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stllite · 1 year

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3am •°ˎˊ˗

chishiya shuntaro x gn!reader

word count 2.6k

summary 3am brings out the most vulnerable and real version of ourselves. on this particular night, you and chishiya unravel those parts of each other.

warnings mentions of parental issues, angsty, non borderland au

authors note had this idea after listening to my 3am playlist. i cant get chishiya/nijiro out of my mind fr. hope you guys enjoy this fic!

most of the world was asleep. the only light shining outside was from the moon, the stars, and some streets. slight, but there nevertheless.

in your case however, your desk and laptop screen also shining light. an unnatural and annoying light that was beginning to give you a headache.

it was about two-fifty in the morning — close to three. you and chishiya, who you’d consider a good friend in uni, were studying for your upcoming mid-term since the both of you were pre-med students.

it’s safe to say, you were stressed out. the topic you’d been learning looking like a completely different language the more you looked and attempted to learn it.

you huffed frustratingly, beginning to write in your notebook harshly and quickly. chishiya turned his attention from the textbook in front of him to you as you were making a lot of noises suggesting your stress.

“everything alright?”

at this point, chishiya was already prepared and confident for the exam. he stood by you however, because it seemed like you needed the company.

and the help.

you continued your harsh writing. “yeah, I’m fine.”

he shrugged, continuing back to his book and left you to your studying. or stabbing of your poor notebook.

your thoughts were everywhere else except where they really needed to be, going a million hours at once. the stress of this exam, intrusive thoughts of just quitting starting to enter your brain, and a random song in the background, banging in your head at once. you were tired.

maybe this is why i’m not processing all this information, you thought.

at that point, you about had it.

you turned off your desk light while standing up from your chair suddenly and made your way out of your room, chishiya’s eyebrows raising at your actions. he sighed, then followed you out.

when he made it to where you were, he saw you leaning against your kitchen counter with your head down in front of your coffee machine. the sound of it in the midst of pouring your third cup for the night, echoing throughout the silent apartment walls.

he stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do. hell, he didn’t know how to comfort anyone. weirdly, he wanted to comfort you.

you were always so bubbly — shy and introverted but outgoing when he got to know you. you cared a lot. probably too much for chishiya’s liking. you two were polar opposites but he didn’t mind. maybe, the universe put you two together for this sole reason.

“y/n?”

you picked up your head and stood up regularly, turning your body towards him. you didn’t say anything. you just looked at him blankly.

“too much coffee isn’t good for you.” he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall behind him and continued. “you should know that, you’re a med student.”

it sounded much harsher than what he had originally in his mind. but that was chishiya’s way of showing that he…cared?

you huffed. “god, chishiya. i don’t need your input. i just need to pass this goddamn exam and coffee is going to help. you’re already going to pass so i don’t know why you care.”

he just stared at you as you turned back around and poured your coffee into your hello kitty mug, reminding him of the time you FaceTimed him when you got the mug. you were so excited and happy over something that seemed so silly.

but that’s just how you were. though, he always felt like there was a part of you that he had not seen just yet. he read people scarily well and…he would know.

you breezed passed him and back into your room, cranking your music up. the aroma of your scent lingering until he followed you back in.

you were sitting on your window sill filled with all your plushies and other pillows with your textbook on your lap, flipping through the pages and sipping your coffee.

he sat across from you and looked out the view from your window. you didn’t look up from your book once.

one thing he loved about coming over to yours was the view you had. the beautiful sight of the city that the moonlight was shining upon. your music in the background making the view ethereal. it was peaceful. like a pause from the chaotic world.

his thoughts were interrupted by you flipping the page of your textbook harshly. taking yet another sip of your coffee while your eyes scanned the information.

he turned to you and kept his gaze there. despite the frustration written all over your face, you were shining against the moonlight. your soft features illuminating against it, like the moon was focusing on only you in that moment.

examining your face more, he saw tears starting to pool up in your eyes. the facade you were trying so hard to put up, finally fading away.

he paused. his attempt on comforting you earlier had failed miserably. now you were crying?

he shifted in his seat and looked back out the window, pretending not to notice. he felt uncomfortable. he didn’t know what to do. he was used to keeping his emotions inside at all times. he assumed the same for you. but now, it seems those bottled up emotions were pouring out of you and even though you didn’t want it, you let it.

he heard you sniffle, his eyes returning back to your face. you quickly wiped your tears and closed your textbook, throwing it on the ground next to you whilst placing your coffee gently atop of it.

you pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them, looking out the window to the view. tears were still spilling out and now you weren’t wiping them away. you were letting your tears fall into the night. but despite your built up emotions spilling out, your face remained still and blank. your tears just grazing on top of it.

“i have a feeling this is more then the mid-term that’s on your mind,” chishiya said, breaking the silence.

you didn’t say anything for a moment, your eyes still on the view of the quiet night. you let his words sit with you because he was right. and you hated how well he could read people — especially you.

you let out a breath before speaking. “it’s not like you would care.”

you knew chishiya wasn’t the type of person to express his feelings. so why would he listen to you express yours? regardless, he surprised you with his next choice of words. “try me.”

those words had you finally looking away from the view and to him, his gaze looking at you intently. inviting you, daring you to give him a chance.

“it’s a lot,” you started, gaze looking back out the window. you let out a soft chuckle. “i’m a mess.”

you felt him scoot closer to you, his eyes burning through you to get something, anything out of you. you felt that this was his way of letting you know that he was here to listen — something you weren’t used to.

finally, you let the words fall out of your mouth.

“i don’t want to be a fucking doctor.”

the words that were engraved in your brain since the minute you started uni was finally out into the night. for only you and chishiya to hear. and now, you felt somewhat free.

you looked back at him, his eyebrows having a slight furrow to them, expressing to continue your thought. “this is not my dream. to be honest, i’m really doing this for my mother.” you spoke your next sentence quieter, practically whispering. “because she wasn’t able to because of me.”

“what do you mean?”

you bit the inside of your cheek before continuing. “she was my age when she met my dad, so close to getting into her dream university because she took a gap year.”

he scanned your face, tears still spilling but your face still remaining blank.

“she was in love with him. and well, long story short, she got pregnant with me and couldn’t follow her dreams of becoming a doctor. so that’s why i’m doing what i’m doing. but it’s not what i want.”

he pursed his lips. “you shouldn’t let her be the reason to not enjoy your life.”

“but i love her. she’s been through hell for me. and i feel like it’s my fault she never got to follow her dream.”

“it’s not though.”

“but it’s the least i could do.”

he took his eyes off of you, returning his eyes to the window. he remained quiet for a moment which only built your nerves more. maybe, you shouldn’t have said anything? maybe you should of just kept on pretending. interrupting your thoughts, he spoke. “can i tell you something?”

you hummed in response, starting to feel more at ease.

“i don’t want to be a doctor either.”

chishiya didn’t know why he decided to tell you something that was so vulnerable to him. he spent years trying to dig it so deep in his brain that he would eventually forget it. but after admitting those words aloud, he realized he was simply putting up a facade. just like you.

“for similar reasons as you. except, my father never really was there for me nor showed he cared,” he shrugged.

he guessed that telling you this unexpectedly was because he felt you. and weirdly, he felt bad for you. you cared so much that you’re doing something that doesn’t make you happy. you didn’t deserve that.

“wow,” you replied. “i didn’t know that. i’m sorry.”

he looked at you, seeing your blank expression turn into concern. you really did care a lot about others. he was surprisingly glad he was one of them. at the same time however, he didn’t deserve someone like you to care for someone like him. “don’t be. i’m fine.”

his blunt expression grew more concern for you. you weren’t sure how he would respond if you kept prodding. but you did so nevertheless. “are you sure?”

he sighed. he wasn’t sure how to answer this. no one had ever asked. “i’m doing what i can.”

you gave him a slight smile. “i think we all are. sometimes, that’s the best we could do.”

he smirked back, looking at the view once more causing you to do the same. no matter what, you two always returned your eyes to it. you both never seemed to get tired of the sight.

“what is your dream?” he asked.

you smiled, despite all the emotions you were truly feeling. no one had ever asked you that before. no one ever cared to ask. “i want to be a writer.”

“really?”

“yeah. it’s like my escape,” you leaned a bit closer to the window before continuing. “no one has ever really listened to me or know the real me. they never really cared to. but writing — it’s a way i get to express the real me. and the ideas in my head.”

he looked over at you once more. your eyes were glistening with passion. something he never saw from you. it made him smile a bit. he silently hoped that you would be able to follow your dream. it seemed like something you truly adored.

“what about you?” you asked, meeting his gaze.

he snickered. “never really thought about that.”

you simply nodded.

“maybe travel the world. there’s so many places i haven’t seen yet. i would like to see all of them if i could.”

you gasped suddenly, causing chishiya to jump from your abrupt action. “i have an idea!”

he raised his eyebrows.

“when we graduate, we should take a trip! we could go anywhere you’d like.”

“with what money?”

“we’ll save up. if not, we’ll wing it.”

he chuckled at your comment. smirking, he nodded an agreement. “sounds like a plan.”

you smiled back at him. “any particular place you have in mind?”

he thought for a moment before answering. “Switzerland. i don’t know, that place looks unreal from what i’ve seen in photos. it’s definitely on my bucket list.”

“then Switzerland is where we’ll go.”

he smiled at you. a genuine smile. it was small. so small that any other person wouldn’t have realized it. but you — you noticed.

“you know,” you started, turning your attention back to the night. “nighttime has always been my favorite.”

he tilted his head, urging for you to carry on.

“not only is the world quiet from all the chaos, but you see people’s authentic selves. during the day, you put up this mask so people don’t see the real you. cause you’re scared that if they see the real you, they’ll run off. and the world is so loud that sometimes you wish you could just take a pause from all of it. nighttime, is like that pause. with the world quiet and the moonlight shining on the world lightly, its peaceful and inviting. that’s when people take off that mask of theirs and are comfortable with their vulnerable and real selves. and whoever you’re with in that moment to share your vulnerability with, its true and authentic. not something you put up to protect yourself.”

after a moment, you looked over at him, blood rushing to your cheeks. you said a lot and felt embarrassed. but he just looked at you keenly.

“i can see you as a writer.”

you furrowed your brows, confused at his response.

“your words are beautiful.”

your eyes widened, a slight sparkle to them. his words hit you hard. the kind of hit that felt like every negative emotion in you had disappeared. the kind that made your authentic self comfortable with him. the kind that felt like it was only you two in the world.

he simply just looked away. he honestly didn’t know what to say nor do next. but he was content. cause his words were truthful. you were a beautiful person all around. and he wanted to be sure that you knew that. even though the feelings he was feeling were foreign and uncomfortable, your words were right. the nighttime and you were making the chaos in his mind bearable.

you both sat in comfortable silence with the soft music in the background. the moon seemed like it had shined brighter, now illuminating and focusing on the both of you. making you two feel safe with each other.

after the blissful moment, you glanced at the clock on your nightstand. three-thirty.

chishiya followed your eyes and turned to also see the time.

“shit,” he muttered. “i better get going.”

“yeah,” you replied, a little saddened that he was leaving.

he got up from your window sill and began to gather his things. you just watched, bringing your knees closer to you as you rested your head against them.

once he was done, he threw his backpack over his shoulder and walked towards your door. but before he opened it, he paused and looked at you. really looked at you.

“i know i don’t say this enough or show it but, i really do care for you.”

you lifted your head up, mouth slightly agape at his words. he…cared for you? he cared for you.

you smiled at his words while he slightly grinned back.

“see you tomorrow, y/n/n.”

and then, he walked out the door into the peaceful night. leaving you breathless, filled with old and new emotions but most importantly, leaving you free.

he saw the real you. he listened to you. and he cares about you.

and while you don’t know where this is going or where it will go, you do know you care for him too. more than you ever had for anyone.

#chishiya shuntaro #chishiya fic #chishiya imagine #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya angst #chishiya fluff #aib chishiya #shuntaro chishiya #chishiya x y/n #chishiya x reader #chishiya x gn reader #chishiya x you #aib fanfic #aib x you #alice in boderland x reader #aib #nijiro murakami #nijiro days #alice in borderland

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youaremyhome · 1 year

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Pieces of the Night: Supernova

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, blackmail, manipulation, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk.

Notes: 3.4k words. This might have a few typos in it and ill come back later to fix it but I'm just so excited to post this bc it might be my fav chapter so far!!!

Taglist: @belcalis9503 @ACRAZYBIOTCH374 @fangirlwithlou @malfoytargaryen @RAFECAMERONSBADUSSY @takin-care-of-business @watersquirtpewpewboomm @jpmswife

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist! (and I'm sorry if i missed anyone that's asked already!)

You sit across Rafe in a diner booth. The menu is planted in front of your face to avoid his, eyes roving across the plastic pages meaninglessly. After your crying fit, he rubbed your tears away and led your speechless form out of the courtyard.

Now, you were hunched in a cracked leather booth with mascara smudged and eyes puffy.

Originally, you had expected Rafe to take you somewhere unnecessarily nice and expensive. He seemed like the type to flaunt his father’s wealth for praise from others. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen with you. Which suited you just fine because you did not want to be seen with him.

“So, where were you?”

Peeking over the top of the long menu, he’s leaned back, all lazy confidence and smug.

“Where was I for what?” You ask loftily.

“Don’t be cute.” Rafe knocks his knuckles on the table absently, gaze right on you. “Where were you Friday?”

“Oh, the day you demanded I go on a date with you?” Innocently you raise your eyebrows like you just remembered. “I went to the movies with friends.”

Shrugging, you go back to the menu. Heart beginning to pick up pace with anxiety at his reaction to your admission of standing him up. That night, you had asked your roommates for a dinner and movie date, dragging it out as long as possible.

Tension rolls in like fog, condensing on top of your shoulders, his anger a tangible thing and you’re left to wonder what your punishment will be this time. Because while part of this whole thing is a fucked-up power play of blackmail, it’s also equally a punishment for your stunt. An inkling of the lengths Rafe would go to just to get what he wants.

“I was running around this fucking town just for you to be at the movies?”

“Coffee?”

Rafe is interrupted by the young waitress, her polite smile dissolving into a panicky look when he directs his glare at her.

“I’d love some.” Tilting your head up and smiling sweetly, you push the empty mug closer to her.

An awkward beat of silence blankets the air before she’s pouring the hot liquid into your mug and then scurries away. With your lips still curled up from the smell of coffee, it instantly drops when you meet cold blue eyes. Rafe’s jaw ticks and an unreadable emotion crosses his face when his eyes dip down to your now frowning mouth.

You don't have anything else to say to him, so you let the silence stretch. Now that you’re in a public place, you’re more comfortable meeting his gaze head-on, mind cleared from your emotional episode.

“You’re not at all like how I thought you’d be.” Rafe finally says, but he doesn’t sound disappointed about the fact either.

You nod. “Yeah, that generally happens when you make assumptions about people without getting to know them.”

You pour cream and heaps of sugar into the mug, his eyes tracking across your movements.

“Then,” Rafe places his elbows on the table, leaning forward. Eyes intent solely on you. “Let me know you.”

“Pfft.” You blow out. “After all that shit you’ve pulled? No way.” It’s comical to think it would be that easy. To forget the things he’s said and done when he’s still a stranger to you.

“Wasn’t really asking.” Rafe waves his hand.

“See you can’t just say things like that.” You give him an incredulous look, like he should know better.

He’s quick to ask, “Why not?”

“Because it's disgusting –”

“Wanting to know you is disgusting?” Rafe scoffs. Shaking his head about to argue back but you beat him to the punch.

“It's the way you go about it –”

“Would you rather have me beg?” Rafe rumbles, voice gravely and low. “Cause I’ll do it. Get right on my knees for you and beg for every crumb of information you’ll give me.”

That stuns you. Warmth blossoms up between your legs all the way up to your cheeks, hating your body for such a reaction. Looking away, you nervously pick at the leather cushion as you await Rafe’s mocking. It never comes through, his imagination taking over while you sit there all embarrassed and cute. Wondering how loud you’d be with his tongue so deep inside you –

“Y’all ready to order?” The waitress asks out of nowhere, popping Rafe’s little daydream bubble.

You order french toast with bacon and sausage while he gets the cheeseburger, handing the menus back to her as she runs away again. If only you could do that.

“So, you a big breakfast person?” Rafe casually asks, ruining your fantasy of hightailing it out of there.

You are, but you aren’t going to be telling him that. He doesn’t deserve to know an iota about you. All the little things that build you as a person will stay hidden in a vault away from him.

Shrugging, you continue to pick at the leather, exposing more of the soft spongy texture of the filling of the seat. Though you know that you’re stuck here with him, it doesn’t mean you’ll make it easy.

“C’mon, give me something, something.” He drones out. “This is supposed to be a date remember?” His voice is coaxing but a glance up at his face reveals his sneer.

“Do you always blackmail your dates?” You remark, arching your eyebrow at him.

“Just you.” Rafe grins.

“I must be so special.” Rolling your eyes, you send him an obnoxiously fake smile.

“You are.”

His tone turns serious, and you glare back down to the seat. Blue eyes chase your gaze, trying to keep a hold of you.

He really does need to stop saying that kind of seemingly genuine shit because some tiny part of you lights up like a Christmas tree. And just as quickly as the idea sweeps through, you squash it like a bug. It’s only because no one has ever shown you this kind of passion before and your lizard brain is lapping it up. Thirsty from the barren wasteland of your love life.

The fear is still there, your skin tight from the dried tears but you remind yourself that Rafe is only a college boy. Barely a man. You just need time to figure a way out of this situation.

