, you swayed, off-kilter.

“I don’t…” You felt like you were lagging, blinking rapidly.

“You’ll feel better after some sleep.” He nodded to the other man, helping you out of the room and down the hall. “You know, took me a bit to put together your passwords.”

“...What?” You blinked at him, a little bleary, stumbling through the door.

“Enterprise. Imperial. Used Voyager before, too.” His lips twitched in something approaching a teasing smile. “Didn’t realize you were such a nerd.”

“You were testing me.” You spoke slowly, tongue thick, mind working overtime to fight through the everything: lack of sleep, lack of blood, emotional whiplash.

Captain hummed his agreement of that, depositing you onto a cot. “Yes.”

“Why…?” You turned your gaze to him, hoping you were hiding your hurt, fairly certain you didn’t succeed.

He sighed slowly. “I’ll explain it all after you get some sleep.” He stepped back, letting a medic over. “Rest, Ace.”

You blinked at his retreating back. You needed more intel. None of this made sense.

It didn’t even occur to you until later that he had somehow seamlessly traveled the long path down to the soft part of your heart without permission. Somehow, somewhere along the way, he had become important to you.

And that? That hurt worse than the stitches the medic was putting in you.

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

223 notes · View notes

rowniebow · 1 year

Note

Fic where Peter and reader are already dating and Peter is distant because of his obvious job which leaves reader hurt and angry and starts becoming distant and detached with Peter which causes Peter to get mad and then they fight and peter blurts out “are you cheating on me?” Which causes reader to get furious and start yelling which catches peter off guard and reader leaves, can take the story where you want past this. sorry if this is long and confusing or doesn’t make sense (Tom or andrews pete but you can do Tom if it really matters) ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

it can be okay | tom!peter parker x gn!reader

pairings: tom!peter parker x gn!reader

cw: littol bit o angst but not much

word count: 3.4k+

an: went with tom's because i've yet to write abt his peter but i feel like he was left with so much turmoil after no way home, his peter fits well with this prompt...... ANYWAY thank you so much for requesting and i apologize for my absence, esp if u were waiting around for this ! i appreciate you, please stay safe! sry 4 long an

masterlist

⭒

you felt an arm wrap around your waist. warmth and pressure spread over your back. you flipped around to wrap your own arms around the man that had climbed into bed with you.

"sorry," his breath found its way to your ear and pulled the hair on your spine up. his quiet whisper held gravel in the smooth concrete of his voice. "did i wake you up?"

"yeah, i'm glad."

"oh, good. i'm glad i woke you, too. get more time to hear your voice."

you hummed, sleep fighting your coherent words.

"how was your day?"

"it was fine. i missed you for our movie night."

petter stuttered out several different sounds, none of them making any real words.

your eyebrows twitched at his struggle.

"i-i'm so sorry, sweetheart, i completely forgot. i-i-i-i got so caught up with homework i didn't even think... it's that stupid biology class! i always have so much reading to do for it.

"yeah, it's okay," you moved closer to him, desperate for as much of his warmth as possible. "school is more important than movies! let me know next time, though."

"of course," he kissed the top of your head. he lingered with an exaggerated 'mwah'. "i'm so sorry, sweetheart."

you hummed and slurred out a reassurance.

"go back to sleep now, sweets."

and it was okay.

⭒⭒

everything was so much louder when he wasn’t around.

the fridge’s song sung by instruments of kinetic energy hummed at the back of your head. the calm air against the glass window was practically visible with how loud it was. the dust that settled on the marble kitchen countertops and sunk it’s way into the fabric of your couch crunched and stretched the fibers of the masses. you couldn’t seem to turn the television up much higher than seven (you hoped the number might bring you luck to bring the man home).

sure, he’s missed nights that were supposed to be set aside for you two and his favorite star wars films. yes, you’ve noticed how he’s missed more than a few fairly important tests for his classes, causing him to fail (he was beginning to fall fairly far behind in his degree, but you weren’t going to comment on that. not yet, anyway).

but, he’d yet to miss out on a date.

he had yet to leave you waiting at your favorite shitty twenty-four hour diner in the middle of new york that was a forty minute walk from your apartment.

you wouldn’t deny to anyone other than peter that it bothered you a bit. your lip was raw and crumbs from a sad, newly empty plate of fries dusted your nicest clothes that you had put on just for him. your eyes wore heavy bags from how late you stayed up in hope that maybe he was just running a bit late.

however, when a bit late had become two in the morning, you gave up hope on that.

you looked outside at the nearly visible air and listened to the chill of the early morning crack at your window after you arrived back at your empty apartment at nearly three in the morning. you listened to the distant wind against the quickly moving vehicles. you listened to the retreating caw from a bird that didn’t sound like any you’d heard before. you listened to the dust float through the air and the television hum despite it being off. you listened to the deafening silence of the room and your mind.

cold three in the morning apartment air hit the back of your throat as you brought as much of the toxic oxygen into your lungs as you possibly could, and released it to be filtered and given to some other poor abandoned soul.

it was okay.

you understood his forgetful habits. you understood why he slept in and took so many naps. he has a lot on his plate. juggling school, and work, and the family issues that he’s mentioned from time to time.

it is okay.

maybe next time.

⭒⭒⭒

waking up alone after a warm night with peter seemed to hurt more than the missing arrangements.

the apartment's chill leaked under the blankets and burned your skin until you awoke. the emptiness of the space next to you in your bed was a sad physical representation of the emptiness in your gut.

the hole in your stomach that you awake with absorbs all the cereal you eat and leaves you feeling hungry for the rest of the day. it absorbs your joy and hope. it absorbs the warmth in your body (and especially in your smile).

your days are filled with sighs when you wake up with the hole of peter. with those deep exhales, you hope to breath out whatever haunts your stomach.

it sticks with you until the end of the day when you fall asleep alone. peter will climb in after you in the depths of the night and the ocean of your sheets. he'll whisper sweet nothings into your ear. he'll apologize if need be. he'll pepper you with kisses and hold you close.

and you'll be okay.

then he'll do it all over again.

⭒⭒⭒⭒

it just so happened to be next time.

he promised to make the last time up to you and promised to see you the next friday night for dinner.

so there you sat, leg bouncing under the table at a restaurant that was all too fancy for your taste but peter had insisted on.

you were on your third glass of an odd color wine (that really didn’t even taste good) and you were nearing the second hour of waiting.