Eventually, the food arrives but it’s difficult to swallow anything down. With him directly in front of you, Rafe has a front seat of every passing emotion on your face. From the delighted hum of the first bite to how your jaw moves as you chew. You’ve never felt so exposed, so aware of yourself with every movement you make.

You take subtle stock of him as well. How the big burger looks small in his hands, the surprising decorum of his eating, unlike other males. Wordlessly, he hands you a french fry and in exchange, you hand him a strip of bacon. You reason that it's better than talking to him.

Throughout the meal, you start exchanging more pieces of food back and forth. A silent communication that has you slowly but surely relaxing in his presence. There’re moments where it looks like he wants to say something, decides against it and hands you another fry. The quiet is nice, allowing your mind peace from today's events. Allows you to forget who you’re with for bits at a time.

Once your belly is full and the bill is paid, uneasiness creeps back onto your skin like spiders. It’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to him, but Rafe looks content with the quiet too, something you weren’t counting on. You’ve come to realize through your previous interactions that he rambles a bit often, and you’re not sure what to make of this.

Rafe leads the way out of the diner, holding the door open for you, keeping his hands to himself as you walk down the sidewalk. It’s a stark constant to when you first arrived here: with his hand on your back, and threats of being good whispered in your ear. Maybe is he able to –

“What are you doing?” You squeak, unexpectedly being herded down an alleyway. A hand wrapping around your bicep to lure you in deeper.

Rafe says nothing when he shoves your back against the brick wall, blue eyes a thunderstorm of chaos before he’s stealing your breath from your lips. He cranes your neck up with both hands, devouring your lips and then your tongue. The force of it is too great, gasping into it only to be able to breathe better making you inhale the taste of him.

A wet smacking pop sounds when Rafe pulls away, pearly teeth biting his pink lips fill your vision before you’re staring at the other end of the alley.

“Told you I’d get on my knees f’you.”

Rafe Cameron settles on his knees in front of you and all you can do is gape back, dumbfounded. Dirty blond fringes kiss his eyelashes, mirroring your open mouth as his tongue swipes at his bottom teeth. His hands slide up from your knees to your thighs painstakingly slow, gentle as a boyish smile grows.

“Rafe – not here…please.” Your voice can’t seem to go above a whisper, heart rate doubling in a second.

He ignores you and it’s becoming an obvious trait for him. His knees dig into the gravel uncomfortably but with the warm scent of you being so close, he can’t think of anything else.

Without permeable, he’s burying his face in the soft cotton of your leggings at your crotch, crudely inhaling and licking a stripe up your covered mound. He moans and swears he can almost taste you through the fabric, tongue dampening it as he teases you. Hands groping at your thighs up to your ass, flattening his tongue to cover every inch he can.

With layers between his tongue and your pussy it shouldn’t feel as good as it does. Wiggling his tongue around slowly, like the push and pull of the ocean. The muted feeling of his hot tongue seeping through the material makes a whine crack out of your chest. Again, you protest while your hands flutter down to pat his head, eyes darting around the empty space. A pierce of anxiety hits you and blends with the thrill that is building up between your legs. A familiar unwanted buzz you’ve come to dread and anticipate.

Your mouth opens again for a protest, but Rafe interrupts, staring up at you with full dark lashes and panting.

“What’s your favorite color?”

The question is so far left field, you don’t understand him until he repeats himself, swiping kisses around your hips as he awaits your answer.

When you do, he pulls on your waistband, tugging your leggings down until they hit midthigh, uncovering and restricting you all at once. Threading your fingers in his blond locks you tug, hoping to pull him upright, to stop this – whatever is happening.

A heavy groan vibrates along your mound and burns down to your clit. Rafe is quick in pressing his face right up to your cunt and kissing it. Like a man starved, his fingers pull at your thong to the side as his tongue slips through your folds, taking one, two moments of exploring and then finding your clit. The tip of his tongue, flicking and prodding as he switches from caresses to sucking.

“Favorite book?”

Your body feels heavy like gravity is pushing you down while your head is floating away from you. Answering his questions scrambles your brain more as he continues his assault of pleasure. His hands encompass your hips, supporting the roll of them along his mouth. Grating your hips up again, the strong bridge of his nose slides and press on your clit as his tongue breaches you for the first time.

It’s a damn struggle to keep your voice down, for your moans not to echo off the brick walls of this deserted alley. Rafe moves his head side to side, working his tongue further into you only making it harder to be quiet. You’ve never fallen into the haze so easily before, any thoughts of your hatred for him shutting off completely. He’s in complete control even in this position, demanding your pleasure and bits of yourself.

Clenching on his tongue is a different type of sensation you’ve never felt before, soft but hard enough to feel it. Hot and wet with plenty of friction as his nose bullies your clit. You whine in disappointment whenever he pulls it out, asking you meaningless questions. Dragging out this tortured pleasurable hell of yours. Edging you into a lust-induced daze, body preparing for that ultimate high.

Fingers knead at the fat of your ass and in the back of your mind you’d wish he would slip a couple of those long fingers in you. Your thighs start to twitch as you get closer, pulling his hair harsher causing his attack to increase with vigor. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh of the hood of your clit and you’re squealing with no inhibitions.

“What’s something you’re scared of?”

It’s the first question with real significance behind it. And although you’ve told yourself earlier to lock those pieces of you away, it all comes tumbling out like the spilling of glass. You answer with no hesitation, just honesty.

“You!”

Rafe loses all control he thought he had. He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue sliding back and forth as the suction deepens. The pressure of his lips is like a vacuum as he works you into a frenzy. He growls back into you, responding to the soft pitiful whimpers you make. Squeezing your ass as he presses his face deeper, your slick covering his chin and dripping down his throat. The front of his teeth grinds at the top of your slit, hips jolting with the strike of lightening of your orgasm, a hoarse cry that you have to bite off.

Hiccups break between your erratic breathing, the rush of your high lasting longer than ever before as Rafe keeps his mouth right there, right in the same spot that’s making you see white specks of stars.

His tongue softens, flat and drinking as much of you as he can. The combination of spit and cum makes everything slippery, soft lips kissing down your slit to your pulsing hole and back up again.

Finally, thinking you might just have to live in this never ever dying bliss with Rafe between your thighs forever, he stands up.

“So good f’me,” Rafe mumbles. One hand pets your hair while the other reaches down, you think he’ll pull your pants up for you.

Instead, Rafe is undoing his own, taking his rock-hard cock out and you’re shaking your head no before he can do anything.

“Uh-uh, hush.” He chuckles. “Not gonna fuck you…” You watch as he pulls on his cock, tugging with a moan. “Gonna cum with just the taste of you on my tongue.”

You can’t tear your eyes away as he pleasures himself in front of you, the weeping tip brushing along the top of your thong, your forehead resting on his shoulder as you watch. The rough whine of your own name makes ruminates of your high bleed back in, hips thrusting closer to him of their own fruition.

His stroking speeds up as he cums all over you, only stopping once there’s nothing else to wring out. It’s the first time you’ve really gotten a good look at him down there, thick and heavy with an angry red mushroom head. It’s always the assholes that have the best dicks.

Heavy pants begin to synchronize together, both of you staring down at the mess on you. You blink heavily, resting them closed and it's then you get a flash of another time you were covered by him.

Look like an angel with all that white on you.

His words echo in your head, giving you the willpower and common sense to pull away from him. Rafe stumbles back a bit from your shove, your fingers fumbling with your waistband as you quickly pull it up.

“Woah hey, it’s ok. Relax.” Rafe attempts to pacify you, seeing the thoughts whirl behind your eyes. He rights himself up, towering over you as his hands soothe down your arms.

You wiggle uncomfortably, the touch of him scratching at you. “It's not ok! You can’t keep doing this to me!”

Rafe sputters. “What, g-giving you so many orgasms that, that you can’t keep your eyes open?” His grip tightens, bending lower to get in your face. “You sure know how to keep your legs open!”

Your gasp is like the sound of a shotgun firing, silencing the air around you. Rafe’s face softens, loosening his hold as one hand scrubs down his face in regret.

“Look, I didn’t mean that –”

“Yes, you did.” You say strongly.

“Nah, I didn’t.” Rafe points a finger at you, shaking it in your face. “You’re just pissing me off right after we had a great time together.”

You know you can’t fight him physically and now with his blackmail, you don’t know if you can fight him off mentally either. It’s exhausting going from fear to ecstasy to anger, all in a loop every time with him. Maybe you did ruin what could’ve been a nice moment between the two of you, but hasn’t he already ruined the foundation? How could he ever think you can get past what he’s done to you.

He's delusional, is what he is. Speaking to him rationally doesn’t work and each time you fight him, the more extreme he becomes. So, maybe it was time to choose a different route. One that can either break him or break you.

“You’re…right.” The words are bitter on your tongue, lying straight through your teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Rafe’s surprise is easy to read on his face, an open book you know you’ll have to use to your advantage. An arm slings low around your waist, pulling your bodies tightly together as his other hand cups the back of your neck. Leaning down to press his lips to yours, the kiss is a slow burn of rekindling desire for him and a reluctant duty for you.

You can taste yourself on his lips, your cum slicking up the movement of your mouths. Giving into it is easier than you’d like it to be, the salty tang shared as he swipes his tongue in your mouth. Licking his way against yours, the clench of your thighs is involuntary.

Pulling back, long fingers slide up to your face, his thumb tapping at the corner of your mouth. Rafe’s gaze zeroed in on your swollen lips.

“Smile for me, angel.”

It might seem like a request, but you know it’s a thinly veiled command. Straining your muscles to trick your lips back into a smile, demurely looking up at him in hopes to end this date already. The tip of his thumb hooks at your smile line, forcibly stretching your lips. He says your name like a curse.

“Pretty little smile makes my dick hard.”

Bruising one more kiss to you, Rafe takes your hand and leads you out the alley. You don’t know where’re going but you don’t question it either. Conscious of the fact you must choose your battles wisely from now on.

Rafe sticks to the subject of you. Asking about your classes, assignments, and various mundane things. You answer as vague as possible, upset with yourself for succumbing to his earlier interrogation.

Walking south of the campus, you don’t recognize much but just an odd sense of familiarity. You don’t often make your way to this side of the town, all the bars, and campus buildings further north. The trees shake their limbs in the winter breeze creating an eerie warning.

“Where’re we going?”

Opting for casual, your voice betrays your nerves. Rafe squeezes your hand and pulls, eliminating the gap you’ve made during the walk.

“Figured we can keep our date going.” Rafe pivots, heading into a building. “Don’t worry, you’ve been here before.”

With dawning horror, you know exactly where you are. The place that started this whole mess. Somewhere you’ve never expected to be again.

You’re back at Rafe’s apartment.

#pieces of the night #dark fics #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #obx #obx fic #fanfiction #smut #rafe cameron smut #outer banks smut #rafe cameron x you

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princessconsuela120 · 5 months

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the fall match up is pretty cool :33

but for me can it be southpark ty 🤗

zodiac: scorpio

personality: childish, dirty minded, quiet

Details: can't take anything seriously, horrible at emotions 🤷🏾‍♀️ loves music and gets no sleep whatsoever

PRINCESSCONSUELA’S FALLFEST EVENT🍂🧣🎃🍃

🍂 - Fall Matchup: Send in a few details about yourself, looks wise, personality wise, zodiac sign, hobbies and so on, and if you want add a preferred fandom as well. I will match you up with someone from my fic list and write a short Drabble to go with it!

— 🍂

Ask and you shall receive! Sorry this took so long, I hope it does you justice! I’m all for the opposites attract trope, and based off your description I think this would be perfect. I feel like this would be a sarcastic witty duo that would play out PERFECTLY. I hope you enjoy!

— 🍂

3AM IN THE MORNING, THAT WAS THE CURRENT TIME. Not that you were keeping track or anything, or that you've gotten to the point where each star sticker on your ceiling was another second you would count, but you had come to the realization that morning would be here soon. You weren't even sure if you could call it morning…wouldn't you need sleep for that?

You contemplated calling Kyle, maybe a total of ten different times that you picked up the phone before setting it back down and accepting the defeat. It was sort of crazy, the way your relationship worked. Almost polar opposites to a tee, minus the fact that you loved each other. Kyle was the type of boy who had a whole nighttime routine, and never missed his 10:00 bedtime that he administered himself. You however, tended to ignore the rules of science and see how long your brain could function on no sleep, being solely fueled by Tweek’s parents coffee.

Now, you knew you weren't sure if your dreariness was making this up, but you could have sworn you could hear the creaking of the old wooden floors outside your door. It must have just been your sleep paralysis demon coming to let you know school was upon you.

“Go away Phill, I'm not in the mood.” You yelled towards the door, Phill being what you named said sleep paralysis demon. You two had had far too many encounters to keep referring to it as a demon.

“Dang, not only did you get my name wrong but you told me to leave before you even tried the cup of tea I made you.” Kyle whispered, quietly pulling the door closed behind him to not disturb your parents. You quickly sat up from your bed, smiling widely at the ginger haired boy in front of you as you rushed to hug him.

“Careful, you dont wanna spill this, it's hot.” He teased, pulling away as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

“What are you doing here? It's three in the morning?” You asked, following as Kyle pulled you gently to sit next to him on your bed, handing you the mug of sleepytime tea he had brewed for you and taking a sip.

“Well, you know what they say, you can't fall asleep if someones thinking about you.” You looked at him confused.

“No, I didn't know they said that…who says that?” He shook his head, chuckling lightly at your cluelessness as he squeezed your hands.

“You know what? It doesn't matter. What does matter is that I am here, and we still have 4 more hours til you need to wake up for school.” he lectured, snuggling into bed as you finished off the tea, cuddling up to his side.

“Its-” you were cut off as you yawned, snuggling your head in the crook of his neck. “It's no use, I'm not tired.” you grumbled, slurring your words as you suddenly felt sleep wash over you the second Kyle began combing his fingers through your hair. He smirked, raising an eyebrow as he kissed your head.

“Oh yeah?” he asked cockily, and you barely could answer with the immediate sleepiness you felt.

“Hmm.” you replied, burying your face into his chest as you soon began to let out soft snores. Kyle chuckled lightly, careful not to disturb you as you slept.

“Not tired huh?” he mumbled teasingly, kissing your head before letting himself drift off to sleep with you.

Okay, now maybe there were some instances where you could sleep. Instances where the child inside you felt safe and warm. Instances where your heart felt so full, you had to sleep off the weight it held in your chest. Instances where you couldn't help but be so in love, that you needed to fall asleep just so you could dream about Kyle. Especially when he played with your hair. The next morning you'd wake up and swear he put sleeping pills in your tea, but deep down you knew. You knew that the child inside you felt safe enough to fall asleep in his arms.

— 🍂

#kyle broflovski x reader #south park x reader #kyle broflovski #kyle brovlofski imagine #princessconsuelasfallfestevent2023

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oddlykilledghosts · 1 year

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Just Thought I’d Drop In - Peter Parker x reader

Summary: Late and lost on your first day of work as a journalist at the Daily Bugle (J. Jonah Jameson will have to store up on cough drops and tea to protect that voice of his from yelling at you too much) you are saved by Spider-Man before getting mugged for your prize laptop

🕷️You and Peter are both freshly out of college! A little more comic based and general than solely about what we’ve seen in just one of the screen adaptations, so feel free to imagine any of the Spider-boy actors as our leading man here 🕷️

✎another idea I revamped and rewrote so hopefully you guys like it!

Word Count: 4.4k

Pairings: Spider-Man x reader, Peter Parker x reader

There were a lot of things that went wrong on the streets of New York City. And, sure, a big number of them caused the (somewhat secret) population of vigilantes and superheroes to call the concrete jungle their home. But a common trouble, you had found, was not its residents getting lost. Everyone had told you, over and over, it’s a grid system. It’s not hard. You’ll be fine, they would muse happily, never really knowing how deep your lack of direction went. But you were the one who wanted to move to New York during college, live out your dreams and become a journalist for the big apple. Really though, at the moment as you wandered the streets, all you could hear was your mom’s words echoing and bouncing around in your head. She’d warned you a multitude of times that superheroes just meant more trouble, and NYC attracted them like magnets. You had countered that superheroes protected people from crime, it just seemed like there was more of it because they brought it to light. Even so, in the present, the sun was shining brightly overhead as you let the idea of being a headline yourself slip from your mind as you used your phone to try and navigate yourself back into the right direction of your job.

It was your first day at the Daily Bugle as a real journalist. At least you hoped it would be, if you could find the way to get there. Your new apartment didn’t seem that far from the building when you had scoped it out beforehand, but now it seemed that you had miscalculated. Trailing the street signs, your eyes finally fell back upon your phone, trying to think of where you had unfortunately ended up. It had to be around here somewhere, you thought to yourself miserably. You put in the address again, just to be sure. Then, as you pressed the “go” button (for what felt like the fiftieth time that day with all the wrong turns you had made) your phone pinged and a monotone voice resembling a British woman told you to take a right. And a second later, nothing, the voice sputtering and fading as the screen on your phone blinked out.

Great, you thought. Just the perfect time for your phone to die.

Yeah, you were definitely going to be late.

Cold air whipped across your face as you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself and looked up from the dead brick the device in your hand had become. The wind had picked up suddenly and your hair flew wildly into your face as you looked around at your surroundings. Great, you thought for the second time, it wasn’t familiar at all. You thought back to your phone and how far it said the destination was. Was it fifteen minutes or fifty? You couldn’t have been that far off the mark. Yes, you had wanted to try a new coffee shop that you had seen the other day and that had been a mile or so off the course, but it couldn’t have thrown you off that much. As you continued to look around, the streets that appeared normally busy were now empty in comparison. Only a few millings of people were walking around busily.