“would you like to order yet, sir?” the waiter asked for the fifth time that night.

perhaps it was the alcohol that brought a sting to your eyes when you checked the time on your phone. but you smiled and shook your head and asked for the check instead.

looking at the number on the check, you nearly sobbed at how much three glasses of wine cost you. but you sighed and gave an eighty percent tip anyway as reparations for the waiter having to pity you all night. you almost sobbed, again, when you could hear a couple that had gotten there after you comment to one another about how long you’d been there.

cheeks warm with embarrassment, you made your way back to your apartment. the chill of the late night spring mildly helped cool you down.

the pity in the waiter's eyes and the couple's comments haunted you all the way home. only when you undressed into your sleep clothes and climbed under the covers could you manage to excuse peter's actions.

peter must have simply gotten caught up in homework. he must have just fallen asleep.

it's okay.

perhaps he got the days mixed up and forgot it was friday. or he got his hours for work wrong and he ended up having to work.

it is okay.

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

you truly didn’t mean to lean away from his kiss when peter tried to wish you goodbye that evening.

but you did.

you leaned away as if it were a stranger that was trying to kiss you. you truly didn’t mean to. you also knew that you truly felt as though it was a stranger trying to kiss you, though.

you knew it hurt him. quite honestly it hurt you, too. whether it was the pain in his features that hurt you or the fact that you felt that way.

either way, your actions hurt the both of you, and you knew you should apologize. you nearly did right then and there.

"are you cheating on me?" the quiet whispers of words that he choked out hit you like lightning. the frown in his lips and the way he avoided your eyes made your heart crack before you could process the words he spoke. his broken voice distracted you from the content it delivered.

you felt your eyebrows pull together at first. you felt the apology creep in your throat and nearly spill out.

his hurt was a new language for you to learn. it forced you to think over each word and remember the meaning of it similar to how you did in spanish class in high school.

and as the syllables set in and your brain wrapped itself through the vowels and consonants, you scoffed. maybe even laughed.

did he really just say that? did he truly feel like he had the nerve to say that?

"am i cheating on you?" a glare made itself comfortable in your features.

it's not okay.

"...no?" peter’s stuttered, hesitant disagreement made his regret in his words clear. but how could you just brush over his accusation?

"peter parker, i should be asking you that question."

"wha-what do you mean?"

"you're the one who's hardly fucking here. you’re the one that’s left me waiting until the morning for you to come around. you’re the one who ‘forgets’ anytime we agree to hang out.”

it is not okay.

“i-i didn’t-,”

“‘you didn’t’ what? remember? show up?”

his silence was as loud as it is when he’s gone.

“where are you all day, peter?”

“where are you at night?”

fucking

“where are you right now. are you even here?”

loud.

“get out.”

“what? no - no, please, y/n, you gotta trust me on this.”

nothing is okay.

“i trusted you to be here!”

“i know, and i’m so sorry, but - ah - i can’t tell you. you just-just gotta trust me!”

“no, peter!”

“please, i’ll make it up to you, i swear!”

“you’ve had plenty of chances for that.”

“c’mon, y/n,”

“no! even if you’re not cheating on me, you obviously don’t have time for me!”

“i’ll make time for you,”

“you really should have already been doing that.”

“i’ll make more time for you!”

“you don’t get more time in a day, and you’re not getting anymore from me, parker. christ- are you going to leave?"

"no! y/n, please, let me make this right, i-i can't lose you, too."

"fuck. i will leave then, jesus!"

"what?"

you slipped your shoes on, ignoring his words.

peter called your name as you opened the door.

"goodnight, peter."

⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒⭒

you stayed at your parents house for a couple nights then came back to your empty apartment. the silence wasn't as loud as it normally was, but the intensity of the emptiness, both in the apartment and in the pit of your stomach, made up for the lack of overbearing volume.

you went about your life for two whole weeks with that emptiness haunting you. not a word from peter. about anything.

you went to your classes, studied in your room, went to work, came back and went to sleep: the college dream.

you hardly even noticed two weeks had passed with the way you had just been floating through the days.

with your mind blank without the joy and excitement of peter parker in your life, you filled it with the words from your humanities textbook to prepare for a final.

the jiggling of your apartment doorknob cut through the sound of the words in your head. your eyes immediately went wide. the air became thick as you heard the door squeak open slowly but surely.

your breath was stuck in your throat, but you found it in you to pick up your heavy textbook to toss if you needed.

you listened to the door creek shut and click closed.

perhaps someone just mistook your apartment for their own? maybe a new neighbor who's mixing it up? you're sure it's just a simple mistake and not some horrible, evil, scary, stronger-than-you criminal who wants to steal the little bits of items you have. certainly they won't murder you brutally, or kidnap you and sell you.

certainly not, right?

your mind ran wild with what-if's and dangers of the situation. what else was there to do in the face of danger, though? hide under your blankets and hope they don't come in?

no, you'd at least like to look death in the face before you go.

that didn't stop your racing heart and shaking hands, of course.

so you crept around your door frame and down the small hall that lead to your tiny living room. you could hear the person rattling through your pots and pans.

you stood behind the corner, telling yourself it'd be fine.

you can do it. just go and ask what's going on. you're sure this is probably just some huge mix up.

"hah!" you huffed as you turn the corner and toss the heavy book at the person.

they immediately turn around and catch the flying pages. your heart drops to your stomach. your only weapon failed.

"y/n? i didn't know you were home!"

your heart manages to repair itself in your chest as the voice and face process in your mind. "peter?" you practically shriek. "what are you doing here?" a breath (that you were fully aware you had been holding) left your lungs, your hands finding their way to cover your face from the stress.

"i-i-i didn't know you'd be home, i'm sorry,"

"so you sneak into my apartment when i'm not home?" the glare you sent him reminded him how snappy you get when you're upset.

"no, no, no, no, no-!"

your questioning glare had him pause his denial.

"well, yes,"

you groaned.

"but listen!"

"i don't want to listen to you when you just broke into my house, peter!"

"well, the door was open-,"

another groan.

"okay, yeah, i can...see...that..."

"leave, peter!"

"wait, wait, wait! okay, listen," he took a deep breath. "i can explain myself-,"

"which part: when you forgot about me constantly or when you broke into my house?"

"all of it! i can explain and i just want you to know that i haven't been telling you for your own safety."

"what the fuck are you talking about?"

"just-just come with me."

"where?"

"it's a surprise!" his apologetic smile willed you to trust him.

you stared at him. his waves framed his face - his hair seemed to grow a lot in the last two weeks. his eyes were a whirlpool that sucked you in.

"jesus, peter." you shook your head, but found some shoes and a jacket to slip on anyway. the bright smile on peter's face made you want to forget about everything.

you followed him down the stairs to the quiet, three in the morning college town streets on a tuesday.

"how far away is it?" you asked. your eyes followed a plane as it blinked through the sky.

"kind of far," he moved in front of you to block your path. "but," he sung his vowel. "i know a quicker way to get there!"

"do we need to take the subway-?" you looked around, only for peter to wrap an arm around your waist. "what-?"

"it's going to be a little scary but you gotta trust me."

"what are you doing, pete?"

"you gotta hold on okay?" he guided your arms around his neck. "trust me, okay?" his sweet enchanting smile encouraged you to trust him despite everything. that didn't stop the groove between your brows from forming, though.

"what-?"

and you were in the air. screaming, obviously. you could hear his reassurance and apologies, willing you to keep holding on.

after several minutes of being in the air and coming to the consensus that you wouldn't fall even if you tried with peter's death grip on you, you took a glance around at your setting.

the street was far below you. cars and lights from down below smiled up and laughed at your fear. apartments on the thirtieth floors were eye level but passed so fast that you couldn't see who resided in them.

"isn't it nice?" peter whispered. he was your only lifeline; the only thing keeping you from falling to your death. "it's so peaceful up here." his quiet words didn't calm your racing heart or sooth your stressed features, but it brought you to stay present until your feet hit the solid ground again.

your legs shook you until your knees met the surface you stood on.

"sorry-,"

"what was that, parker?" you sparse breath made your voice come out as merely a squeak but peter knew all too well that you would be screaming at the top of your lungs if you could.

"it- well- i- uhm," the wind helped you push yourself off of your knees and back to sitting like a normal person rather than someone who thought their feet wouldn't ever touch the ground again. "i'm not really sure how to say this i-i-,"

"peter, i swear to god-,"

"i'm spider-man!" you looked up at his avoiding eyes that were as wide as yours. as if he couldn't believe he actually said that.

"excuse me?" you said after several moments of silence passed.

"i-i'm spider-man," his quiet voice was nearly drowned out by the blowing wind.

you laughed.

his eye brows came together in frustration. "why are you laughing?"

"you're not spider-man."

"i just swung us to the top of central park tower and you're going to deny that i'm spider-man?"

your smile slowly faded as you noticed where you were. that he was right. you were among the stars, the moon within inches of your fingers. the street glowed up at you, laughing once more. the usual honking screams from the cars could not be heard from how high you were. all you could hear was the growl of the wind and peter's shy voice.

"oh my god,"

"no-no, don't freak out!"

"i'm not freaking out, i never freak out. you're just spider-man and that's a thing and we're on top of the central park tower and i could totally fall right now but i'm not freaking out."

you were freaking out.

"doesn't spider-man have webs or something?"

peter stuck out his hand, and a white web came tumbling out after your hand that rested on the ground you still sat on. he tugged at the string that stuck itself to your hand and pulled you up with it. you stumbled into him, his hands steadying your shaking.

"that's insane."

"i know, and i'm so sorry. between juggling school and work and this, it's really difficult to keep track of everything. this doesn't have a schedule and gets in the way of you a lot more than i'd like it to."

"i-i guess i get why you didn't tell me."

a breath left through peter's lips. "i-i put together this as an apology, though." he motioned behind you to yet another thing you didn't notice throughout the stress of it all.

a blanket laid out with food from your favorite take out place scattered all over it. small electric candles flickered around the setting providing as the only light that wasn't coming from the city down below along with his laptop that was glowing and set up to browse through netflix for something to watch.

"i'm really sorry. i'm sorry i'm never there. i'm sorry it's taken me so long to see you again. i'm most of all sorry that i can't change it."

your eyes met his once again.

"if how i am is too much for you, i completely understand. you deserve someone who will treat you as good as you deserve and who will show up. but i want you to know that i miss you, and love you, and i will keep trying so hard to show up."

"you love me?"

"i-i-," peter's sure eyes suddenly fell to the floor and his hands found the back of his neck. "i mean, yeah," he stuttered. "but like it's okay, like, i get it, you know? i don't-,"

all the fears of being at the top of the central park tower and dating spider-man and what it means to date spider-man left you mind. all you could think about was how much you really did love peter despite his absent habits. maybe even more so now that you knew this huge secret and what that secret told about him as a person.

so you kissed him.

the heavenly feeling of his lips was something you didn't know you missed as much as you did. as soon as your lips met, tears pricked themselves at your eyes but you refused to let them fall.

you were okay.

peter was okay.

you were both okay.

it was all okay.

⭒ taglist ⭒

@fadedver @1ischai @djmalik52 @garlicforthewin @cryinked @armand0alg0 @softboi14

please dm me if you would like to be taken off of the taglist

208 notes · View notes

headkiss · 2 years

Note

request:))))

one night after his late shift steve’s like 2 hours late and reader crying and worrying and thinking worse case scenario happened and she couldn’t sleep but he went out with robin and forgot to tell u. when he gets back she’s like crying and hugging him but than gets really mad and like they argue idk work your magic😭😭

hey hey!!! this is a little different (they didn’t end up arguing i’m sorry) but i hope u enjoy it nonetheless :) | 0.9k words angst to fluff

Steve’s late. He’s never late.

He would get home fifteen minutes after his Family Video shifts would end because he’d drive Robin home, too. Every time. Every time except for today, it seemed.

When he was about twenty minutes late, you didn’t worry too much, figuring they had last minute customers and had to close late. That was plausible, made sense to your easily frazzled mind.

Ever since the Upside Down invaded Hawkins, and you went through it all with Steve, you worried constantly. It’s why he would usually come home on time, unless he told you he’d be late. This time, he hadn’t mentioned anything.

You were constantly scared that the darkness would come back, enough that you’d make sure your friends were safe and doing okay at least every other day.

When he’s forty minutes late, you start to get nervous, jittery. Your leg is bouncing where you sit on the couch and your hands shake ever so slightly when you bring your cup of tea to your lips.

You curse when the hot drink spills a little.

At the one hour mark you finally give in to your worries and walk over to the phone and dial the store's number. It rings and rings and rings. Nobody picks up. You slam the phone back to its spot and press the heels of your hands to your eyes, trying to get rid of the tears that are threatening to spill.

You’re frustrated. But mostly, you’re afraid that something might’ve happened to him.

You take a deep breath and try Robin’s number next. The ringing seems to be teasing you, taunting you. This time, her mom picks up, and when you ask her if Robin’s home, she says no but that she’ll tell her you called. You thank her and hang up.

You try your best to stay positive, to reassure yourself that he’s fine, he’s okay, but it doesn’t work for very long. The apartment is empty, the space you share with Steve feels like it’s missing something when he’s not there. He lights it up, and his absence is hard to forget.

You think you might be too dramatic, but you’ve also been through so much.

By the time he finally comes home, you’re on the couch, eyes red from crying and the tear tracks clear down your face.

“Baby?” He can hear you sniffling and he takes off his shoes and drops his keys as quickly as he can before kneeling in front of you.