"Excuse me." Said a low, dark gravelly tone. The voice that spoke didn’t sound very polite, contrary to its choice of words, and your heart sank to the soles of your feet. Maybe your mom had been right, (about a lot of things but) mostly that you should’ve roomed with that one friend of yours. You could’ve walked to work together. Made a morning out of it. Would’ve been a lot safer that way since crime had gone up the past couple of months. You always brushed it off and told her she watched too much of the news. Says the reporter.

Hesitantly, you turned around to face the gruff voice and it seemed laughable how much his appearance had matched your imagination. Classic depiction of one of Wilson Fisk's thugs. The city was crawling with them. Honestly, the news outlets were over their head in reporting what Fisk was doing to the city (which was partly why you had gotten the open position at the Daily Bugle). It also didn’t help that it wasn’t a secret that Fisk liked to threaten reporters. Even so, the man in front of you didn't seem as sophisticated as Fisk’s guys were usually described (but were never actually caught on camera). Maybe just a regular thug, you thought. For a second your mind even had the faintest idea that this would make a great story for the Bugle. Crime Hitting SkyRocket Heights As Reporter Gets Assaulted In Broad Daylight, the title could read. No, you decided, maybe that’s a little long. It would have to be worked into something more catchy.

He wasn't very tall and he didn't even look as scary as he could’ve. You could even tell that he had cut himself shaving that morning on his left cheek. Maybe you could take him, you thought. You had your wits and were quick enough. Then your heart sped up as adrenaline slowly entered your bloodstream, stopping only slightly as you glanced down and saw the gun in his hands. Your idea flatlined slowly with an incessant tone in your head that told you to get out of there.

Trying your best to sound tough, you lowered your voice and held your own, "What do you want?"

He nodded his head towards your bag. Your eyes widened. Your laptop. Everything…practically your whole life was on that device. Including the story that had gotten you hired. An exposé on Spider-Man defeating one of Fisk’s hideouts. The appliance would’ve been sold for a pretty penny too. Your parents had given it to you for graduating and getting the journalist job. It was priceless to you, but you were sure the thug in front of you could find a price that fit his needs.

You let out a nervous chuckle as your eyebrows furrowed, "I don't think so." Were you really ready to die because of a laptop? Your boss, J. Jonah Jameson, would’ve probably liked to think you were ready to lay it all on the line for the story on the ‘spider-menace’ that was stored there. You hadn’t given Jameson the whole thing, obviously, and if this guy wiped your laptop clean the story and the evidence you had found would be gone forever.

If you had been sure the man in front of you could’ve been one of Fisk’s goons, you would’ve been more suspicious at his inherent knowledge of you having something valuable in your bag. The evidence you had on Fisk could blow the case wide open. But muggings happen every day in New York. Maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Definitely the wrong time though, as you were still late to work.

He raised his gun towards your face, hiding it partially in his long jacket sleeves, and backed you towards an alley between two shops on the street you were on. At the end of the stretch was a saddening dead end. It seemed to glare at you as a disappointing parent would. "Sweetheart, let's not do something we’ll regret."

"Don't." You backed away, staring him in the eyes all the way, and then stopped when your back finally hit the wall. "Call me." What were you getting yourself into? "Sweetheart."

You saw his fingers twitch towards the trigger. I'm going to die as an idiot, you thought, a big fat idiot who thought that I could fist fight a guy with a gun. You closed your eyes, now clutching your messenger bag with all the life you were about to lose, and readied yourself for the inevitable blow.

Thwip

After a few seconds of squeezing your eyes shut, thinking that the bright lights you saw behind your eyelids were the sweet, sweet afterlife…the end never came. Surprised, you slowly opened up your eyes. The gun was gone and yet the mugger’s arm was still aimed forward at you as if he was about to play a mean game of pretend (maybe a fitting game of Cops and Robbers). You followed his gaze, which had become less intimidating and more disoriented, where his eyes were now looking up towards the roof of the building behind you.

Thwip

And with a single blink, you almost missed it. The thief flew into the air and was covered with webs, conveniently sticking him to the side of the building parallel to you. And then, as if by a woosh of fresh air he was suddenly replaced by a familiar masked face you had used in almost all of your work. Spider-Man.

The spider landed in front of you, gracefully bracing the impact, and looked at you through his mask. It was unfortunate that you couldn’t read his expression through the material, but watched as he went to cross his arms and lean against the wall opposite you, "Lucky I got here in time, got yourself in quite the mess there.” His voice was jokingly cocky, but somehow pleasant. It touched somewhere in your memory receptors, as if you had heard it in familiarity before. Witnesses had said this before, that the amazing Spider-Man acted as if though the people he saved and himself were already close comrades. Maybe that was it. Also to experience someone you had recently written about talking to you so casually threw you off. Someone who had also been able to take down too many to count of Fisk’s thugs…easily.

“I could’ve handled it.” You said, jutting your chin out. Then realizing self-consciously, you finally let go of the death grip you had on your bag and straightened up your posture to one with more confidence. Mental notes started flurrying in your brain and you were struggling to capture every detail. This had to be a story. A first hand account, relayed through the Daily Bugle. Jameson would go crazy. And whilst that may be true, it wasn’t like you could whip out a notebook in front of the guy and start taking notes on what he was like up close without seeming like a complete and utter psycho. Every blink acted, to you, like the shutter of a camera. Hopefully, you would be able to remember this all later.

He held his hands up and laughed, “Didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“Tomato Tomahto.” You ignored the fact that he was right. You most definitely needed his help and weren’t surprised at how very thankful you were for the fact that he had been there to save your life. But with the shock that still pulsed through your heart, you stayed quiet. In such a quick moment, you’d thought you would be dead. And yet, here you were talking to a superhero.

“You work for the Daily Bugle, right?” Spider-Man asked naturally, as if it was information everyone knew.

“How’d you know that?” A pause while you thought, eyeing the not so obvious Daily Bugle patch on your bag, “I’m barely official.” Your heart in your chest, still pumping vigorously with a rush, skipped one beat and then continued.

“Do you want me to say I’ve got eyes everywhere, or that I just happen to keep my eyes on reporters who have their eye on me?” So Spider-Man knew who you were. He probably even knew of your first story you ever did on him, back when you were still in college. You shuttered, it wasn’t badly written, it just needed more concrete facts. Hopefully, you were wrong and Spider boy here just knew about you and the sensitive information you had gathered on Fisk that corroborated his takedown. With luck, he didn’t have extensive knowledge on all the stories you had written about him in your so far, short career.

“You know a way to get there? I got lost." A pause. "Laugh all you want.” Plainly, you admitted this. It was better than lying at least. But you squinted at him, as if to try and read his face better (albeit through the mask).

The guy behind the mask chuckled, happy to oblige to your latter statement, “I don’t even want to think about how you managed to get this lost.”

“So you know where it is.” You huffed. Of course Spider-Man knew where it was, J. Jonah Jameson practically hated him and revered him as a danger to society as we know it. Keep your ‘enemies’ close, as they say.

Spider-Man pretended to check his watch, “You’re way past late, but I bet I can make up for it.” There was an obvious smirk laced in with his words, even through his mask.

“What are you-aaaAAAHHHHHAH-” Before you could say more, the infamous spider grabbed your hand and pulled you close to him, shooting a web up to the top of the buildings and towards the sky. Your breath hitched and your heart hammered in your head as it looped around your body, but your eyes stayed open wide as you watched New York hum around you in a blur. You had seen this on TV, him swinging around the city, but experiencing it was slightly more terrifying. Suddenly, with each dip you gripped onto the superhero with more and more vigor, hoping that your fingers weren’t clawing into his back too hard. He said a few things while in the air, but it was muffled out through the wind and through you being much too anxious to be able to listen properly. You’re sure though, at first, that he had asked if you were okay.

All of a sudden, you had to keep blinking to believe it was true. That, and to keep bugs from flying into your eyes. It felt like a whole different New York, happening and unfolding so quickly around you. Each dip from the swing caused you to hear snippets of loud conversations and honking of cars and police radios going off. And then when you were closer to the tops of the sky scrapers, it all quieted and peace surrounded the air. But it was all New York. It was all alive. However much fear this was causing your heart, you wanted to experience this forever. It felt accelerating, and like nothing you had ever undergone before.

And then suddenly the movement stopped and you were still holding on to the masked vigilante, with your face hiding in his shoulder after making its way there during the swinging around New York bit. After a beat, he finally said, “You can let go now, we’re on what appears to be pretty solid ground.”

A warmth crept into your cheeks, and you were suddenly glad the icy winds had picked up again to hide your blush, as you unattached yourself from the hero and stepped onto the building’s open roof. “Sorry.”

“Happens to new web-slingers all the time, don’t sweat it.” He said this charmingly, as if it were true that this was a normal occurrence. A little smile crept onto your lips as you decided to take his word for it, thinking about whether or not the Daily Bugle’s readers would like to know that Spider-Man took people for joyrides (joy-swings?). You would add for his benefit that this was only in dire situations, of course.

As you looked at the new setting you had stepped onto, you realized you were on top of a building. The press building where the Daily Bugle now operated out of. Instead of acting shocked in a ‘this doesn’t seem real way’, you asked jokingly, “Was I really that far away? It seemed like an awful lot of…what did you call it web sw-”

“Web-slinging.” Spider-Man finished for you, seemingly feeling accomplished in what he named his activity. “And yeah, you were pretty far gone. I’d say it was a gift being able to get that lost, but it’s-”

“More likely a curse. I know, my mom tells me everyday.” You completed for the masked man in front of you.

He raised his arm again as a way to feign checking his watch, and let out an upbeat, “Whew!” with a breath and then continued. “Well, I better be off. By the way…the door needs a little kick to open it,” He pointed to the rooftop exit to the left of where you were standing, and wind still blowing your hair in uncontrollable ways, your gaze followed his direction. When you looked back at him, he was standing on the ledge of the roof, ready to swing off again. “Till next time.”

“Hopefully then I won’t be in too much trouble.” You shouted over the wind.

“Don’t be so sure.” Spider-Man shouted back, laughing and giving you a little farewell of a nod, and then launched himself over the side of the building.

_________________

When you finally moved, after standing staring at the spot he had left, you found he was right about the door. You did have to hit it a few times to get it to nudge open, but you were concerningly unsurprised how he knew it was unlocked. Even so, you would fail to later tell anyone of the missed inspection of the rooftop door from which you had gotten in. The first rule of journalism was to know what questions to ask and when. But a new rule entered your mind, which was to keep your mouth shut about something that could provide Spider-Man any minuscule amount of help, especially after saving your life. You figured there was a reason he knew about the door and you owed him that much. At least with seeing how you were already planning to write a story about your short interaction with him.

Creeping your way down the stairs, careful not to alert security of the way you had gotten in (a journalist also had to know when others would ask questions that they didn’t want being answered), you made your way to the floor where your new cubicle awaited you at the Daily Bugle’s press office. It was a good thing it was located on one of the higher levels because you found it rather quickly and were relieved you didn’t have to troop yourself down countless flights of stairs. But when you got to the entrance, you froze in awe. Leading to the offices were these two large glass doors, soaring much higher than your own height. On it read, simply, ‘Daily Bugle’ with its signature horn between the words. Underneath, it read in a smaller font, ‘New York’s finest daily paper’. Bodies bustled inside behind the glass and you heard the melodic sound of ruffling papers and hurried voices.

What brought you back to reality, though, was someone bumping into you from behind and dropping what seemed like thousands of pictures of Spider-Man. Pictures you recognized. Pictures that were going to go hand in hand with your expertly crafted exposé. Immediately guilty, you leaned down and helped the stranger retrieve them from the ground. Only, when you looked up and locked eyes with the owner you smiled in realization, warmth entering your face. “Pete! Oh I’m so sorry. Are you just getting in? I have so much to tell you.” Then looking down at the prints in your hands you started to look through them as you got up, “I could probably actually use one of these for the new story I’m working on. Jameson might hate it but-”

“Whoa, what’s got you in a rush?” Your colleague chuckled as he too stood up, pictures in hand, though he wasn’t looking at them as intently as you were with the ones in your own hands. From an outsider’s perspective, it would’ve been obvious he looked more intently at you then anything else; although you seldom noticed. You did notice, however, that his hair was more unusually disheveled and his jacket was inside out. But you, kindly, didn’t say anything.

You breathed in and let your friend guide you to your combined cubicle. His name flashed on the panel where you had to scan your ID. Peter Parker. When you sat down, you felt more relaxed. You and Peter had sat in similar seats for over a year and now you both sunk into them with a sense of normality. Before the Daily Bugle had moved to this building, you had become interns together while still in college and made a fast friendship, putting his pictures and your words together in an effort to make front page stories. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t really your first day at the Daily Bugle. But it was your first day in this building, and with a real job.

“Well,” You started. “I just had the craziest morning.” And then you eyed the clock, almost ready to bury your head in your hands and make a run back out the door, “And Jameson is so totally going to kill me for being late.”

Peter laughed again and lifted his camera from his bag, clicking through some pictures you couldn’t see from your seat, “I’m sure he’ll put me through the ringer too. We’ll go down together.”

You both waited a second, as if speaking of your boss would’ve caused him to appear out of thin air and strangle you both on counts of tardiness.

Then, because nothing happened, Peter leaned slightly on his desk after putting his camera down and looked at you, scanning your face for something. Even though you were a reporter, there were a lot of subtle clues you missed about Peter Parker. Really, it could all be chalked up to the fact that the both of you were so comfortable with each other that you hadn’t had any thought to question Pete’s little oddities. After another second of eyeing you, maybe for signs that you were going to break down, Pete spoke, “Maybe later we can talk about this new story of yours, and I can show you all the good ways to get here so you won’t be late. Shortcuts are my specialty.”

You smiled, peeking at the boy out of the corner of your eye while you got out your laptop. You had to submit the Fisk exposé to Jameson today, and it had to be perfect. Especially to make up for your recent tardiness. “How did you know I was late because I got lost?”

“Didn’t, till just now.” Pete chuckled, pushed his unkempt hair back from his face and continued. “Anyways, you have a terrible sense of direction. Is your phone even charged?”

Grumbling a soft, “No.” you dug around in your bag for your dead phone and handed it to your friend who had already gotten out his own charger. As you watched him carefully plug it into your phone, you thought for a second. Here, you had almost just died, and you were letting Peter Parker read you like a book without giving him anything but a friendly thought. Peter Parker who was cute and nerdy and liked you. “So, would this be like…a date?”

Peter, who was now leaning down and trying to plug in the device without removing himself from his chair, “Huh?” He almost hit his head on his desk.

When he reemerged, you asked again, “Peter, would this be a date? You showing me around the city?” You tried to keep your face from smiling too wide by typing away busily on your laptop.

Peter smiled sheepishly, and only by sitting so close as you were would you be able to notice the tint of blush coming out under his cheeks, “You live here, I don’t need to show you the whole-” But now you were looking at him with a, don’t act dumb look. He corrected himself and answered your question, “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

“I want it to be.” This, you said with a sense of satisfaction. Then, “If I have you, I won’t need Spider-Man to save my life because I got lost.”

Peter, who you thankfully didn’t notice was faking, acted surprised and somewhat impressed, “Spider-Man had to save your life today?” He didn’t want to press too hard on your opinions of Spider-Man. Did you think he was cool? Sexy? Smart? All of the above? Did you think he felt strong when you held on to him? Of course, he (as in Peter) didn’t know that you held on to him so of course mentioning that was out of the question. What did you think of the upgraded suit? He (as in Spider-Man) definitely saw you blush, right? Did you like Spider-Man? You’d rewritten plenty of stories on him, that’s for sure.

Nonetheless, none of this came out of Peter’s mouth. Instead, he waited for you to speak again.

“It was crazy. He’s the reason I’m standing here now.” You got up and crossed the room, where the printer was now etching out a couple layouts you and Peter had worked on for your big story.

Peter just looked after you, watching you fiddle with the printer when it jammed and push little loose hairs from your face when they blocked your view. He couldn’t think about what a crime magnet you were turning out to be. Spider-Man had saved your life more than just that time that morning. He had practically prevented it, on multiple occasions (little to your knowledge). Fisk was starting to realize that you had more on him then what he thought, more than even you knew about. It was starting to get dangerous. Fisk sending that guy today was random. It shouldn’t have happened. He shouldn’t have gotten that close.

But Peter being overprotective that morning and deciding to go on Spidey patrol, just for the fact that he knew you might get lost, had paid off. He was checking up on you. That’s what friends did, right? And you were here and safe and talking to him like you were buzzing with the energy you knew you got before you had a big break. And now he just had to convince you not to run the Fisk story. It would be worth it in the end, he could still air out the evidence you had gathered. It just couldn’t be you. Peter couldn’t risk it.

Especially not now that you had agreed to go out with him.

You looked back at him as the printer jammed again and smiled. Why does it always have to be the ones that get into trouble?

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imonawholedifferentlevel · 4 months

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𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗧𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀

"𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚"

╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴

I DESCENDED the stairs, passing my family, but as always, one of them intercepts me.

"Penelope, what did we say? Don't leave this house without bidding farewell. At the very least, have your breakfast. I prepared your favorite," Mom said, indicating the plate of food on the table.

I glanced at the plate and then back at her.

"Wow, I'm surprised you even remembered what I liked. Sorry to disappoint, but I don't have an appetite," I replied, turning around and heading towards the door.

"Penelope Evergreen Rivers, you will come to this table and sit down!" I heard my dad shout from behind me.

It's one thing to upset my mom, but when you anger my dad, it's a whole different story. I turned back around, wearing a defiant expression, and shrugged.