“Steve,” you breathe out.

Then, you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him close, crying again. You think it’s because you’re relieved, the emotions rushing through you for the past two hours echoing through your head. Maybe it’s because of how he looked at you, or, what you saw through your watery eyes. The care and concern, the pinch in his brows and the small frown on his face because you’re upset.

He hugs you back, a gentle hand smoothing down the back of your head to try and soothe you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“You’re late,” is all you manage to get out between hiccups.

Steve’s heart sinks because he knows what you mean. You thought he was going to be home hours ago and he forgot to tell you he wouldn’t be. He knows how much you worry and he forgot. He feels awful, so he holds you tighter.

“Baby. I’m so sorry,” he kisses the side of your head. “Went out with Robin for a bit. I forgot to tell you.”

He manœuvres you both so that he’s sitting on the couch, you in his lap so that you’re able to hug more comfortably, bodies closer.

“No,” you say, your tears calming down. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t freak out like this.”

He pulls back just enough to look at your face, to let you look at his. He pushes away the hair that sticks to your face where it’s wet from your crying, then wipes the tears away, too. He presses kisses to both your cheeks, then your forehead.

“Don’t apologize. This is my fault, okay?” When you shake your head and go to disagree, he cuts you off. “No, it is. Should’ve told you but I’m here now, I'm safe, see?”

He takes one of your hands and presses it to his chest, right where his heart is beating. Alive and strong, a rhythm that calms you.

While you focus on breathing with him when he tells you too, in and out, he continues to place pecks across your face, loving and sweet, little apologies buried in the kisses.

“Will you tell me next time?” You speak quietly, slightly embarrassed to still be so affected by the Upside Down. “Please? I know it’s stupid-”

“It’s not stupid, you hear me? Not after what’s happened to you, to all of us,” his hands cradle your face once more, thumbs stroking your skin. “I promise I’ll be better next time.”

You nod, you know he means it. Steve Harrington has never broken a promise.

“I love you, Steve.”

“Love you too, baby. How ’bout we go to bed and I’ll snuggle you all night.”

“All night?”

“Hell yeah. C’mon.”

He pulls you to your shared bedroom, completes your night routine alongside you, he never strays out of your sight. Then, he does as he said he would; he holds you all night.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington request #steve harrington requests #steve stranger things #steve x reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #stevie blurbs

770 notes · View notes

bellysoupset · 6 months

Text

This takes place after graduation. It's in the correct order in the masterlist. 🙈 What can I say, I needed to write some self indulgent Jonah piece. Also a new OC!

------------------------------

"Morning," Leo's voice was all husky and sexy and Jonah basked on it and the soft kisses being trailed up on his neck, his chest... Down his naked stomach... But then Leo's lips pressed near his belly button and he realized why he had woken up so early and it was not because of his boyfriend's flirty little kisses.

"Leo," he tangled his fingers on the other man's hair, stopping him from kissing lower, "stop. Stop."

Leo let out a little whine, moving up on the bed to kiss him on the mouth, "what's the matter, baby?" he asked, hands tracing down Jonah's bicep, his ribs, his waist...

"Stop," Jonah grimaced, feeling his stomach churn viciously, "I'm not feeling well, stop."

Leo took a second to compute it, but then he pulled back, spooked, "oh are you dizzy?"

"No," Jonah gulped down, "just queasy," he pushed himself up on the bed, half sitting up and trying to assess if he was gonna be sick or not.

His boyfriend was still watching him, carefully. Jonah cupped a hand before his mouth, muffling a sickly little burp and then fell back against the pillows, "urgh, I can taste last night's dinner."

Leo wrinkled his nose, reaching in and pushing his fingers in Jonah's messy fro, scratching his scalp, "maybe we should stay home then...?"

Jonah had completely forgotten they were supposed to catch a flight to DC. He let out a groan and rubbed his face, "fuck, I forgot," his voice came out muffled and despite the fact his eyes were covered, he could just feel Leo perking up.

Ever since graduation Leo had been trying to get out of visiting Jonah's childhood home. Jon knew it was because he felt intimidated, but if he wanted to marry the guy - and he did - then he needed Leo to know everything about him.

"Help me up," he sighed and Leo's tentative smile fell.

"You're not feeling well, let's stay..."

"Nope," Jonah rolled his eyes, pushing himself up, "c'moon Leo, don't make it harder than it is."

Leo sighed, but nodded, pushing Jon up and off the bed. Both their bags had been packed for weeks, Jonah only busied himself with the shower and then collapsed on the passenger seat of Leo's car.

"Wake me up when we're at the airport."

"I still think we should've carpooled with Luke and Bell," Leo mumbled, turning up the radio at a very low volume, "what's the point of different cars if they're going the same place as us?"

"Lucas and Bella are always late for everything," Jonah groaned, turning on his side so he could press his forehead to the window. He wrapped an arm around his unsettled stomach, it was still churning and gurgling, "besides we're gonna see them during all break, let's savor a couple hours without Luke's annoying voice."

"I like Luke's voice," Leo teased him, "it's very deep and smooth."

"God, shut the fuck up," Jonah scoffed, curling up even more and hiding a smile at Leo's amused giggle.

He slept through most of the drive, then woke up in time to gag fruitlessly for fifteen minutes at the airport's bathroom before their flight. Now Leo looked genuinely concerned, as he rubbed Jon's back in the plane, the other man clutching an airsickness bag in his hand.

"Do you think it's a bug?" Leo whispered, feeling Jonah shudder against him.

"I don't know," his voice came out muffled by Leo's jacket, "just feel super fucking nauseous."

"Aw babe," Leo cooed, "try to nap, we should be landing in forty minutes."

It didn't matter how much Jonah tried to sleep it off, though, he couldn't get rid of the churning feeling for long enough to actually doze off. Twice he could feel his stomach's content jump up and scrambled for the bag, only for nothing to come up.

"Maybe it's nerves," Leo theorized once they landed in the Reagan National Airport. He sounded only half concerned, too busy looking around with huge bug eyes, mouth slightly agape, "this place is so fucking pretty, I can't believe it's an airport."

"Your standards are so low," Jonah said, pettily, sitting on a bench with his arms wrapped around his stomach as he waited for their rental car.

Leo wrinkled his nose, rolling his eyes, "yeah, that's how I ended up dating you," he scoffed back, causing Jon to let out a whine and bury his face on Leo's thigh, since the blonde was standing next to him.

"Why did you have to rent this model?" Leo mumbled under his breath as he got in the driver's side, fiddling with the seat, "there are so many buttons, I don't even know how to start the car."