"So what if I don't? What are you going to do, hit me again?" I said, tilting my head towards my mom, who looked down in shame. My dad slowly rose from the table, saying, "Sit down now!"

"I explicitly said no!" In an instant, something flew past my face, grazing my cheek and crashing into the wall with a loud noise. I looked and saw the shattered fragments of a mug on the floor.

Touching my cheek, I winced at the cut. I glanced back at my dad, who was glaring at me, and returned the gaze with equal intensity.

"As if that was suppost to scare me," I said, storming out of the house.

I absolutely despised them. Ever since Gabi was born, they never took a moment to consider me when I felt down or scared. They were solely focused on Gabi.

I got into my car, opened the driver's door, and slammed it shut, inserting the keys into the ignition and starting the car.

I sped down the road towards school, tears of anger welling in my eyes. I didn't even care about exceeding the speed limit. I just wanted to erase this day from my mind.

However, I suddenly remembered that I had to pick up Carol, so I turned the car around and headed towards her house. When I arrived, I saw her standing in the front yard, arms crossed.

As soon as she spotted my car, she rolled her eyes and walked towards the passenger side. I unlocked the car as she opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her.

She fastened her seatbelt and leaned into the seat with her arms crossed huffing with anger I looked at her confused wondering what was up with her.

"What's the matter, Care Bear?" She rolled her eyes with a groan.

"I told you to stop calling me that," she said, turning her head to me with an irritated stare. I just shrugged it off.

"But I enjoy calling you that. Still, please answer my question. What's bothering you?" I asked again, but with more firmness. She looked ahead and muttered under her breath.

"I'll tell you later, but what on earth happened to your face?" I touched my still bleeding cheek and shook my head.

"It's my dad," was all I said.

I pulled out of the driveway and drove down the road to school. When we arrived, kids were scattered everywhere. Some were simply standing in the parking lot, smoking and conversing, while others were walking into the school, most likely heading to class.

We exited the car, and I locked it behind us as we walked towards the school in silence. I heard snickers and glanced to the left, spotting some athletes eyeing Carol up and down, whispering to each other.

Without looking away from them, I pulled Carol closer to me, giving the jocks a piercing glare. I was not in the mood for their antics, and they were already testing my patience.

Once inside, we saw students walking or hurrying to class. I still wanted to find out what was bothering Carol, so I led her into the restrooms.

Some girls inside gave us strange looks, but I commanded them to leave. All of them complied, except for one. She stood there, arms crossed, and spoke with a smug smirk, "Make me."

Raising an eyebrow, my eyes darkening as I approached her, I said nothing. Gripping a lock of her hair, I began to drag her towards the door, ignoring her cries of pain.

"Shut up. It's not a big deal," I grunted, rolling my eyes. I kicked the door and threw her out, earning some attention from onlookers. I glanced at everyone with a threatening gaze and declared, "Anyone who enters here will face worse than what she experienced!"

Closing the door, I turned to Carol with a serious expression.

"So, what happened in the car?" Her demeanor immediately stiffened as she shifted her weight. Letting out a deep sigh, she walked towards me, grabbing one of my hands and squeezing it tightly. Then, she looked deeply into my eyes, a hint of guilt.

"Well, what is it?" I asked, feeling a sense of unease as she looked at me. She sighed and rubbed her head before saying, "I'm moving away." Her words hit me hard, realizing that my girlfriend, who was the only reason for my sanity, was leaving.

I mustered the courage to look at her and asked, "Where are you going?" She shook her head and replied.

"I'm moving to Plano, Texas because of Debbie's gymnastics." Trying to remain composed, I crossed my arms as tears welled up in my eyes. I turned my gaze downward to hide my emotions and questioned.

"When are you leaving?" She met my gaze and said, "I'm leaving in two weeks."

Silence hung in the air before I could no longer hold back my tears. They streamed down my face, and Carol wrapped her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. Resting her head on my shoulder, she murmured.

"I'm sorry, Penn. I don't want to leave you, I really don't." I held her tightly, my own tears mixing with hers. She wiped away my tears and cupped my face, planting a brief kiss on my lips. Pulling away, she locked eyes with me and assured.

"You're not leaving me, even if I have to go to extreme lengths," I murmured quietly, gripping her more tightly.

"Don't worry, I won't leave you. I'll make sure of it." Although her eyes held a familiar pain, I chose to remain silent and nodded.

"I also have to stay after school for Debbie's gymnastics meet," she added with a slight smile. My grin mirrored hers as I teased.

"Let me guess, you want company?" She beamed at me and replied, "Damn right." She playfully pecked the corner of my mouth, earning a playful glare from me. A mischievous smirk played on her lips.

"Now, let's go to our spot and smoke. I don't feel like going to class right now," she suggested. Craving a cigarette myself, I agreed, opening the door for Carol as she followed behind me.

As we walked out of the bathroom, I noticed the jock boys hanging around the lockers, engaging in their usual banter and laughter. A strange sensation surged through me, a mix of anger and a desire for revenge. It was unfamiliar yet satisfying, as if someone else had taken control.

I turned to Carol and said, "You go ahead, I'll catch up with you." She nodded and walked down the hallway, lighting a cigarette as she turned the corner. The growing urge intensified with impatience as I approached the boys.

One of them noticed me approaching and tapped the chest of the guy in the center. He glanced at his friend and then at me, followed by the others, as they became aware of my presence. Their faces twisted into smirks, and one of them walked up to me, saying, "Well hello, there beautif--" I didn't have time for him. I grabbed his wrist, twisted it forcefully, and heard a satisfying pop that made him cry out in pain.

Quickly covering his mouth to avoid drawing attention, I surveyed my surroundings and then turned to face the remaining boys.

They appeared shocked or fearful.

"Let me make this crystal clear," I said firmly.

"If any of you so much as look at Carol inappropriately, talk about her, or even think about her in an unwholesome manner, I will cut off your manhood and shove it down your throats. Understand?" They all nodded hastily.

Smiling sweetly at them, I flung the injured boy to the floor where he clutched his hand in agony. I walked away from them with a wide grin.

"Nice work, Penelope,"

A voice quipped unexpectedly. Pausing for a moment before smirking and continuing my search for my cherished lover. Good job indeed.

I decided to check our usual spot and found Carol there, just as I'd expected. Upon seeing me, she beamed and walked over.

"What were you up to?" she asked curiously, closing her notebook. Smiling slyly, I took her hand and responded, "Just wrapping up some loose ends. Let's head to my place since school is almost over." With a shrug of her shoulders, she allowed me to lead her out the front door.

╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴

#carol denning #carol smut #carol denning x reader #young carol #angst #lesbian #fluff #music #lgbtq #ashley jordyn #naya rivera

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siremasterlawrence · 10 months

Text

Masks Hotel # 3

Chris Hemsworth has no idea he is about to do the most amazing thing in his life once he waltzes in here.

The locks kick leaving him stranded and the air vents make a ruckus promoting him to call for help.

The gas seeps in to the room, down his long throat he is left agape as blurts out soon it is a flood of it.

“Why am I laughing so hard ?”

“Hahahahaha”

“What do so funny?”

“Hahahahaa”

“Oh lord! It’s hurts “

“FUCK”

“A giggling fool”

“Oh! Finally “

“Not…..hahahaha “

“Oo oh it so painful “

“Yet..feels so good”

“Ssssoooo gggggooooddddd”

“I am tough”

“Stop this”

“Bbbbsssstttt”

“Hahahaha “

“Tough my ass”

“Pussy”

“Yes….hahahaha…I am a pussy”

“Wow!”

“I am in such a good mood….bro”

Picking up a cellphone he dials the number of his brother Liam to entertain for a party they will be a main show.

“What’s that smell?”

“Did you fart?”

“No! Did you ?”

“Hahaha”

“Kidding”

“Are you ok ?”

“Yeah! Why ?”

“You are acting strange “

“Take a seat”

“Let go of ten stress l

“We have everything a guy could want”

“That smell so repulsive “

“Yet mmmm”

“It’s good right?”

“Haha “

“Yes! I love it”

“I am so dumb “

“Me too bro”

“Bro”

“We are real bros”

“Very funny bro”

“Are we high”

“Yes, no or maybe so”

The end

Mask Hotel # 4

Stephen Amell is worst kind of celebrity is that type of guy who exudes confidence to

a fault unfortunately he can’t handle the heat thrown back at home.

He slams the door sighing, wiping the sweat off of his brow, and he face plants forward on to the bed in a scene worthy of a Oscar performance.

A grows erupts from his mouth rising back to his feet then makes his way to the door taking a knob and slid the door open to see a bell hop.

“What do you want? I am about to…..” he says.

“Don’t worry….sleep” the bell hop adds lifts a spray bottle in the air.

“Wwwwhhhaaatttt ttthhhee….cough…cough “ he starts to explode with heat.

“Ffffuuuuccckkkk” falling back to the floor of the room.

“This is body now” the bell hop kicks his legs in to the room.

“Mwahahahahaha” he laughs his voice is at an all time high.

“Oh Stephen! You are all mine.” I whisper in to his ears.

“The door is locked and we are all alone.” He adds.

“I am your Master Lawrence “ he says then kiss them.

“Mind if I sit on your lap” he asks laying down on him.

“God! You are fine” the bell hop continues.

“Of course you don’t mind” he adds.

“Feel my ass riding your lap.”

“My hands groping your body”

“Forcing you to inhale my scent”

“You love my scent “

“I love your scent “

“You crave my scent “

During the next hour and a half his mugged mind controlled Stephen Amell is propped up on to a chair.

I place his arm down on the table laying his head on to it, turning his body to face me he has a empty expression:

Quick the young man hides behind the door of the closet waiting for the keys as they are entering the rooms

It is only his cousin Robbie Amell who enters the room dropping his jacket on to the chair he passes the mirror unaware of his cousin’s presence.

He stops cold seeing Stephen and a deep breath of release as he approaches him taps his should to no surprise as he does not move.

The young man drops a massive gas bomb on to the floor letting it roll behind Robbie hitting her feet and the bomb explodes next to him.

Robbie is left to be fucked the gas rises to the top of the roll covering every inch over the room.

I back out of the room catching his body in my arms then kissing down his neck as he moans a bit.

Dragging him to the bed I throw him on to it with a smile feeling him, undoing his belt in heat and grope his cock.

“Mmmmmmm….”

“Come now Robbie”

“Be a good boi”

“Hear me”

“I speak the truth”

“You are my sole property “

“I am your leader”

“My happiness is your goal”

“Your body is my playground”

“A staircase is now in front of you “

“Take a step “

“Take five more”

“One at a time “

“No escape”

“Dropping deeper”

“Free falling “

“In me”

“You are connected to me”

“A external extension”

“A fire “

“Immobile”

The end

#chris hemsworth #luke hemsworth #liam hemsworth #Stephen amell #robbie amell #Colton Haynes #mind control #hypnosis #reprogramming #Mask Hotel

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gcdl3ss · 3 months

Text

⌜ pinterest / playlist / wanted connections ⌟

( cody christian, cisman, he/him ) — 🎬 just announced, tobias "toby" forester has been cast as jake jagielski in the upcoming one tree hill reboot. the twenty nine year old is trending as people are debating if the horrificly timed dad jokes, endless half - drank coffee mugs lingering around the household, using finger guns as a logical way to answer questions you don't understand, blasting hannah montana tunes while cleaning, always having glitter on your clothing that they are known for is enough to make them as good as original. a quick google search shows that their fans call them charismatic, but internet trolls think they’re more oblivious. i guess their newest interview for variety where they talk about how he still has never watched the original one tree hill series will let people to know them better.

𝐢. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲

kevin ball, shameless + jason stackhouse, true blood + steve harrington, stranger things + joey tribbiani, friends + luke dunphy, modern family + jason mendoza, the good place + ron weasley, harry potter.

𝐢𝐢. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

born to a soccer player father, who turned coach and stay at home mom, tobias lived cozy but not spoiled. both of his parents, despite having a lot of money in their pockets, refused to allow their son to grow up to be someone that relied heavily on money and expecting things to be handed to him

high school football was something that he signed up for the moment he saw the papers. despite this, tobias didn’t let the popularity go to his head, which was thanks to his parents for keeping him humble at a young age. tobias became ’the nice jock’, where he made sure that everyone around him was included. with senior year approaching, he knew that talent scouts would be hiding in the bleachers and he refused to let anything cause him to slip.

acting accidentally fell into his lap post-high school after appearing in a few short films and movies, having a background role and a few one liners. while also attending college for business (a degree he would never use in real life), he continued to do some movies, while also being a frequent in reality tv with his first serious girlfriend being involved with the cameras.

(pregnany tw) at the ripe age of twenty five, after a drunken night full of self pity due to a break up to someone he fully thought would be his forever person, he got into bed with his best friend, simply as a distraction on both of their ends. days passed, then weeks, then the little plus sign decided to make itself known on the pregnancy test, changing not only his dynamic with his best friend but with many people around him.

despite the fears, fatherhood fell into his lap and he picked up the label without fail. able to change a diaper in under a minute, reasearching how to tell what cry meant what and willing to get up during the night to tend to their daughter; co-parenting remained stressless, both of the best friends having a bond prior to this situation and only flourishing as closer friends as the time went on.

coming back into acting full force continues to be exhausting, especially since he took a hiatus after the birth of brooklyn. the role of jake spoke to him, solely because of the similiar backstories (without the shitty baby mama), and the role was handed to him on a silver platter by the casting directors.

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

quick-witted : not the type to fully grasp a joke the moment it's provided, toby is still able to make his two-cents known with his ability to be quick on his feet when the topic at hand is to his understanding. with a sarcastic tongue he learned from best friends and growing up in the industry, he's capable of making a few zingers without having to hold up a reputation of being someone that is always on the ball with jokes.

emotional : not to be confused with sensitivity, toby feels every emotion to the max. if he's sad, he will make sure everyone knows by shedding a tear or two, and is known to scream from the rooftops when something positive happens. he is very exaggerated in his emotions, no matter which one it is, however his sadness teeters the line over to depression when something extremely detrimental happens (such as being out for a whole season because of an injury he worsened).

oblivious : more than likely the butt end of a joke, toby is rarely aware of what is going on around him and is oblivious to multiple emotions that come from other people. it's a rarity that he understands when someone is interested in him, and even more rare for him to accept that he's loved and adored by people he doesn't even know. there's been multiple occasions that he thinks someone is asking him to take a photo for them, not with them.

charismatic : although not the type to be intelligent in any means, he's charming without meaning to be. with a smile of pearly whites, an ability to stare into the person's eyes without moving away, having a listening ear and always wanting to do the right thing, he's definitely liked by many. it's just a bonus that he's an amazing father.

#𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥 ﹐ 𝘛𝘖𝘉𝘐𝘈𝘚 ⸻⸻⸻ introspection #2000s.intro #pregnancy tw #i love this man

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cas-kingdom · 2 years

Note

“What does the winner get?” TUA?

A/N: Set around the very beginning of S3.

“What does the winner get?”

“A big slice of ha, ha, loser to shove in the other’s face.”

“Then consider yourself pied.”

Diego expertly balanced the hotel room’s landline on Luther’s chest. “Twenty,” he whispered victoriously.

Your mouth fell open and you shot your brother a look that most certainly disagreed with his words. “That is not twenty. Your last number was seventeen.”

“Deaf as well as a sore loser? Oh-ho, sis, you’ve got it good.” Diego grinned, the tip of his tongue sticking from between his teeth as he meticulously perched a coffee mug on Luther’s knee. “Twenty-one.”

Luther shifted slightly in his sleep, a graceful snort interrupting his snores. You and Diego held your breaths as a menu and a couple teabags fell to the floor. When he relaxed again with a smack of his lips, you picked up the menu and put it back on his ankle with a proud smile.

“Uh-huh, no, that doesn’t count. It dropped, hence a minus, not a plus.” Diego pointed a finger in your chest. “Don’t cheat.”

“Speak for yourself, knife-boy. You know, we started this as a team. Twenty-three.”

“Allison says our competitive natures clash. Thirty.”

“Swindler!” Your harsh whisper almost roused Luther again, as well as Five and Klaus, who were sharing a bunk bed on the other side of the room. Luther was stretched across a cot that just about fit his sasquatch-ness, and Diego had resorted to a couch opposite. You had set up camp with Vanya and Allison in the second room you’d rented, but the latter was currently on a plane back home to see her daughter and the former had gone on a wander around the massive hotel. You hadn’t wanted to be alone, so you’d joined the boys in their room, and after a barrage of emotion hindering your sleep schedule, Diego had pulled you into a game that consisted solely of seeing who could balance the most random objects on your sleeping brother.

As to be expected, considering your current argument, neither of you were quite sure who was winning. What you were extremely certain of, was that propping a glass of water—Diego’s pride had blown the roof on that one—on the sleeping giant’s stomach had been a stupid idea.

Diego caught the twitch of Luther’s nostril just as the man sneezed. Of course, everything on him went flying, but it was the water that woke him up in a panicky mess, way too sleep-hazed to notice you and Diego as you made a break for the couch.

��Shi—shit,” Luther breathed out, arms raised above him as he attempted to figure out why he was wet and surrounded in hotel object carnage. You and Diego had successfully hidden your guilt, Diego lying straight and stiff on the couch while you substituted the lack of space for his chest. You lay half on him and half hanging off the edge of the couch, your eyes squeezed shut in attempt to maintain your sleepy innocence.

“Did I...piss myself?” Luther’s bleary words pierced the quietude of the room and Diego had to hide his snort. You jolted slightly as his chest heaved with suppressed laughter.