"It was only ten dollars more than a much worse model," Jonah sat down, opening the glove compartment and letting out relieved sigh when he saw plastic bags inside. He grabbed one and opened it on his lap, just in case.

"You're paying a hundred fifty eight dollars a day for this car, Jon," Leo groaned, still trying to understand the vehicle, "it's a five people car, we're just two."

"What if I want to take my little sister driving?" Jonah said and Leo perked up.

"Wait, your sister is gonna be there?" he asked, concerns about the price all but forgotten. Jonah nodded, folding forward and letting out a little sick belch in the bag. He reached wordlessly for the water bottle and Leo pushed it in his hand with a sympathetic wince.

"So says Jasper," Jonah gulped down a mouthful of water, then pushed a button near the ignition, starting the car, "there you go."

Leo's cheeks caught on fire at not having figured it out and he smiled sheepishly, "thanks..." he started to pull the car out of the embark area and turned on the GPS on his phone, "are you excited to see her?"

Jon shrugged, pressing the water bottle to his forehead, "I don't think she'll remember me at all," he admitted quietly, "last time I saw her she was twelve."

"How long ago was that?" Leo frowned, not liking one bit the hint of sadness he could hear in Jonah's voice. He frequently forgot his boyfriend even had a sister.

"Summer before I started college," he leaned back, eyes closed, "five years ago."

"She must be all grown up now," Leo squeezed his leg, "maybe it'll be good. Reconnect with her, get to know her adult version-"

"God, pull over," Jonah groaned, interrupting him and Leo frowned, confused.

"Are you just exagger-"

A sharp gag interrupted him and Leo winced, scrambling to pull over in such a crowded street. No sooner he had parked - in an illegal place, no less - Jonah pushed the door open and he heard a splash of vomit hit the asphalt.

He heaved with all force and Leo flinched as he heard a whimper following the sharp coughs, then even more puke, "that's good babe, better get it out now..."

"Urgh," Jonah whined, straightening up and reaching in the glove compartment for some napkins, "I don't feel any better..."

"It's probably nerves, angel," Leo rubbed his arm, "are you done?"

"I don't know," Jonah grimaced, cheeks puffing up with a soft, queasy burp, "maybe... For now."

"Okay-" Leo reached over him, slamming the door closed, "let me know if you need me to pull over again."

Jon didn't even answer him, only nodded, clearly in pain.

"I can't believe this had to happened right when we're travelling..." he moaned, sometime later as Leo squinted at the GPS, trying to make sense of it, "that's the worst luck."

"You just need to lie down for a bit and take it easy on food, darling, tomorrow you'll be feeling right as rain," Leo said, barely paying attention and then heard a snort from Jonah.

"Damn, the accent jumped out," Jonah teased him lightly, causing Leo to blush.

"Shut up... I think we're lost..." he cringed, "Jon?"

Jonah looked up, then shook his head, "No, take the next left..." he gulped down nervously, "then the second right..."

Leo obeyed, wide eyed watching as the DC scenario started to change. Yes, it still looked like Washington, but it looked... Greener. The houses getting bigger and bigger the more corners he turned.

"Fucking hell, what's that monstrosity," Leo nearly hit the car and he was thankful that the streets had all turned very empty fifteen minutes before. He slowed down so he could look at the looming construction he could see behind beige gates, "what the fuck...."

"That's Luke's place," Jonah said and Leo hit the brakes, turning to him.

"WHa-AT!?" he squealed, his voice breaking with how high it went, "what do you mean Luke's-"

"God," Jonah whined, pushing his door open and gagging again. Nothing came up this time, aside from a little sickly belches and some spit. He straightened up, not bothering to close his door, "yeah..." Jon reached for the water, his voice all raspy, "that's the Atwood-Howard property."

"No one told me Luke lived in a castle," Leo scoffed, reaching to rub Jon's arm, still gaping at the construction. He couldn't see much behind the gates, except for the black roof in the far distance and what looked like a mini forest inside the metal bars.

"It's quite decadent," Jon agreed, rubbing his stomach and bringing up yet another queasy airy burp, "but the Banks property is not that much better, so brace for it."

Leo's hands turned sweaty and his heart picked up, "Jon... Are you sure about this. I don't-"

"It'll be okay," Jonah pressed his forehead to the dashboard, hand blindly reaching out so he could squeeze Leo's leg, "you already know both my parents, they love you, and even if they didn't, nothing is gonna change I love you."

Leo's heart squeezed, "that's sweet and I love you too, but-"

"No buts," Jonah sighed, "I love you, I'm gon- I love you. Just try and enjoy this week."

The blonde let out a nervous nod, starting the car back again. He drove two more streets and then Jonah patted his leg, "we're here."

"Oh, when you guys said you lived near each other I didn't think it was walking distance," Leo raised his eyebrows, then looked around, "uhm... how do we-"

"Go up to the gate, there's a camera."

"Okay..." he felt like his heart was about to jump out of his throat, which was silly because Jonah was right. He knew his parents already, there was no need to pretend he was anyone but himself. Hell, he liked Jackie! Yet he felt like just entering that estate was going to put him into debt.

"Breathe," Jonah squeezed his shoulder, "breathe, baby, it's just a house..." he grimaced as there was a loud noise and then the gates opened, "there we go."

It was ridiculous. Leo felt like he was straight up high, none of this even looked or felt real. He couldn't wrap his mind around little Jonah growing up in this place.

The main house was made of stone, rising between birches and other trees. It looked fairytale like. There was a main road leading to the house and then around it, to what Leo guessed was the remaining of the construction.

If Luke's house off in the distance had looked like a castle, this one looked like a fancy farmhouse.

"How- I cannot fucking believe-" he groaned, slowing the car to a stop and Jonah let out a little chuckle, then immediately jumped out.

Jon was bracing against the car, taking steadying breathes as his stomach continued to roll and slosh around, when the front door opened and a girly voice squealed, "OH MY GOD, JONAH!"

Leo lifted up his head in time to see Jonah's little sister run out of the house and tackle him into a hug. She certainly wasn't twelve anymore.

Angelina had really curly brown hair, reaching the middle of her back, and she was nearly as tall as her brother, with long skinny legs. She had the same dark skin as Jonah, maybe a shade darker, and big chocolate eyes, currently surrounded by sparkly eyeshadow.

"I missed you so much!" She jumped, squeezing Jonah still and he looked stiff for a moment, before completely melting into the hug.

Leo couldn't hear what he said, but he saw Jon whisper something, before burying his face on his sister's neck, squeezing her in a rib crushing hug.

She squealed as her feet got off the ground, then fell back on her feet like a fairy. Leo felt a smile tug as his lips, she was clearly a sweetheart.

"Look at you," Jonah sounded all choked up, "God, you're so- You're an entire woman now-"

Angelina blushed furiously, shoving his chest off, then her dark eyes paused on Leo and she raised her eyebrows, "Hi! You must be Leo, dad told me all about you!" she circled the car, shaking his hand excitedly, "I'm Angie! I'm so happy to meet you, Jonah never brought anyone home, so-"

"God, Angie, shut up," Jonah cringed, sounding embarrassed and Leo's big smile only widened up.

"No, don't, tell me all about it-" he said conspiratorially, but his good humor was short lived as Jon suddenly groaned.

"Oh god-" and then folded in the middle, disappearing on the other side of the car. Angelina let go off his hand, frowning.

"Jon...?"

"He's okay, it's probably just nerves or a passing bug," Leo said, circling the car and getting ahead of her. He cringed as he found Jonah half crouched down, one arm wrapped around his stomach, a puddle of bile near the toes of his sneakers, sinking in the overly saturated grass.

Leo had no idea how they even had green grass in DC in the middle of December.

"Nerves?" Angie frowned, carefully tiptoeing around the puddle and touching her brother's back, "you get sick because of nerves...?"

Jon groaned, coughing and gagging up yet another mouthful and Leo reached to grab his arm, helping him stand straight. He met Angelina's concerned gaze and grimaced.

"He's going to be fine, I promise..."

"Jon?" she said in a little voice, completely ignoring Leo, "Jon, are you okay..."

He let out a moan, leaning against Leo and nodding, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "yeah-" his voice was nearly gone and he let out a groan as his throated ached because of the acid, "yeah, I'm fine, sorry..."

He almost collapsed against Leo, who wrapped an arm around his chest, keeping him steady.

"You're alright, I got you," Leo whispered, keeping him straight. Angelina still looked spooked as hell, eyes darting between them.

"You need to lie down," she decided "and a doctor. I'm calling dad."

"Absolutely fucking not," Jonah shook his head, "I am a doctor, you don't need to call Jasper. I'm fine. I just need some water."

She frowned, her round mouth becoming even more pouty, "I don't know..."

"Angie," Jonah rubbed his face, "just help us get inside, how about? I'm alright, darling, I swear."

Much like Leo, Angelina seemed to melt under the pet name and she nodded, grabbing his other arm, even if Leo was holding pretty much all of Jonah's weight.

"Let me show you around," she said, looking at Leo and he smiled, feeling surprisingly welcome. Maybe the trip wouldn't be so bad.

#sickfic #emeto #mywriting #emetophilia #jonah banks #angelina banks #nervous sickness #nerves

68 notes · View notes

tojiscumdumpster · 5 months

Text

CHAPTER SIX - TOJI/READER

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀✧ summary page

Toji’s POV

“Don’t forget the parent-teacher conference today at three, then I need to go buy things for school this week.”

The hardest thing about being a parent is having to remember shit. Had Megumi not reminded me, I would’ve forgotten.

Partially because I genuinely didn’t remember, and the other reason is because Y/N has taken over my mind. It’s been like this since I’ve met her, but it definitely heightened after our morning together this past Saturday.

Accidentally seeing her naked, then dry humping her the next morning has me desperate for her pussy. I wasn’t even fucking inside of her and she had me coming in my damn boxers. I just know if her pussy was wrapped around my cock, I would’ve nutted quicker than I did.

I needed relief. Once I came back home, I fisted myself in the shower. I got out of the shower, caught up on some sleep, then woke up and jerked off again.

And again.

And again…

I never been this fucking horny before. What other woman’s name have I moaned out while beating my cock? I visualize Y/N. I visualized her on top of me, under me, on her knees for me. Fuck, the day she lets me have my way with her, I’m going to take my time to please her, but fuck her like she’s my favorite toy.

And I want to say it’s only a sexual attraction with Y/N, but I would be lying.

We agreed to get to know each other. Not boyfriend and girlfriend. Not dating. Just talking. Not as friends either because what I feel for is not friendly. She just… intrigues me.

I don’t want to say I’ll end up falling for her because that’s fucking unlikely. I don’t even have any more love left in me to give. But I know I want Y/N to myself. I want to claim her as mine.

She is mine.

The extra hour we spent together on Saturday was nice. Y/N said she was going to lunch with a friend, so we sat and ate fucking Cinnamon Toast Crunch while talking.

Imagine me, a gruff forty-two-year-old eating a bowl of sugary cereal. Kong would say I’m whipped. Probably even clown me about it.

But see, the thing is about whatever shit me, and Y/N have going on—it feels natural. She doesn’t always talk. I don’t always talk. Maybe I’ll stare at her like a creep because she’s so damn pretty but being in each other's presence is enough.

She affects me in ways I can’t describe, and it’s only been a week. And within that week, we’ve only been around each other three times.

I fucking know her. I know I do.

“Dad,” Megumi calls me. “Did you hear what I said?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah. Yeah, kid. Meeting at three, and school supplies.” I go back to fixing his lunch. “Want to go tomorrow? I’m off.”

“Why are you still packing me lunch? I’m not a little kid anymore,” he asks, annoyingly.

I throw my head back and laugh. “You rather eat that shit they serve you at school? Chocolate milk with pizza?”

His cheeks redden. “Whatever.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I mock. “So, tomorrow?”

“Whatever.”

“ Whatever , whatever . Those the only words you know? Maybe I need to talk to your teacher about extra lessons.”

“Dad, just make my lunch. I’m going to finish getting ready.” The kid didn’t even let me get a response out before he stormed out the kitchen.

Megumi has been putting up with me these days. I’d like to describe my kid as “moody.” One minute, we’re able to hold a decent conversation. The next, he completely shuts me out and acts like I don’t exist. I don’t pressure him, though. Whatever he wants to give, I’ll take it.

Just parenting him feels like I’m parenting myself because I know I would act how he does. He’s still adjusting , that’s what Y/N would tell me if she was here right now. Her reassurance helps because when that damn voice in my head reminds me how shitty of a dad I am, I think about what she told me.

“Grand Finale takes the lead around the far turn!”

Gambling, one of the guilty pleasures I fucking suck at but still do because it’s easy money. Well, when I’m not losing it. Do I ever win? No. Though, lately, my bets haven’t been getting dirt last.

Top five is at least my goal.

The security gig pays well, but there’s nothing wrong with a little extra cash every now and then. If I’m not at races, I’m in the casino, which they have a lot of in the States. Probably my favorite thing about this country.

My chances of playing at those slot machines are definitely higher than these inconsistent races who take up a shit load of my earnings.

Before, when I was kicked out of the Zen’in Family, any penny I had I would blow on gambling. Now, I try to be mindful since I have another mouth to feed. Last thing I need is to be one of those dads that spent their life savings on some bullshit, getting nothing in return.