“The fuck’s the noise?” Each letter enunciated by Five was strung together in a slow, sleep-deprived sentence as he sat up in the top bunk and glanced around, the exact image of a small kid. Klaus suddenly groaned in his sleep, grabbing a pillow and slamming it against his face.

“Go’way,” he mumbled. “Fi’mo’mins, Mom...”

“Uh...” Luther, who seemed far more awake now, frowned deeply, took one more look at the littered floor, and wisely deduced that he was dreaming. “Nothing,” he said, lying back down. “Man, I gotta stop drinking a litre before bed. These nightmares are getting wild.”

You decided then that if anything world-ending were to happen while your brothers were sleeping, you would all be well and truly dead.

You and Diego waited a good minute after Luther’s closing statement before letting loose the few laughs you’d been unable to swallow down.

“He’ll be so confused when he wakes with wet pants,” you whispered, lifting your head up to grin at Diego.

“Nothing he ain’t used to,” Diego assured you, which made you grimace. With a light chuckle, he lifted an arm above his head. “You,” he said as he used a finger to gently rub at the corner of your eye, “are running on empty, huh?”

You shrugged, barely cloaking a yawn at the reminder of the sleep you’d been missing out on for the past however long this shit had been going on. Before relocating to the boys’ room, you hadn’t been so sure you’d get any shut-eye tonight, but held in Diego’s arms now, you couldn’t think of anything you’d rather do.

“I think I’m okay for the end of the world,” you said.

Diego smiled and moved closer to the back of the couch, allowing you more space, though you didn’t relinquish his chest as your headrest, which he was more than fine with. “Try and get some sleep. You know Five’ll have us up at the crack of dawn, saving mankind ‘n all that.”

“Hmm.” You settled against your brother, closing your eyes and focusing on the blissfulness of silence. “Wait ‘til I tell him he looked like a kid woken from his lunchtime nap.”

“Oh, yeah. Don’t forget that. Humble him a bit.”

“I definitely won earlier, Di, didn’t I?”

Diego sent a tight-lipped smile to the ceiling. Older brother, end of the world, and all that. He could afford his sister some triumph.

“‘Course you did, babe,” he said.

You definitely hadn’t.

TUA Masterpost

send me the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five, except i don’t know when to stop writing so i guarantee there’ll be more than five

#the umbrella academy #TUA #Diego hargreeves #Diego x reader #Diego hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves #Luther hargreeves #five hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #Allison hargreeves #reader #reader fic #sister reader #sister!reader #teen!reader #mine #baby fic #Drabble

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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years

Text

changes hurt | part 4.

Summary: (Y/N) has always been one of the stronger Alphas. Which is saying something when the Avengers is a team overrun with Alphas. A mission gone wrong changes her entire world and when everyone starts treating her different, she doesn’t know if she can cope. Change hurts and (Y/N)’s not sure it’s a pain she cant bear.

Warnings for the Series: strong language, angst, fluff, assault, a/b/o dynamics, sexual content (not sure if there will be smut or just talks, leaning more to just talks but since I don’t know, let’s just say 18+ readers only)

Pairing: Steve x black!reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

The waitress’ shoulders relaxed and she grabbed a mug for herself. You ate and listened to her tell her life story. When it became clear you weren’t trying to make a move on her but just wanted the company, she opened up a lot. Your phone rang and after the fourth one she looked down at it on the table.

“I think someone wants you.”

With an audible sigh, you picked up the phone. “I thought I said don’t need me tonight?”

You bit back a smile at the fact the waitress shrunk a little bit into the booth. You weren’t trying to scare her— the bite in your voice was solely for the person on the other end of the call— but the fact that your Alpha voice was somewhat still there made you feel better.

“Relax, hothead,” Nat screamed into the phone. “We’re all at the club. Maurice on 33rd.”

“Don’t need your help bagging someone for the night. Not interested.”

“Have fun with us!”

“I said not interested.”

“But—”

“Nat, I’m already in a bed and you’re interrupting.”

You knocked on the table just to mimic some noise. The waitress across from you knocked in time to yours and made a few breathy gasps.

“Oh, oops— no she’s already with someone— (Y/N)? We’ll be out till like four if you finish early. Bye.”

Nat hung up quickly, not wanting to interrupt you anymore. You set the phone back on the table and grabbed your coffee mug after the waitress poured another cup.

“Thank you,” you said with a sip.

“What’s so bad you’re in a diner instead of a party?”

“Nothing, just tired of them trying to set me up with someone. Needed a quiet night.”

“Well you picked the wrong night for that.”

You both laughed.

“Empty diner seems pretty perfect to me.”

She raised her mug in a touche and drank. You pushed the rest of your plate towards her, figuring that she hadn’t eaten since whenever her last break was. She took gratefully. You were given another side-eye until you reached for your phone to text Bruce. You didn’t blame her. It was natural to be suspicious of an Alpha this late at night on party night. You weren’t making a move on her but it made sense she was still a little weary, thinking you were going to try something. The little bell on the door rang and you and the waitress turned your heads. A guy walked in wearing the same uniform as her. Her face lit up as she tossed him the notepad.

“Well, my shift is over. It was nice talking to you. Made the end of my shift a lot of fun.”

She walked out the diner and you sat back in your seat. As she walked out, others walked in. The second round of partying was over for the night and people were stumbling in to fill their stomachs before going out for round three. More Alphas than Betas or Omegas piled in and you were getting uncomfortable.

No one paid you any attention. Of course not, you still smelled like an Alpha and despite all the laughs with the waitress, you hadn’t broken a sweat. But you were paying attention to the rest of them. So you flagged down the now very busy waiter and paid your bill, leaving him a pretty generous tip to split with the waitress.

The street already smelled to no surprise. You wished people learned to close their windows. Top floor apartment building never remembered until it was time to sleep. They should learn to keep their stink in their own house. You needed another place to go. All the diners were probably just as full but if one was packed with Betas and Omegas more than Alphas, you could deal with that. The diner you stopped by was close to Maurice where the team was.

Maurice was a popular spot of the Avengers. You knew the area well enough, another diner was a little bit past the club. Was it likely to have Alphas? Probably, but there should have been a third diner just across the street so you might as well just check them both out. You pulled out your phone to check if the diner across the street was twenty-four hours, you couldn’t remember.

A shout got your attention followed by lots of growling. A second whimper and the scared pheromones of an Omega wafted past your nose. A smell you recognized having just spent several hours with her. You booked it down the street and into the backroad where the smell grew stronger. The waitress was being dragged along by several Alphas further into the alley— she tried to dig her shoes into the ground but only ended up stumbling over her own two feet. You growled as best as you could. Most of your Alpha actions came from memories of it rather than you actually being able to do them naturally. The group stopped and looked at you. This wasn’t a time to sound semi-reasonable. So you puffed up your chest and stalked towards them.

“What do you think you’re doing with my Omega?” you snarled.

“Don’t smell a claim on her,” one of them said. “Not yours.”

“But we’d consider sharing,” another said and the others laughed.

You looked down like you were thinking before winding your fist back and connecting it with his face. The man held his jaw and looked at you. Everyone else got quiet.

“What the fuck, man?”

“I said she’s mine.”

The biggest of them stepped up to you. “We found her first. Stand down.”

“Find another.”

You both started snarling. His voice boomed as he commanded you to stand down. It scared you shitless as you felt a shift. Everything was screaming to not just relent but to also submit. You thought about the waitress shivering in fear nearby and willed whatever Alpha memories you had left to help you out just once. You held a fist up.

“You want a broken jaw to match your friend’s?”

The man grumbled and shook his head out. “Not worth it. Damn, you’re one tough Alpha. God bless whoever’s fucking stuck with you.”

He and his friends laughed as they let the waitress go. They walked off, one of them patting you on the shoulder.

“Don’t know which would be better, don’t think an Alpha could even deal with that broad and an Omega…”

You didn’t hear the end of what he said but judging by the way they all laughed it was clearly a joke at your expense. The waitress was still trembling against the alley wall. You helped her to her feet. She started thanking you over and over again, mentioning how she’s never had that problem before. You took off your jacket and wrapped it around her and zipped it up.

“Go straight home.”

She buried herself in the scent of the jacket and nodded. You sighed against the wall as you heard her feet walk off. Looking down at the phone still in your hand, you went back to what you were doing seeing that the diner was actually closed. You pulled up Google to check what other diners were closed and open, feeling like you seriously needed a drink after what just happened. A hand on your shoulder made you jump before relaxing when you looked up to see it was just Steve. Now that your adrenaline was gone, his scent actually hit you.

“(Y/N)? You absolutely reek, what the hell?”

Steve was caught off guard. You didn’t stay around long enough after sex with people to smell strongly of them and you rarely let them sniff your scent glands or even give you a hickey but the scent was so obvious. You could smell your own scent on you. Without the injection and after that stupid Alpha standoff, your pheromones were stinking up the alleyway. The only good the suppressants were doing at the moment was making sure you wouldn’t get pregnant— the whole event had you producing more pheromones than the medicine could block from emitting.

“Bunch of Alphas trying to mess with an Omega.”

Steve grimaced. “I hate that people think they do whatever they want just because of presentation.”

“Found her before anything happened. Gave your jacket though, sorry.”

“Don’t be, based on how you stink she probably needed it. At least she’ll get home safe. Can’t say much for you now. Seriously, (Y/N). You reek like hell.”

“She was scared shitless.”

“Tilt your head.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, Steve?”

“It’s bad. You step out of here and they’ll all be on you. Temporary scent, just for protection. I can barely smell you past her scent.”

“I can take care of some trouble. You act like I’m not an Avenger.”

“We don’t need you giving third degree burns to every drunk Alpha or Beta that tries to cross you.”

“Steve.”

“(Y/N).”

His eyes were narrowing and you knew he was about to do another standoff. You couldn’t handle another one. You were already smelling so much that if you lost— which you were sure you would— then another wave of pheromones would roll off of you and there wasn’t an Omega in the alley to blame it on. The little of your Alpha scent from your clothes wasn’t going to mean anything. You sighed as if you were annoyed and tilted your head back, exposing your neck to him.

“Don’t leave a hickey.”

He laughed against your neck and went back to sniffing and kissing the delicate area. He only sniffed and left light kisses so as not to leave a mark at your request. Steve pulled back and sniffed the air. It was still there but he smelled himself a little bit. He wasn’t satisfied that it would be enough.

“Come on.”

He threw an arm around you and led you to Maurice and into the club where the rest of the team was sitting at a booth. Their heads snapped up as you two walked up to them. Bruce and Sam tried to keep a calm face while communicating with eyes and eyebrows to you.

“I’m taking (Y/N) home. She saved some Omega in the alley.”

Bruce nodded. “It’s probably best, no offense but you smell of them, (Y/N/N).”

“Thanks, Bruce. Last time I try to be nice for others.” You played off of him like everything was normal.

The other Alphas at the table growled and your attention was turned to a different place. Some random stranger— smelling strongly of Alpha— was eyeing you with a dark glint in his eye while you talked to them. Steve’s arm went back to wrap around you. Rather aggressively, he nudged your head back and began sucking at the spot on your neck where the scent glands were— staring at the other man the whole time, not blinking. Without bringing attention to himself, Sam pulled at your hand when he noticed your eyes threatening to close and knees ready to buckle. You were brought back into the moment and remembered to not give in to whatever your dumb Omega senses wanted from the Alpha currently with their lips all over your neck. You had to think of other things because if you focused too much on the semi-sexual moment, extra pheromones would start to emit and that would be the biggest mistake you could make.

The man finally looked away. Steve had to force himself to pull back from you, the scent of that Omega you saved unexpectedly was driving him a little crazy— he liked the way it smelled, kind of like your Alpha scent but with something else added. He looked at your neck and swiped at the wet spot he left behind with his thumb.

“Sorry, I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“It’s fine. Don’t know if I can show my face around here though, everyone now probably thinks I’m some weak Omega… no offense,” you said to Bruce and Wanda.

Bruce shrugged without a care knowing you were projecting extra to save yourself. Wanda didn’t take it to heart— knowing you loved her— but you noticed the slight fall of her face. It was one thing for everyone to think and feel some type of way but with two very capable Omegas on the team, no one liked to really say anything too insulting towards the dynamic. Everything you guys said was about the dynamic in general and never had anything to do with any Omega or Beta under SHIELD. But words on the wrong night could definitely sting. Everyone else chuckled a bit at your face.

“I think I should get home.”

The others agreed that would be best and you and Steve started out the club and home to the tower. The incident wasn’t brought up the entire way back. With not just Steve’s scent but his physical presence there, no one bothered you on the way.

“I thought I said to stop working late,” you chuckled as you entered the lobby to see Roseanne.

Like Sam and Bruce, her eyes widened at the smell but she fixed her surprise quickly.

“Is that a command?”

“Don’t test me.”

You two laughed. Roseanne clicked a couple of keys and sent an email before bending down to throw Steve’s other leather jacket you had kept down there at you. Steve just chuckled.

“That’s where you hid the other one. Thought I could trust you, Roseanne.”

She gave him a sarcastic salute. You handed the jacket back to Steve. It was useless to you now that the smell had worn off of it. Roseanne typed something else and then took a risk to ask.

“So you two?”

“Nothing like that,” you said as you drummed your hand against the counter. “Needed some help.”

You cringed at that realizing it sounded exactly like what was being insinuated.

“A different kind of help… you know what, night. See you later, Roseanne.”

You sped away from the desk. Steve barely caught the elevator as you pressed the button for your floor.

“You really hate people thinking something’s going on,” he said with a chuckle. “Would it really be that bad?”

“You’re probably great in bed, Steve. Don’t care to find out.”

He put a hand over his heart and pretended to sob.

“Look at us, two headasses in the bedroom is what it would be.”

“It’s cause you’re stubborn as hell.”

“Me?” You turned to face him.

“Yes, you,” Steve said. “You’d be the nightmare not me.”

“Oh please, you’d love it.”

“The sex? Yeah, maybe. Your goddamn mouth running the whole time? I don’t know.”

“Everyone else thinks it’s great.”

“Other Alphas?” He asked as the elevator doors opened.

“Eh, depends on who’s submitting that night.”

“Let me guess, usually them.”

“Right on the money.”

You headed towards your room and Steve kept following. You were friends so of course he would but somehow you expected him to stop at his door. It felt intimidating that he wanted to come into your space. You hadn’t even cleaned up the room in a way that you would want him to see— immediately you cursed yourself for even thinking that.

“Too bad you’ll never find out for yourself,” you teased to try and bring your Alpha self back.

“Nothing stopping you.”

“Not interested in being compared to Sharon.”

“Why are you two so opposed to each other?” He leaned against your doorway now that you guys had reached it.

“She has it out for me.”

“You don’t make it easier… but you’re right, I’ll talk to her.”

“No you won’t, Captain. That’s sure to make it worse. It’s just a little dispute. We were both training together long before you thawed out the ice. Same scores, same everything. I said I wasn’t interested in Avengers, was supposed to be a standard field agent on the international team with a nice set up in the tropics. And then something woke up my powers and it would’ve been stupid to not be on the team. Nick didn’t even give us time to talk, just replaced her with me.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course not. Why would your little girlfriend tell you that?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“You two go back to each other so often, might as well be. Just bond already.”

“Not interested in bonding with just anyone.”

“Right, high standards.”

“Not that high.”

Steve pushed past your doorway to sit down in your sitting area. He was tired of standing in the doorway. You scoffed at his statement and went to the little kitchenette to grab a drink. You fished out two beers since you cut his partying and drinking short by having to take you home. Steve quickly stood up while you were at the fridge to take off his shoes and put them at the door, remembering you had a thing about the team dragging their outdoor shoes through your space. He stretched out on the couch, noting only one pillow was there instead of the usual pile. He accepted the beer. You sat on the other side of the couch and put your feet on his lap.

“Mr. Golden Boy, your standards are higher than this tower.”

“Not that high. I’ve met a few people that meet them.”

“Peggy doesn’t count. I meant someone from this decade you still have a chance with.”

“Wasn’t talking about Peggy,” he said with a swig of the beer. His eyes were on yours.

“Not this again.”

Steve laughed. “I remember you liking me when I first thawed out. Even remember a nice kiss after the Battle of New York.”

“Then you left for D.C. and started kissing all over Sharon.”

“It was a rut, she was there.”

“I don’t really care who you sleep with Cap, just not dealing with Sharon’s shit,” you said with a shrug.

You guys kept talking and you became super comfortable covered in his scent. You set down the empty beer on the table and laid back even more, both drowsy and tipsy. Steve was obviously fine and still in the mood to keep conversation going, partially because he wanted to stay longer. There was something intoxicating to him about the idea that your whole space smelled like nothing but him— he felt himself wanting to stay longer and really solidify his mark there.

“If I did want to bond though…”

You were too tired to watch yourself, both the Omega cells and Alpha memories were speaking at the same time. Neither winning, and everything spilling out.

“Not saying I’d do it, but maybe I’d think about it… still don’t like Sharon.”

He laughed and looked over at you, noting your eyes were closed. Steve shook your foot a bit and you didn’t wake up. Instead, your foot just moved trying to shake off whatever was touching it. He set down his drink and got up. Steve adjusted you in his hold so he could carry you upstairs to your bed. His eyes were glued to where your tight leather shorts stopped. There was a bruise growing around a pinprick mark— even though it hurt a bit, you stabbed the same area to avoid having lots of needle marks especially in visible places. Steve would suggest you go to medical when you wake up tomorrow but you were peaceful in his arms and he didn’t want to bother you now. He deposited you gently on your bed and pulled the covers over you.