I don’t want to look like that now, at least.

“Pilot Apollo is coming up on the outside!”

Pilot Apollo. About fucking time. I’ve been betting on this racehorse for months. Every time he comes up on fifth place, some shithead jockey passes him, and he falls behind.

“How did I know you were going to be here?” Kong stands behind me, smoking probably his twentieth cigarette for the day.

“Maybe because you keep fucking stalking me,” I retort. “Aren’t you supposed to be back in Japan? What are you still doing here?”

He takes the seat near me, skipping a chair to keep a comfortable distance. “Bought a one-way ticket, and I didn’t even get to see my godson yet.”

“Grand Finale has passed Apollo Pilot. He’s closing in on third. Now second!”

My back straightens. “Apollo Pilot, what the fuck?”

Kong takes a puff of his cigarette, chuckling. “You know you’re not good at this crap. Easy money doesn’t suit you, Fushiguro.”

“What do you want?”

“The contract is still up for grabs. Better money. Frankly, something you’re actually good at.”

I clicked my tongue. “I remember telling you no. I don’t do shit like that anymore, Kong. You know that.”

Gambling and sleeping with random women for money was inconsistent. Gambling, because I lost money as soon as I won it, and being a boy toy because sometimes I didn’t feel like fucking married women who were unhappy with the cock they were getting at home.

Kong introduced me to a form of income that was consistent and paid very, very well.

Killing people.

Well, becoming a contract killer. Same difference.

I needed good money. Fast money. Money, I knew I could get because of my skills, no thanks but thanks to those Zen’in fucks. So, I started taking contracts here and there. One signing could last me six months if I didn’t blow it all on gambling.

But I stopped taking contracts after I met Megumi’s mother—my wife. She doesn’t even know I used to do it. Information like this stays between me and Kong.

Just thinking about Y/N’s words, saying how I’m a decent man circulated my memories. Wonder if she’d feel the same if she found out the joy I got out of those contracts.

“And besides, we’re in America now. The systems are different from back home,” I argued. “Can’t afford getting caught.”

“The contract is based in Japan.”

You don’t need that kind of money right now, Fushiguro. You and Megumi are good.

Shut up.

I raise a brow. “Why the fuck are you so adamant about me taking the contract? Trying to set me up?”

He throws up his hands, mocking me, “Damn, you got me.” This motherfucker. “No, dumbass. Because my cut is based on the performance and if the job actually gets done. I hate complimenting you, but you were a good client, Fushiguro. I like money just as much as you.”

“Apollo Pilot has fallen behind. Newbourne passes, taking fifth place. Fourth. Third! Second! Newbourne is now in second place!”

“You got to be fucking shitting me,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Grand Finale is coming up on Newbourne, who takes the lead. Neck to neck, these two!”

I stand up and curse, not caring about the looks I’m attracting. “Five hundred dollars, Apollo Pilot. Move your fucking tail. Place fifth!”

“Oh, but Newbourne is coming in strong. He’s back in the lead on the inside.”

“Fushiguro, you’re embarrassing me,” Kong snorts.

“Shut up.”

“Oh my goodness, Grand Finale with the ultimate comeback. He has striked. Ladies and gentlemen, Grand Finale has won the Wooden Star derby!”

Sixth fucking place for Apollo Pilot and five hundred dollars straight down the drain. This is what I get for trying to enjoy my afternoon. And nothing makes it better than having Kong in the background taunting me.

“Fuck you, man.” I crumbled up the betting ticket I had and threw it on the ground. It’s time for me to head home so I can get ready to go to this meeting. “And I’m not taking the contract.” I tell Kong as I walk away.

“Think about it,” he says, waving goodbye. “Oh, and I’m coming over for dinner soon.”

Reader’s POV

Okay, maybe I did take some extra time this morning to get pretty because of my three o’clock parent-teacher conference in the next ten minutes.

A fresh wash and go. One of my favorite overall dresses with a white under tee. Light yet flirty makeup. My favorite creamy vanilla and warm berries fragrance. Gosh, I feel like a high school girl getting ready to see her crush. That damn Toji Fushiguro just makes me feel so light inside.

And after Saturday, I know my vibrator is getting tired of me.

Sex didn’t happen, but the dry humping… it felt so good. How Toji was thrusting into my hips with so much passion and aggression, I shouldn’t be surprised I orgasmed off of that alone.

I mean, let’s not forget to mention how he played with my nipples… sucked on my neck… the animalistic look in his eyes. It’s been too long since I’ve felt desired that way, like a high I didn’t want to come down from.

And I know how desperately he wanted to fuck me. I did, too. Well, I do, too. But I want to talk to him more. It’s not about making him wait to see if he’s the one because words can’t describe how badly I want him.

It’s just the ball of feelings I have for him that rests in the pit of my stomach—I want them to grow organically. I want to feel him emotionally without feeling him inside of me, physically.

When the time is right.

Honestly, this past Saturday would’ve been the perfect time, but I did not have enough energy to take him. Not with his size.

Breathe, Y/N.

I also can’t help but feel that I’m feeling for Toji too fast. With the little conversation we had, and the short time I’ve known him for, I might be a bit ahead of myself. We don’t know each other, is what he said to me last Friday.

… It’s the truth I didn’t want to hear.

Yes, it’s true. But I won’t hold back how I feel, and what I feel around Toji Fushiguro is just a like.

It’s a quick job, then I’ll come back to you. . . He said he’s not coming.

These words have been replaying in my mind lately. Is my conscience trying to tell me something? Who’s not coming? Is it…

A knock on my classroom door reminds me of my reality. I look to see the man that has been constantly on my mind lately, lips curving into a small smile.

Realistically speaking, my reactions are first to be giddy and excited to see him, but I keep that inside. Right now, it’s teacher mode.

I walked to the door and let him in. First thing I picked up was his scent. Earthy and woody with a touch of amber. He’s wearing his all black, three-piece suit that I saw him wearing at work. His midnight-colored locks are slicked back, different from his usual style that I know him for.

It might be an over exaggeration, but Toji Fushiguro is probably the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Masculine. Mature. Rough. His body, that waist that’s accentuated by his suit. . . Fuck me.

Calm down, Y/N .

I know, I know.

“Y/N?”

I give him a teasing smile. “Miss L /N,” I corrected. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Fushiguro. Please. Come take a se-” My words were cut off by Toji grabbing me by my waist from behind to pull me into him.

His lips are at my neck, and I can feel him smiling while softly kissing my skin. I have the urge to melt but I fight it.

“Toji, not here. I’m at work.”