Against his better nature, he let his fingers brush against your neck where he had been kissing it. He quickly pulled his hand away when you sighed at the touch— it wasn’t his intention to wake you up. He started to walk away when his eye was drawn to your nightstand. Steve was staring at the empty syringe there. It was the same as the one he had found by your bag in the safe house when he went to pack up the jet. You had screamed at him to not touch your shit and snatched the bag away from him quickly. He shook his head from any bad thoughts. It wasn’t his place to speculate anything. The only evidence he had was the fact he had seen two syringes near your stuff. None of it meant anything.

The late morning came and you were still asleep when he knocked on the door. He didn’t try again, figuring he could handle getting you your coffee order without needing you there. If Roseanne was at the receptionist desk, he would have leaned over to check if you had any of his other jackets stored behind there. But it wasn’t Roseanne, it was another employee. One he didn’t know well at all so he just left the lobby.

The walk to the diner was very noisy— it was New York City, it was always noisy. The little bell jangled and Steve walked straight to the bar seating and ordered the drinks from the young Alpha manning the little coffee station. He leaned against the counter while he waited for your elaborate drink to be finished.

“Excuse me?” a small voice asked.

Steve looked up from his phone to see a woman in front of him with a leather jacket folded over her arms. She picked at the jacket and when Steve didn’t say anything she decided to continue.

“This is yours, I think, or your friend’s. Um, (Y/N)? She kind of saved my life last night. She left her stuff in the jacket and the wallet had the address for Avengers Tower but the tag says Steve Rogers. I was headed to return it but saw you in the window.”

She held out the jacket. Steve took it, honestly not expecting to get it back. It was nice that there was still hospitality in the world. His scent was off of it for sure. That didn’t surprise him. A scared Omega and based on how it had covered you, his jacket stood no chance from the incident. Since he was only wearing a button down, Steve put on his jacket.

“Well thank you for the return and I hope you got home saf—” he stopped as he adjusted his collar.

The woman thanked him for his concern and assured that she made it okay. She even said something about Steve should tell you to stop by the diner again on her next shift but he wasn’t paying attention to any of it. The scent on the jacket didn’t match the one from the incident. He stuck a hand in the pocket and pulled out the contents. They were all yours. The woman had given him the correct clothes. Discreetly, he took a sniff. The Omega in front of him smelled everything like the jacket and nothing like the scent of last night. That was a smell he couldn’t forget, not when you were drenched in it when he found you in the alley. But now that scent was nowhere to be found— the really sweet smell of apple butter, bark, and roasted coffee beans that you normally carried plus that one added scent of fresh linen that he never smelled before. None of that was lingering despite the fact the Omega you saved was standing so close to him.

“You’ll do that?” the woman asked and shook Steve out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Tell her my next shift is in a few days. Starts at four, food’s on me.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll tell her.”

She bounded away with excitement. The barista handed Steve the two cups of coffee. He grabbed them and headed out the door. The whole walk back and even in the elevators Steve couldn’t help but smell the jacket, trying to get a grasp of the scent he felt like he was craving from last night. He gave up as the doors opened to his floor. Steve paused when he saw Bruce standing at your door holding two boxes.

“Hey, Bruce.”

The scientist almost jumped as he saw Steve.

“Hey, Cap.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t know,” Bruce lied. “It’s a package for (Y/N), they accidentally dropped it off at my lab. My name’s on it but the address was hers. Some sort of mix up.”

“Just walk in, she’s still asleep. We kind of stayed up when we got back.”

Bruce nodded and adjusted the heavy box to reach for the door. The smaller package fell from the box. Both he and Steve leaned down to pick it up. The top of the box still in Bruce’s hand shifted, the lid sliding off. Steve set his coffee on the ground to pick up the box top and hand it back to the scientist. His hand stopped as he looked in the box. Lots of unmarked labels and a ton of needles. Steve’s jaw clenched thinking about what he saw earlier.

“Wait.” He stopped Bruce. “Let her sleep more, we need a team meeting.”

“Shouldn’t we wake (Y/N)?”

“Meeting’s about (Y/N).”

Bruce got nervous as he followed Steve back into the elevators. He clutched the box tightly as Steve informed FRIDAY to call everyone but you into the dining room.

(Part 5)...

#alpha!steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #avengers fic #marvel fic

11 notes · View notes

fariesoiree · 2 months

Text

you walk around like you own shit, always snapping back at innocent people and of course, you just had to cross a line with hobie.

caution! mdni 8.3k wrdz, runway model!hobie au, hobie has freeform locs, rich spoiled brat!reader, black fem!reader, you do nawt get along, semi-public sex, hate sex, fingering reader receiving, pussy slapping, orgasm denial, oral reading receiving, ass eating if you squint (not really), unprotected sex, p in v sex, choking, hair pulling spanking, finger sucking, drooling, cum eating, pet names, blushing describe but isn’t visible

miffy’s note! deleted it to repost! it’s finally completeddd and hopefully okay?? i picked it up so many times idk if the tone is the same. i think this is my new fav, though. to date, this is one of the nastiest smuts i’ve written and posted but i still consider it pretty tame :D if you like this, i’d recommend strawberry meringue! pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

you are so utterly annoying. the way you sit at hair and makeup with a pout etched on your face and protesting at everything everyone around you does.

it is only six thirty in the morning and you’re so loud and annoying. hobie’s head is pounding, throbbing with the aftereffects of spending his night at the pub with his friends. all he wants to be in the comfort of his bed, lights off and air conditioning blasting.

instead, he is forced to sit in your presence and listen to your complaints over such minor details he truly could not give a flying fuck about.

“that shade of blue is not light enough. it’s not going to match and it’ll look unflattering!” you swerve your head away the fluffy eyeshadow brush, dusted with a blue powder.

you’ve been doing this all morning, between taking swigs of your iced coffee from the reusable mug you’ve brought from home. your coffin, french topped acrylics click against the stainless steel beneath the sound of your constant complaining.

and of course, because your daddy bought his precious babygirl a spot in this show for a small cost of several thousands of dollars, every wish and whim you demand is fulfilled.

the makeup artist sighs for the umptenth time. if hobie is tired, imagine how tired he is. having to nearly redesign the entire look to satisfy your needs. marco has to take a patient, restrained breath.

he sets the brush down and pops open the palette to display the limited choices of colors. he feels insulted, knowing exactly what should go where, what shade is perfect for what but instead, he is forced to prioritize your requests all because you paid your way in. god, he hates nepotism babies. “well, these are the options. as you can see, that one is too dark and because of your rich skin tone, the other one will not show up as pigmented at this one. if i use a light hand and diffuse the color, you might end up liking it. can i try that?”

hobie tuts, watching the interaction at his paralleled chair. he’s finished with hair and makeup a while before you. truthfully, no one would be here nearly this early if they weren’t working with you. it’s not an industry secret that you’re difficult, solely depending on your father to garner influence.

don’t get him wrong, hobie thinks you’re beautiful. you have a chance at being a successful runway model simply off your looks alone but your attitude tanks all opportunity before you even get the chance.

“jesus, man. why are you askin’ her? just do it and if she doesn’t like it, too fuckin’ bad.” he seethes, a little less than quietly. his nails are devoid of his signature black color and well manicured. they’re glossy because of the clear top coat and mindlessly flipping through a magazine.

it’s as if everyone anticipates your meltdown with a silent breath. it’s almost certain that you’ve never heard no a day in your life. it carries on even now, everyone dancing around your words and boundaries. no one here has ever told you no, either. they have no plans to, seeing how you slowly turn your head towards hobie.

your hair, a mix of kankelon and your own, swings back and forth in the thick masses of bubble braids. the fluttering of your long wispy eyelashes would have been alluring if it weren’t for the warble that started in your throat. “you don’t know what you’re talking about. some people enjoy constructive criticism instead of taking everything at face value!”

you slam your mug down against the smooth black surface of the vanity, causing a few brushes to roll and clatter to the floor. you barely pay them any attention when marco bends to scoop them up and whisks them away to be sanitized, partially to avoid being roped into the conversation.

“this show is going to be amazing and i am going to be the best part of it because i actually have great opinions. what do you even do here? what’s your job? to make everyone else look better?” you cross your legs and cock your head to the side, glowering at him.

hobie guesses you mean to be intimidating but he takes your tantrum as childish. he isn’t interested in the back and forth, sighing and leaning back in his chair. his long, statuesque figure takes up more space than needs be, elbows dangling haphazardly over the sides as he folds his arms over the armrests. “yeah, okay. sure.”

he offers slow blinks and no further comment until you’re huffing and turning back around to fuss over the next item. the sound of your voice still vibrates and bounces off the inside of his head, soliciting a deep groan and a rub on his temple.

he supposes asking you to shut the hell up is out of the question, lest he want to be subjected to more insults and glares. hobie swears this is his last show, his last time being booked for a gig to entertain the upper class. sure, he’s encountered all kinds of spoiled brats who have people bending at their will but you, by far, are the most spoiled and bratty of them all.

“see. i told you, that just looks stupid!” your high pitched shriek breaks what little resolve he has left in him, twisting his already worked nerves into a tight ball and setting them on fire.

“ ‘m going out for a break,” hobie mumbles beneath the stylists and makeup artists trying to work you down from another blow up. they don’t notice how he stands and slips away from the crowd, still decked out in designer.

his shoes, a bit too flat and shapeless for his liking, do nothing to aid in a smooth passage to the back exit. he can feel each step he takes, even the lace pants that bunch and gather under him. the length of his attire is impractical but the rich will pay for anything.

he’s only greeted with peace of mind when he pushes the door open and takes a step out into the fresh early morning. the sun is is beginning to rise and coax the sky into a mix of romantic colors and the air is cold and crisp, providing his lungs with sharp relaxation.

new york is still busy at this time, still full of hustle and bustle that thankfully drowns you out. it does nothing to quell his headache but he decides that if he has to experience a hangover, he’d rather hand his misfortune over to the city.

his vacation is short lived, however, because he feels a small finger jabbing his rib cage with an impatient pattern.

hobie’s acknowledgment is slow. he takes his time to rip himself away from the outside world, turning his body to face the perpetrator, who just happens to be you. “what?” it’s curt and short, lacing his usual warmth and welcome.

“we’re starting our pre-show run. they want you there.” your hands, covered in silk gloves, are crossed over your chest. you somehow manage to look down on him, despite hobie being taller. the flounce of each white layer on your dress swishes along your thighs when you pivot and stalk away without a reply.

hobie doesn’t miss the same pale blue eyeshadow over your eye, locked under a layer of glitter and gloss. someone must have talked you into it. this all could have been avoided if you just agreed from the beginning.

“fuck me,” he mumbles, hands going to clasp and rest on the top of his head.

the door behind him swings shut and hobie is trapped again, with you and your whining, making the day difficult for everyone else. he shuffles forward, face pulled into a tense frown. he takes his spot in the jumbled crowd of models, all waiting to take their turn.

he blends in with the crowd just fine, silently slipping in between two warm bodies, just as unhappy to be here this early in the morning at he is. all courtesy of you.

you, who stands in front because you demanded to be the opening of the show and got your way when your daddy threw in a couple more thousands. you are almost cheery, bouncing on your toes to the upbeat music sounding out the speakers around the room. you’re the only one enjoying yourself at the cost of everyone’s expense.

someone needs to take you down a notch. that’s what hobie thinks and what he continues to think when you disappear in front of of the curtain. hobie’s eyes drift to the tv, reflecting your slinky walk down the runway.

you’re not all that bad. a little stiff in some places and a little too loose in others. hobie thinks you could easily benefit from some tips and a few days work. he doesn’t think you’ll take it, knowing you’re too headstrong to believe you’re anything less than perfect. you’re definitely not good enough to be opening the show. that’s neither here nor there and he doesn’t care enough about your success to comment on it.

instead, he keeps his thoughts to himself and powers through, taking his own powerful and evenly distributed steps down the sleek platform.

the rest of the morning goes like this, taking turns during the choreographed walk and being whisked away to try on the next thing. it’s well into the day when the sun has risen and the birds are active that everyone is allotted a break, free to grab lunch and return home for the evening.

hobie makes his way towards the door, his bag swung over his shoulder. he doesn’t announce his leave the way he sees others around him do. he doesn’t care to, doesn’t consider himself cool with anyone. he just comes, does his job, and goes home. he’s fairly surprised, although not pleasantly, to see you waiting at the door as well, sporting a pink tracksuit and slip on uggs.

against every sensible bone in his body, hobie finds himself stopping beside you. his expression is already full of regret before he can speak.

you cast a sideways glance at him, both curious and judgmental before punching in more texts on your phone, demanding that your driver arrives faster so you don’t have to stand out in the street. not that you’ve even left the building. the idea of comparing to the normal class in any way disgusts you.

“you did good, today.” hobie says through a strained breath, staring out the glass panelling of the door. why did he stop? he doesn’t know. maybe to confirm that you truly are one of the worst people he’s ever met.

“i know.”

hobie waits. he gives you a second to build on that and maybe, just maybe, display an ounce of politeness but nothing comes. he can’t help but laugh at his hopefulness, shaking his head to erase any possibility that you might be a good person.

“what’s funny about that?” you immediately jump to the offense, turning your body until you’re facing him. you got your mouth all screwed up into a scowl.

the image you give him only makes hobie’s chuckles increase until he’s smiling at how stupid this whole thing is. “you are so rude, you know that? a selfish little thing, you are.”

you don’t take well to being called selfish or rude. as far as you know, you’re the only one carrying their weight around here. “did i offend you in some way? is this because you realized you have to try harder around me?”

“did it ever occur to you that the reason we’re here so early in the morning is because you tack on another two hours with your complainin’?” hobie tightens his grip on the shoulder strap of his bag. he has to remind himself to keep his voice tame, not wanting to be caught in a scandal framed as a giant man yelling at the sweetest girl. he’s sure you’d activate some victimizing tears and land him farther in trouble with the public.

“well, that’s because i’m – ”

“you’re the only one with good opinions. whatever, i don’t care. i think i speak for everyone when i say this, though. learn to shut the fuck up and let everyone do their jobs the way they’re supposed to be done.”

you both stand and stare at each other silence. you because it’s unbelievable that he’d have the gall to come up to you and say that. him because he really needs to cement just how suffocating you are when you speak.

“excuse me?” is what you settle on with a challenging glare in your eye, taking a step towards him and your head tilted to the side.

hobie brushes you off, though. he’s said what he’s needed to say and doesn’t see the point in entertaining this any longer. “have a good one.” he walks right past you and out the door, satisfied with himself for being the one to tell you about yourself.

the following day is much better, oddly enough. hobie expected you to lash back at him after your conversation. it’s shocking when you’re pliant and receptive to everyone, smiling when you’re addressed.

you even go as far to smile at him. you greeted him when he walked in, leading hobie into a false sense of security. he’s so comfortable with your good behavior, he almost is able to forgive and forget your attitude.

almost.

“hobie?”

he’s surprised to get a call from his manager, bringing the cool tempered glass up to his ear. the silver backing of his phone is caseless and reflects the bright white lights hanging from the ceiling. hobie blends into the background, wearing his off duty outfit, sporting a black top he cropped himself with a pair of kitchen scissors and some black sweatpants. he offsets the cold city morning with a thick puffer jacket and fingerless gloves. his feet hidden behind equally thick socks and stocky black boots. “yeah, wass’up?”

his accent leaks in every word, following the sense of dread that something has gone wrong. his radar goes haywire when you suddenly appear near by, idling with the smuggest smile he’d seen all week.

what did you do?

“you pissed her off, man. clean off. you’re not going to like this.”

“just spit it out, peter.” hobie finds himself having to round the corner to stand behind a pillar, his hand coming down to drag across his face. he doesn’t have to ask who the she is because it’s so obvious. only you would be so evil to do something so bad, his manager would have to call him.

“you know how the brand was so excited to work with you because you fit their style really well?”

“yes,” hobie draws it out real slow. his heart is already racing in anticipation. he hated these things as much as the next punk guy but they made him so much money, and hobie wasn’t doing too great financially right now. all his stealing and evading “justice” was starting to creep up on him and the last thing he wanted was to end up in the slammer.

sure he’s all rough and tough on paper but he knows he wouldn’t last a second behind bars.

“well now . . ., someone has offered them a large sum of money to lower your appearances to one so not only do you now walk once but you’re getting paid significantly less.”

if hobie was in a cartoon, he’d have steam pouring out his ears. his stomach twists itself into sour knots, tighter and tighter he feels like he’s going to be sick. peter is saying something, words fading into the background of hobie’s thoughts, all screaming into the void about how inconsiderate you are. how careless, how selfish, how bratty.

“pete, i have to go.” his thumb smashes against the big red button on the keypad. everything in his body is blaring with the red alert of his ending patience. he’s been lenient, he thinks. only speaking to you when you’ve really done it for him. otherwise, he’s left you alone. sure, he told marco to stop letting you dog him and told you off for your behavior but none of that justifies something as cruel as this.

“what’s wrong? get some bad news?” you grin when hobie comes stalking up to you. something like a delightful chill runs down your back when you see just how unnerved he is. you’ve never gotten anyone to glare at you as hard as hobie is doing.

“we need to have a talk,” hobie says with his hand circling around your wrist, smoothed and evenly tanned from expensive skincare treatments and luxurious vacations out the country. he is prepared to ignore your whines about how he’s dragging you across the room but to his surprise, there is none.

other than the sounds of quiet huffs of annoyance, you’re compliant enough to follow him. your feet drag, moonboots scraping against the concrete flooring. the sound just irritates hobie more.

he pulls you behind the partitioned dressing stall, yanking the white linen closed across the metal curtain rod. the small space is a tight fit, boxy and barely enough room to fit two people. fortunately, hobie is lanky enough to squeeze anywhere, unaffected with the way you puff your chest to seem more intimidating than you are.

his arms are crossed ever so tightly over his chest and yours are planted over your hips. neither of you say a word to the other, staring each other down in a silent battle of dominance.

“did you get me cut down from the show?” hobie finally spits out. his blood is boiling and he doesn’t have the time to play this game with you.

“and if i did?” you snap back with a provoking swivel of your head. you jut your chin out, eyes examining him up and down. you’re wordlessly declaring how unserious you take him and his temper. “are you going to yell at me some more because that would be a huge mistake. you don’t even know how badly i could ruin your career.”

his hand slots over his face, the web between his thumb and pointer finger rubs against the bridge of his nose. each word that rolls out your mouth has his brain rattling. none of those are anything near remorse and he’s sick of you getting away with whatever you want. “are things not goin’ well for you at home? what is this about, hm? is this all to get attention or what?”

“excuse me?” you’re miffed, eyes nearly bulging out of your head.

“that’s how it goes with you lot, ‘innit? do somethin’ crazy for attention cause you’re not gettin’ it at home.” he looks down at you, not physically but emotionally, mentally. he pities you and your need to be the center of attention. that’s what this is, isn’t it? you must live a lonely lifestyle.

you take a step towards him. in the small box you’re confined, it’s more of a half step. your finger jabs against his chest, venom dripping into each word. “you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. don’t make assumptions and mind your own fucking business.”

if hobie was angry before, he’s fuming now. this is ridiculous. to be going back and forth with a little girl that doesn’t know how to mind her tongue and is telling him to stay out of her life. “oh, that’s real rich comin’ from you. like you didn’t go and meddle with how much i’m going to get paid for this.” he swats at your hand with enough force to have put pushed away from his chest and back to your side.

“oh, whatever. i’m not going to stand here and keep talking about this.” you roll your eyes, turning away to leave hobie standing here alone. you’re only able to reach for the heavy curtain, fingertips just ghosting the fabric before you feel hands at your waist, pulling you in until your back is pressed against the cold mirror. it rattles against the impact, wobbling and clanking in the metal that holds it together.

you find hobie merely inches away from your face. he invades all of your senses at once, breath smelling of spearmint and calloused hands fisting the loose sweater you sport. it’s buttery soft and worth every pretty penny.

you’re so pretentious.

“you don’t get to walk away from me. you wanted to run your mouth. keep runnin’ it.” hobie is close enough to smell the strawberry pound cake perfume on your clothes. the glitter of your cherry flavored lipgloss reflects in the light, pink and silver. he’s unhappy with the way you sneer at him.

“then we’re going to sit here in silence because i don’t want to talk to you about this, or anything, ever.” you turn your cheek to him and close your eyes to solidify your point.

hobie hooks his fingers under your chin and forced your attention, jerking your head back with enough shock to have your eyes popping open. a whine, mixed with an almost animalistic arousal and surprise slips through your closed lips, to your dismay. you did not mean to do that.

“what was that?” he asks, hand still pushing your lips together until your lips are pursed and pouty.

you wiggle in his hold, only inching farther up against the mirror until you’re standing on your toes in dire search of space. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

playing dumb is your only solace when he’s staring at you like this, scrutinizing your every move. his tongue swipes across his bottom lip, slow and heavy, as his thoughts race together. they all come to the same conclusion, a screeching halt at one verdict.

“needy thing, you are. should have known you’d want me to do somethin’ like this. gettin’ me all mad so i can push you against the wall like this.” he adjusts his grip. instead of holding you against the glass, he holds you in place, planted firmly in your spot.

you don’t notice the way your legs slide themselves apart but hobie does and he’s quick to take advantage of it. his hand darts down under the hem of the thick striped sweater, meeting the tight spandex of your safety shorts underneath.

there’s a moment of stillness where he gives you a moment to stop him, searching your eyes for any sign of reluctance or a squeak of displeasure but none comes. you simply watch him your chocolate colored eyes, darting between his attention and his lips, messily lined with a black liner.

“hm,” he scoffs with a handful of your shorts and tugs them down with a snap of his wrist. hobie is met with resistance from the friction of your thin, nearly sheer, black tights. “put up a fight for what?” his hand digs behind the waistband of your tights and panties to bury between your hot and sticky folds. he finds your clit, growing puffy from need and pinches it between his fingers.

the back of your hand comes pressed against your lips to swallow your whimper come the sound of shoes pattering across the dark gray flooring just outside the curtain. you’re reminded in that short span of a few seconds that you’re not the only ones in the establishment.

you only end up pressing both hands against your lips when he rolls the hardening bud between his thumb and pointer finger. it has your hips bucking in a fight to satiate your growing need for more.

“fuck you being so quiet for? where that mouth, hm? nothin’ to say now that i’m playin’ with your pussy like this?” hobie tilts his head, fingers continuing to toy with you until you’re soppy enough to have the pads on the tips of his digits pruning.

hobie swears he can hear the squelching when his fingers dip towards your entrance and smear more of your arousal on your already dripping cunt. each swipe of his fingers against your nerves draws another mewl out your body, almost against your will.

“s – shut up!” you slam your fist against his chest. your body reacts before your brain does, rolling your hips into his hand in an attempt to entice it to the more needier parts.

it works, but not in the way you’d think. hobie’s eye twitches, just barely. he pulls your shorts down to your ankles when another swift tug and digs his nails into the polyester fabric of your tights. it tears apart with a few pops. he yanks the seat of your thong to the side, securing it in place on the round globe that is one of your buttcheeks. “who are you talkin’ to?”

three melodies slaps to your cunt rings through the air in a continuous stream. they’re harsh and wet and leave you withering, standing up by the grace of your willpower. your legs shake with each impact, accompanied with a shriek and your hand flies to the wall to steady you.

“just won’t learn to shut your mouth, will you?” hobie grunts under the voices questioning that unusual sound, unbeknownst to them was coming from you.

you both listen to the “what was that” and the “i don’t know”, you with the roundest doe eyes hobie’s ever seen. you’re nervous, whirring the idea of getting caught around your head. it makes your heart pound but your skin flushes with a newfound warmth.

“i’m sorry,” you say in a hushed whisper. you’re hesitant, not too pleased to be admitting defeat but you have no other choice. not when hobie is experimentally one long finger past your folds.

it’s slender and deep, reaching crevices you didn’t know was possible. never have you never able to do it yourself, nor has any of your previous casual experiences. it has your head reeling back against the mirror. the part down the center your scalp leaves you rightfully balanced.

hobie finds that you suck him right in. you’re so annoying like that, catching an attitude when he doesn’t touch the places you like, only to be reduced to apologies and sweet whispers. “yeah, i’m sure you are.” he says with his finger pumping at an agonizingly slow pace. his goal is not to make you feel good, but to make room enough for another.

it’s enough to have to you mewling. your hips roll forward and your clit bumps against the rough callouses that is hobie’s palm. your hand lifts and falls on his shoulder. you wring his shirt in between your fingers under the fabric is strained in his grip.

he makes you feel small, the way hobie eyes bore into you. he swallows each and every sound you make with his loud presence, fogging your thoughts with the smell of his cologne. it irks you, how he’s knocked you off a few pegs until you’re below him.

“i hate you,” you seethe through gritted teeth. “i hate you so much. you’re just a lowlife.” you’re grappling for power, even though you’re quite literally under him. hobie’s taken up so much of your space that you have to tilt your head up to him. he’s so close you can see the freckles dotted over his cheeks.

his lips curl in on themselves. his expression squints and squeezes until it’s full of scorn. “keep fuckin’ talkin’,” he shoves another finger next to the other, dripping in the sheen of your arousal. he snaps his wrists in an aggressive up and down manner, ripping a gasp out of you.

you’re getting loud with the stimulation of his fingers inside you. your body swivels in an infinite loop of needing more of him but being unable to take it. you’re grateful when hobie cradles your head into your chest to mute your moans.

his large hand engulfs the back of your head. despite his words, this hold and gentle and safe. there’s a very thin line hobie teeters between, acting as a decent human being and being so extremely pissed off with you. messing with his pay like this.

“mmmf . . .,” you hum against his toned chest. your mouth falls open with puffs of breath. you whine and whimper into him. you fall still at the impact of his fingers, jerking so quickly in you the mirror rattles in its clips. “oh my gosh. please, fuck –!”

your orgasm comes as a surprise to no one. you’d be blind to not anticipate it by to the way you mewl and moan at his attention. it builds up and up and up and —

hobie rips his hand away. he ruthlessly deprives you of the ultimate sense of pleasure. his pride swells when you are turned into nothing but a bundle of whines of displeasure and drool.

his lips curl into something of a sadistic grin, gleaming white incisors poking through the corners. he’s even more smug when you tilt your little head at him, eyes full of pitiful tears just threatening to spill over your eyelashes.

“hobie, please?” it’s unbelievable that you’re pleading with him, hands sliding down until they grasp the waistband of his sweats. “not being nice.” your lip trembles, the two-toned browned skin comes to tuck beneath your teeth.

“don’t deserve it,” hobie clutches your chin in between his fingers, thumb on one side, pointer on the other. “beggin’ me like this after givin’ me so much attitude.”

you look so dollike and sweet like this. finally, finally, docile and bending to his will. it didn’t take him long at all, just needed to give you some attention to calm you down.

he almost feels bad for you.

it’s not enough to stop him from dropping to his knees and lifting a soft, glowing thigh over his shoulder. he massages the skin with the pads of his fingers, kissing the inner of your leg while taking in the scent of your sex, tangy like a pineapple on a summer day.

“forgot to take these offa’ you.” his lips ghost over the material of your underwear. hobie leaves it secured where it is as he continues his trek and ignores the pants of anticipation when he eventually reaches your puffy bundle of nerves. “just hold em’ if they slip, yeah?”

you hum in hushed agreement. your hands move on their own, entangling in the coils of his coarse locs. they dig in his scalp and pull at his hair. in response, hobie is tugged closer until his tongue is slotted against your leaking cunt.

he obliges without complaint, slurping at your juices with steadying your hip and the other keeping your leg hooked on his shoulder. it’s sloppy, the mix of saliva and arousal dribbling down his chin and leaving your inner thighs glistening.

your attempt to maintain your discreetness is weak. there’s always a squeak, squeal, or hum leaving your lips when hobie’s tongue digs deep in your crevices and rolls your hips against his lips.

he, for one, doesn’t care who just so happens to walk by at the wrong time or is careless enough to pull the stiff curtain back. he does know that you care, though, and is leaving it up to you. you want to remain “respectable” and “perfect”. that is your responsibility.

with each voice that draws nearer, you try to quell your noises, swallowing each sob that accompanies each shake or twitch of your body. your almost restrained like this, having to choke back a moan.

hobie is all too good at this, lapping at your cream like a starved man offered from the cornucopia of heaven. twice now, has his long tongue slipped past your folds and flattened over the puckered rim of your ass.

his lips wrap and suckle around your clit, leaving just enough space for the pad of his thumb to circle around to your entrance. it dips inside and pulls away with enough frequency to force a reaction, a confined gasp and whimper.

“hobie! fuck you’re so –” you yank his hair in all different directions, brain foggy and unable to truly comprehend anything. you’re just over the cusp of overwhelmed, jerking against him and unsure if you want more or are ready to tap out.

he only chuckles beneath you, pulling away from your nub with a pop. his fingers become buried in you again without warning. it happens with ease until they’re knuckle deep, despite your wordless protests when you’re unintentionally attempting to escape. “swear you make it so difficult, dolly. how hard is it to take it? hm?”

it’s not really a punishment, considering how much you like it. love it, even. enjoying it so deeply you’re sure your walls will mold into his shape. your chest rises and falls, representing the waves of pleasure crashing against your body. the tightening ball in your tummy returns, wrapping itself tighter and tighter. there’s a moment you fear you’ll be denied again when your body begins to physically curl in to itself, falling silent with an open mouth.

hobie only coaxes you by returning to being gentle kisses to your skin, breathing in your natural scent with the subtle hint of the strawberry scented perfume. it’s a shame you’re not as sweet as your smell, or even the sounds you make.

even now, when you’re shaking and drunk of pleasure, this is possibly the sweetest you’ve ever been. fucked out from his fingers alone and eyes rolling back, already. your little cunt squeezes out every drop of cum it possibly can, leaving your legs shaking and pushing his hand away from your sensitive parts.

your voice is all breathy when you speak. “holy shit,” you finally find your strength to stand, licking your dry lips to dampen them. you turn your attention down to hobie, arrogantly smiling at you as he just shy of shoves your leg off his shoulder.

“don’t look at me like that.” you twist your expression until you’re scowling, puffing your cheeks.

hobie can’t take you seriously. even after he’s pulled your panties to the side, got you to shut up, and fingered you to oblivion, you’re still so very stubborn. “if you stopped talkin’ so much, so many more people would like you,” he runs his fingers his fingers up and down your legs.

“how about you shut the fuck up?”

“i’ll do you one better.”

it’s too bad you don’t notice the widespread sadistic grin across his face. hobie jostles you around by your hips until your turned and facing the mirror. your boobs feel the cold and exposing air when he pulls your sweater and bra up.

your eyes are wide as hobie maneuvers you like a doll, guiding parts of your body into certain positions. “what are you doing?” you ask him when he pushes down on your back until it’s arched. your legs are spread apart and your brown erect nipples are being rolled between his fingers.

“what are you doing?” you say again, body squirming against both the mirror and hobie’s crotch. your cheek is forced against it because you’re too busy holding yourself up using the wooden bench attached to it.

you receive no response except for the sound of fabric shuffling about. your limited vision gives view of hobie dropping his sweats and briefs far enough to get his dick out. your mouth automatically waters at the sight, thick and veiny. it’s almost angry, glistening with hobie’s arousal from just touching you. it’s fully erect and firm when it slaps against your pussy.

“you ask too many questions,” he says, just barely dipping his swollen tip past your folds. hobie gets a taste of your body this way. the warmth of your walls paired with the sopping wetness of your arousal. even down to the way you immediately react, he soaks it up.

he still finds you to be a bit mouthy. it’s almost as if you’re unaware your cheek in pressed against the mirror and your tits are dangling into the palm of his hand. the other one, free of your body, runs along your smooth skin.

you can feel the tips of his fingers ghost over you. from your position, there’s not much of a view, especially with the way you’re pressed and craned into this compact space. despite your agitation and resistance, you comply when he guides your body into the arch. the curve of your spine dips, causing the globe of your ass to lift and be pressed right against his lap

you huff in anticipation when you feel the tip of hobie’s dick press against your entrance. you’re not going to lie to yourself and say that the stretch from just a few inches causes you to tense. it’s been a minute since the last time you were fucked to the fault of your relentless attitude, something you refuse to let go of.

you squeeze your face, contorting to display your displeasure. for a split second, you consider the idea that it won’t fit. you reach back for his stomach to push him off you, convinced you’re unable to make this happen. “mm-mm,” a hum leaves your lips, pressed tightly together. your eyes flutter close, wispy and dollike lashes brushing against your cheek.

“y’gotta relax, mama. you’re gonna be fine.” hobie clasps your hand in his, rather than allowing you to escape him. don’t get him wrong, he resents you but he isn’t an asshole. he doesn’t force his way in you, not completely anyway. hobie waits just until you’re soft enough to be molded like clay. only then does he thrusts his hips forward just enough to get you over the edge.

you shriek for a second and unintentionally dig your nails into hobie’s hand. you leave indents in your wake, balling your fist and turning your head into your elbow in an attempt to muffle yourself. it’s unexpected but the pain very quickly burns itself into pleasure.

you feel so full like this. you like to think you’d be perfectly content if hobie opted to not move and instead hold you like this but it’s not something you’d tell him.

“there you go.” you hear hobie say. he sounds conceited about it too, getting off on the image you give him. gasping and twitching and all he did was stick it in. “good fuckin’ girl.”

a mewl builds up in your throat but you swallow it. it’s worse enough he’s had to coach you to take him. you can’t already let him hear you like he’s bitching you. “. . . shut up.” it takes you a moment to work the words out, lids still closed and fist still clenched.

hobie scoffs. he rolls his own eyes. he doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand you. seven inches deep and you’re still giving him orders. like the near humiliation wasn’t enough to knock you down a few notches. shut up this and shut up that. is that all you can say?

“y’know, i’d be so much nicer if you didn’t act so terribly for no reason. what did i do to deserve this, hm?” his fingers dig into your skin, grasping and rubbing along whatever he can reach. your hips, your spine, the tops of your thighs.

your lack of response is taken as a sign of complacency. you didn’t know what to say because he’s right. hobie did nothing to deserve this but treat you like a normal human being.

heaven forbid.

he snaps his hips forward, eyes boring into the back of your head. hobie own face screws up in a display of pleasure. it’s nothing compared to the near scream that falls from your lips from his sudden action.

it’s unexpected. just as unexpected as his hands wrapping around your body, one stationed securely at your hip and the other sliding up your chest and gripping your throat. it’s firm, fingers swallowing the column with just enough force to maintain your position.

“look. look in the mirror and watch how i fuck you.” hobie cocks his head, thumb brushing across your jawline. the skin is soft and no doubt also attributed to your lifestyle. “i know you want it, cunt flutterin’ on me.”

the stubborn part of you can’t resist shaking your head in denial, despite the new gush of slick coating your thighs.