He deeply inhales and pleasurably exhales. “You smell so good. You always do. And you look pretty, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” I want to stay like this. I really do, but the last thing I need is to have someone catch us like this. “But move. We have a parent-teacher conference.”

He chuckles, eventually releasing me. “Fine. Just surprised you’re Miss L /N. I think you failed to tell me that this past Saturday.”

“Maybe I like surprises?”

“Ha, a surprise it is. Megumi has told me about you.”

I sit behind my desk and Toji takes a seat in front of me. “Good things, I hope.”

“Seems like you’re his favorite teacher. I asked Megumi how his teachers are, he gave an eh response, but said you were pretty nice.”

Being a teacher isn’t easy, and the pay isn’t great. However, I do it because I genuinely enjoy teaching. Hearing reassurance from my students, no matter how big or small, feels good.

“Megumi is a good student,” I start. “He’s only been here a week, but volunteers reading quicker than newer and even seasoned students. Sometimes he seems shy because of his English, but I try to help him with the little Japanese I know.”

“How’d you learn?”

“When I taught elementary kids, it was for like three years in Japan. I was their English teacher,” I explained. “Also, uhm, my ex-fiancé… he’s Japanese, too.”

He hums, and if I didn’t know any better, I saw his jaw tick. “I see. Well, yeah. He likes reading. The kid has a lot of books. I think it helps with his English, too. We jump between Japanese and English at home.”

“I think that's good practice.”

“Does Megumi have friends?”

I tap my pen against the desk, thinking. “Throughout the school, I’m not sure, but I did sit him next to another student I think he would pair well with. His name is Yuji. Really sweet and bubbly kid. He’s also Japanese, so I think he warms up to him a bit because of that connection.”

“That kid is stubborn like his old man,” he teases. “I tell him to make friends and he says he doesn’t need any. I don’t want him to end up like me.”

My face softens. “Be kind to yourself, Toji.”

So much for teacher mode.

Our eyes are on each other, and he knows exactly how I'm feeling. Little by little, Toji opens up about his relationship with his son. We talked about it a bit on Saturday.

I can tell he’s not the kind of man that shows his emotions, but I can feel his energy. How he talked about Megumi holding small conversations with him lately seemed to make him happy. Toji told me there was one point in their lives after his wife died that Megumi didn’t talk to him for a whole year.

I could only imagine the strain their relationship has.

I’m not condoning him being a neglectful father for seven years, but I’m not going to diminish his grief either. It’s just when you’re a parent, there’s times you have to put on a facade and put your feelings on the back burner to make sure your kids are alright.

Toji’s trying to make amends now, and I’m glad he didn’t wait until Megumi was old enough to completely resent him. His patient is amicable.

He gives me a wryly smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. . . Miss L /N.”

“Someone has to keep the foreplay going.”

He arches a brow, standing over my desk to brush his lips against mine. “That’s what this is to you? Foreplay?”

Toji’s minty breath and soft pink lips are making it hard for me to not jump on him and be clingy. Again, classroom setting. Can’t afford to get caught.

Alternating my gaze between his lips and rich eyes, I look at him through my lashes, smiling and say, “Back to our discussion at hand, Mr. Fushiguro?”

He laughs quietly. “Of course.”

I try to keep the conference quick and simple (since Toji has work at four), going over the class curriculum, the expectation of Megumi, and all the supplies he needs throughout the school year. With a bit of flirting here and there, seeing how involved he wants to be in his son's school life really warms me.

Unfortunately, not all student’s parents are like that. Hence why a lot of my conferences last fifteen minutes or less.

“This is the parent portal you can download on your phone as an app, mobile web, or access on a computer to keep up with Megumi’s grades. Not only in my class, but his other classes.”

“What’s his grade now?” he asks.

“Since he’s new to my class, there’s not much to grade, so you’ll see it as blank,” I answered him. “Next week we have a test on a book we’re finishing up in class. That’ll be his first major grade.”

He nods. “Alright. Anything else I need to know?” Toji asks with genuine concern. Not like a man that has somewhere to be, even though he does.

“It’s four fifteen.”

“Not worrying about work. They know I’m going to be late.”

I softly smile. “Okay, but no. Nothing else. Any updates will be posted on the parent portal. My email and number are within that folder as well.” We began walking to the door so I could see him out.

“Can I use your number outside school reasons?”

“Use my number however you please, Mr. Fushiguro.” My voice is suggestive. I find Toji rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek while smiling, incredibly sexy. It’s like he’s doing this on purpose.

“Going to let me kiss you now?”

I managed to look over his shoulders to see if there’s anyone walking through the hallway but it’s empty. “A quick one and make it appropr-” A good way to shut me up.

His lips are on mine before I’m able to finish, kissing me like he’s been without me for a lifetime. Kissing Toji is addicting but makes me feel like I’m on a cloud. How he nibbles on my bottom lip or sucks my tongue into his mouth.

His hand that rests on the small of my back that feels possessive, pulling me further so I don’t break away. How he groans when tasting my mouth because us kissing has just as much of an effect on him as it does me.

The words that he says. The look in his eyes when he watches me. How his touch burns sensuality and temptation onto my flesh. My friends always told me I’m a lovesick fool, and Toji Fushiguro will be the one to show it if this keeps up.

“You look pretty like this,” —he breathes after breaking our kiss— “and you expecting me to keep it appropriate?”

“I wanted to look nice for you,” I admit, shyly.

“For me?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“If only you knew,”—his hand slides to my ass to squeeze, pulling me further into his now hardened erection—“how fucking beautiful and enticing you are.”

I have times where I’m the most confident woman in the world. Then, I also have times where I can show a bit of insecurity. But I don’t show that side to everyone. Probably no one. However, Toji is just that exception.

Tucking my coils behind my ears, I say, “You’re just saying that.”

He grabs me by my chin with his free hand to force me to look at him. “I’m not.” Is all he says, sounding more certain and genuine than ever.

“Okay,” I responded, holding eye contact. “Thank you.”

He looks at his watch, time being four thirty. “Can I take you out?”

“Hm, I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to go out with my student’s father. No?”

Toji repeatedly pecks my lips. “I work day shift on Friday. I’ll see you at eight?”

My crush on this man almost frightens me.

“Yeah. Friday at eight,” I confirm.

“Alright. I have to go. Okay for me to text you later?”

“Remember, Mr. Fushiguro” –I tiptoe to give him one more kiss– “use my number as you please.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

discussion question #2 — reader knew that toji is megumi's father before toji found out that she's megumi's reading teacher. now that toji knows, do you think him seeing reader will cause a rift in his already strained relationship with megumi once he finds out? Or maybe cause them to grow closer? What are your thoughts?

90 notes · View notes