“no?” his tongue catches the fat of his lip and tucks it under his teeth. he supposes it’s fine, your instance of denying everything he says. he’s tired of talking, anyway. instead, he anchors you flush against him and draws his hips back.

the relief is only temporary because hobie slams forward just as quickly as before. each thrust sounds off with a reverberating slap of skin. you barely hear it, too busy swallowing what moans build in your throat.

you’re forced to watch, tits jiggling in the mirror. you have no range to squirm. instead, your toes curl inside your shoes. your arms shake to hold yourself up, despite not needing to. hobie had you right where he wanted with no room to escape.

your head drops forward. your insides are on fire, filled to the brim with dick. it’s repetitive and knocks the wind out of your lungs with each stroke.

“please,” you sob, eyes filling with salty tears. they spill over your waterline and plop onto the bench in inaudible plinks!

your pleas falls on deaf ears. instead, hobie lands two smacks on your ass. it heats under his touch and jiggles on impact. at first, the smacks serve as a warning but he can’t help but indulge for just a moment. the skin tints with an undertone of red with the more merciless spanks on your cheeks.

“please what?” hobie’s hand leaves the base of your throat and entangled in the length of your hair. he wraps it around his hand, only to tug it back until your head is lifted and he gets a clear view of your pretty brown eyes glossed over and blown out. “thought you didn’t want this. want me to stop?”

your mouth gapes open only to close without a word. you’re hesitant to respond, having no intention of asking him to pull out. you merely whine in desperation and wiggle your hips.

your reward for your decision is him sinking his cock into your tight pussy. it’s almost as if hobie didn’t pause to begin with. instead, his pace is vigorous. it’s constant pressure, merciless and bouncing you around from sheer force.

your hand flies to wall, almost banging against it in an effort to find purchase somewhere. anywhere you could possibly release the growing tension all over your body, particularly your core. “oh my gosh! oh my days!”

hobie yanks your head back even farther, nearly resting against his shoulder. again, does his fingers wrap around the base of your throat and steady you there. he’s lucky enough to catch your eyes roll back. in tandem, it’s difficult to miss the clench of your walls around him.

“well shit, baby,” hobie says. his breath fans over your check. the smell of your pussy still lingers on his breath. it sends a small wave of embarrassment crashing over you but only for a minute. it’s drowned out by red hot lust burning your insides.

“you like that shit, don’t you?” it’s a warm whisper in your ear surrounded by grunts and wet kisses against your shoulder. “so fuckin’ wet. bet you can feel me nice and deep. tell me you like it, dolly. i want to hear you say it.”

his fingers brush against your clit and elicits a gasp. by now your legs shake, ready to collapse under your weight. “i – it’s so good. it’s so good, ‘obie. i like it so much. please! wanna cum.”

“too loud,” hobie mumbles, tongue dragging across the crevices off your collar. he resolves the issue by squeezing your cheeks together until they are forced in a pucker. he pushes his fingers past your lips and flatten against your tongue.

you let out a surprised choke, saliva pooling in your mouth. you’re unable to voice anything other than haggard breaths and hummed moans. you enclose your hand around his wrist. the other rests on his bare hip. not once do you resist or push him away. you solely dig your nails into his skin, chest heaving with each draw of breath.

“gonna cum, hm? gettin’ so tight, lovely. can feel that shit, like you’re gonna snap me in half.” hobie slide his fingers farther down the slope of your tongue until you’re nearly gagging.

you manage to hum a “mm-hm”, drool gurgling and spilling down your chin. you can imagine the image you’re giving, filthy and desperate, but it’s the least of your concerns with each thrust and caress of your clit.

he doesn’t have to give you permission, doesn’t have to tell you when you can. hobie doesn’t want to. he’d much rather push you to the edge, rubbing your clit in quick circles. they compliment the jerk of his dick against that spot that has you spurting your watery cum. had his fingers not been down your throat, there’s no doubt the air would be thick with soundy whimpers.

behind you, hobie does the unexpected. he’s quick to push you forward, pulling out with a quiver. he whines, whines when shooting thick ropes of cum over your asscheeks. you get a faint glimpse of him pumping out every drop with a tight hand wrapped around the shaft.

it’s mesmerizing, the scrunched up face he makes when he cums. it’s been you who’s had the lower hand and been watched with curious eyes. for a brief moment, it’s your turn.

your turn to watch hobie stare at the mess he’s made over your skin. you think he’s going to leave you at that but instead he lowers himself down and eagerly laps it up.

your eyes widen at the sight. he could have figured out any other way clean you up and chose the most explicit, massaging your hips with each drag.

“hobie . . .” you’re at a loss for words, torn between telling him it’s unnecessary and too amazed to stop him.

“are you going to say your sorry?” he’s kneeling now, turning you around until you’re facing him. hobie looks up at you, almost innocent-like. had he not been making his way to suckle at your cunt, maybe he would have been.

you lurch away, far too sensitive to handle another round, right now.

“relax, mama. jus’ tryna clean you up. promise.” he presses a relaxing kiss against your inner thigh until you’re soft in his hands again. “are you sorry or what?”

you consider the position you find yourself in now and in the previous minutes. your cheeks flush when the weight of your actions come crashing down and your hands, resting on his shoulders, are reluctantly drawing back. “are you going to use this against me?” a chill runs down your spine when his tongue smooths over your folds.

hobie’s eyebrows knit together. he’s perplexed you’d think that of him. “oh, absolutely not. i’m not you. jus’ got tired of it. so are you sorry or not?”

you’re prepared to answer, mouth gaping open before you’re interrupted by a knock on the other side of the curtain, probably on what little solid surface there is.

“if you guys are done uh, fighting, everyone else is ready to go.”

hobie is far more composed about this than he is. “ ‘kay,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. his question, unanswered, still lingers. the only thing that’s changed is that he’s now standing and putting his clothes back on, waiting for your response. “i’m willing to put this all behind us if you just apologize. you have no idea what you’ve just done and i can’t expect you to understand and doubt that you’ll fix what you’ve done, but can you at least say you’re sorry?”

your shift your weight, gathering the different articles of your clothing and pulling them on your body. it’s difficult in this small space with him but you manage. “i dunno. you were kinda mean so —“

“ ☆ , i’m serious.” he catches you with a heavy gaze. for once, there’s no hint of anger. he’s being sincere with his hurt and you can’t deny the guilt you’re filled with. “you messed everything up so bad. you’re strong, you’re powerful, you can do what you want, whatever. i don’t care. i just need you to understand that i deserve an apology.”

you adjust the sweater on your body to avoid the tension in the air. there’s truly no way out of this. just you two in this room, him expecting an apology after bending and breaking your body. “i’m . . . sorry. you’re right, i guess. i’ll figure out how to undo it.” your voice only gets quieter and quieter with each word, putting your feet back into your boots.

it’s embarrassing and odd, apologizing. you can’t think of the last time you’ve done so and honestly don’t believe you would have if he hadn’t taken such methods to get it out of you.

oddly enough, it’s silent. you’re too cagey to meet hobie’s eyes and even while fully dressed, you’re stalling leaving the space.

it takes him a moment to speak as well, sighing to release what emotions he still carries about the situation. “thank you. if you fix it, i’ll stay out of your life. we’ll finish our job and never see each other again. i won’t talk about what happened to anyone and i’m sure you can manage to keep whatever you want between whoever is here. deal?”

your stomach twists into knots and fills with distaste. for what? you don’t know. you can’t put your finger on it but you find yourself nodding anyway.

what else can do you? disagree and risk the industry finding out what risky behavior you participated in? risk blemishing your reputation and have the public label you a whore?

“okay. deal.”

your response is satisfying enough for hobie to leave after patting your shoulder. presumably, that’ll be the last time you interact so personally but that’s not an assumption you think you like.

#ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙#hobie x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie brown #x black fem reader #astv hobie #x black reader #hobie x reader #x reader #hobie x y/n

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calif0rnia-lovers · 3 years

Text

coffee.

join my gc for updates | manny montana masterlist

requested kiss challenge: morning kiss + rio

pairing: rio x his wife | words: 1.6k | rating: 💦

sum: now the quarantine is lifted, your house is overrun with visiting family. your request to your husband is simple "keep your hands to yourself for the week." turns out rio isn’t the one who needs the warning.

Rio wakes early. 5 o'clock each morning—5:30 at the latest. This morning, he finds himself on the latter. In the time he's known you, Rio has never seen you wake before him. Until this week—that is.

Each morning this week, Rio has rolled over to find your side of the bed empty.

The first morning, he thought it was because you wanted to cook a large "welcome" breakfast for your guests. Only, he awoke Tuesday morning to find himself alone. The same goes for Wednesday and Thursday. And apparently, this Friday.

He finds you in the kitchen. Your elbows rest against the countertop, your chin in your hands. Your eyes focused on the selection of coffee before you. You settle on French Vanilla.

Despite having risen nearly an hour prior, you still wear your pajamas. Rio's eyes linger on the high-waisted powder blue silk shorts as you stand on your toes to retrieve a mug from the cabinet.

When he speaks, his voice is a mixture of confusion and humor. “You avoiding me?”

You jump, your grip tightening around the mug. “What?”

He drapes his jacket across the back of the nearby stool. He waits until you face him to repeat his question.

His eyes are trained on yours, the smile on his lips growing as your brow furrows. “Are you avoiding me?”

Your head shakes. It is an automatic response to a ridiculous question. Only, it is not a ridiculous question.

Rio's brow furrows. His eyes pass over your expression. The smile you offer is convincing—at least to you. Your husband nods, his keys settling on the island.

"You say that," he starts in your direction. "But, the way you’ve been icing me out, you had me thinking I fucked up on somethin'."

“Stop being dramatic.” Your eyes roll as you turn and start the coffee maker. “I have not been icing you out.”

Rio's chuckle comes out muffled against your shoulder. He leaves a kiss against your skin, the action tensing your body. The second kiss he leaves against your neck relaxes your body against his chest.

“Hmmm.” The warmth of his lips finds your pulse. The brush of his tongue against your skin tugs your teeth against your lip. “Can't remember the last time you let me kiss you--"

"I kissed you before bed last night--"

"Let alone let me touch you." The second half of his statement is met with silence. The hand slipping beneath the band of your shorts catching the breath in your lungs. "Not since Sunday...if that ain't avoiding me what would you call it?”

Your husband's claims are not baseless. You have not been avoiding him. It’s impossible to avoid your husband in your own house. No—avoiding is not the correct term. Keeping yourself in check—fits much better.

Your behavior is blamed solely on Rio. He is the reason you found yourself sleeping on your side of the bed for once in your marriage.

Rio has never had trouble with your parents. Charm is your husband's number one skillset, and he used it to earn himself the son-in-law of the year award. Your parents adore him.

Being as your parents think he can do no wrong, Rio had no reservations about trying to have sex with you just an hour after he'd picked them up from the airport Sunday night.

His shamelessly wandering hands and lingering kisses had melted you into a puddle of submission. If the knock hadn't come on your bedroom door, he would have had you exactly where he wanted.

The interruption—by your father nonetheless--was irritating to your husband but a saving grace for you.

You'd slapped his hand away, Rio trying to pick up where he left off the moment you returned from giving your parents a fresh set of towels.

"No, I am not having sex with you—" you'd declared. "I'm serious, not with my parents down the hall."

"We have three kids," he'd chuckled. The grin on your husband's lips encouraged you to slide to your side of the bed. "Pretty sure they already know what we get up to—"

"No."

The moment you declared a week of celibacy, your mind could only think of your husband. The last time you lasted a week without sex Rio had taken you on your first date.

Breaking a habit is hard—especially when you've woken the last three years to your husband's lips against your thighs.

Breaking a habit is hard—especially when you're used to a husband who is willing to give you want the moment your eyes linger on his lips. Doesn't matter if your kids are oblivious in the next room over. Or if you've stopped by to drop off his lunch in a warehouse full of employees. Rio has never denied you.

They say you should rid yourself of anything that reminds you of the habit you're trying to break. Getting rid of your husband isn't an option.

A week of celibacy would have been a walk in the park if Rio couldn't read you like the back of his hand.

He knew exactly how to smile, how to dress, what to say, where to let his touch linger to make you cave. So much so Rio finally cracked you over dinner last night.

The teasing circles he massaged against your knee beneath the tablecloth are the most effective weapon in his arsenal. There was no need for his touch to venture higher. You did the job for him. Your hand found his guiding it between thighs. But the moment you bit your lip, his touch was gone.

Rio loves to hear how good he makes you feel. He doesn't care who hears you in the process. No matter how great you think you are at being discreet, Rio is better at making you say "fuck being quiet."

What is dignity? Something your mind seems to forget the moment he's inside of you.

Your husband's need to hear every moan and breathless sigh of his name is what sparked your declaration of celibacy. The idea of your parents hearing you shamelessly beg is not on your list of things to do in this lifetime.

Withdrawals have a nasty habit of making people go back on their declarations.

All it took was one kiss.

The warmth of Rio's palms against your cheeks, his lips sucking against your bottom lip. The access you grant his tongue melting your body against his.

It is a kiss that can awaken your body at any hour of day or night. A kiss that is slow, and relaxed.

A kiss that floods your mind—blocking out any and all surroundings—leaving behind only thoughts of how to keep it from ending.

A kiss that leaves you wondering how you have no recollection of unfastening his jeans or your feet leaving the ground.

It makes you abandon the thought of starting breakfast and scolding Rio for sucking bruises into the warmth of your neck.

It sparks a familiar routine. Rio's hand against your throat, his thumb, forcing your chin up. His mouth the only part of him he'll grant you control over. His other draws circles around your swollen clit. The pace is slow and meticulous, matching his hips as he thrusts into you.

"I know it's been a minute," Rio teases. Tongue dragging over his lip, his darkened eyes trained on the lip you bite. "But, you're usually louder than this...this ain't doin' it for you?"

Your arm tightening around his neck is not a worthy enough response.

The gasp which escapes your lips as he pulls you towards the edge of the marble countertop isn't either. The breathless drawl of his name—as he angles your hips, hooking your left leg over his shoulder—is not a worthy enough response but it's a start.

He knows it's the break in the levee.

All teasing drifts away with each sound that falls from your lips. His pace is fueled by the need to make up for the lost time.

Footsteps overhead—as the house slowly begins to wake to start their day—fall on deaf ears. The only sounds he can focus on are the ones he's responsible for pulling from you.

He swears they're the most beautiful sounds in the world.

He doesn't care your parents might hear them if they pause their conversation and listen long enough. He keeps your body pressed against his long after both your bodies have stopped trembling. His lips leave kisses against yours before drifting to your neck as he stands you on your feet.

“That’s all you get,” he chuckles as your arms tighten around his neck, preventing him from moving away. His head shakes, his playful eyes meeting yours as he fixes your pajamas. “Not trying to have your Pops kill me.”

“You’ve already come this far,” you giggle. Your weight shifts to your toes, the action bringing Rio's lips back to yours.

He grants you one more kiss before reaching around you for the abandoned cup of coffee.

“True...but I gotta be alive to see you when I get back,” he mumbles, his lips brushing against yours. “Besides--now I'm late.”

"No one asked you to stay."

A soft chuckle fills the air, a lazy smile finding your husband's lips as your arms wrap around his waist.

"Yeah--but now you won't walk around the house sulking all damn day," he mumbles, his lips pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"Whatever--"

"I'll call you later." Rio silences the rest of your response. He leaves a soft kiss against your lips, taking a step back as your father shuffles around the corner. "Thanks for the coffee."

Your father, who is half asleep, is none the wiser as Rio takes a sip of coffee. The mention of coffee causes your father's eyes to open, his body perking up as Rio stops to grab his keys.

"There coffee?" He manages thru his yawn.

“Fresh pot,” Rio winks as he takes a step towards the door.

manny montana: @kimljn @kaystacks17 @crybabysdeadbunny @youlovetkay @harryswhore03 @mariaxliliana @partypoison00 @lovesanimals

all stories: @wabi-sabi1090 @jad3djay @crowngold @cant-decide-at-this-moment @wiccanmetallicrose @themarkblues @gemini0410 @binooo98 @the-jer-bear @abbiesthings @trhett21 @trulysuccubus @leahnicole1219 @starrynite7114 @queenbeered @cocotheclown @oscars-wifeyyy @jennisdirtyimagines @ughdontbeboring @myakai13 @linziland13 @sadeyesgf @brattyfics @pearlkitten33 @tian-monique @megapeacelovemusic-blog @rosieposie0624 @appropriate-writers-name @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @beiroviski @chaneajoyyy @frostingguru @seize-the-droid @cutiebubbleboo @siempremamita @awkwardtayler @relaxing-najee @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @toni9 @cynderbelle @peoniarose @sincerelykas

#but let me know what you think?#writing for this man is a problem so I try to limit myself #rio x black!reader #manny montana imagine #rio good girls #rio x you #rio x reader #Spotify

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flowesona · 2 years

Text

Bleak Midwinter - yandere!jungkook x reader

Sorry if this isn’t great, I just found it in my google docs and decided to hit post :)

Word count: 2.7k

Pairing: yandere! Jungkook x gn! Reader

(Y/N) had a happy tune playing on their record player and a bounce to their step as their hands danced around the chopping board, preparing their array of vegetables. Listening to the comforting drawl of the jazz artist brought a smile to their face, as they continued with the menial task.

However, this serenity was interrupted by a sudden knocking at the door. Unusual, considering they lived about ten miles out from the nearest city.

They opened up to see a young man, his lips blue with the cold and his hair damp with snow and their heart preceded any caution as they wordlessly let him into their cabin.

“Are you okay?” They asked, resting a hand on his damp sleeve and guiding him to their sofa.

“My car ran out of fuel and I don’t have any signal. Do you have a phone I can borrow?” The young man stuttered out, body still wracked with shivers.

“Of course. Just stay here, I’ll get you something warm to drink.”

They wrapped a blanket around him, and went into the kitchen to boil up some milk for cocoa.

(Y/N) switched the radio off, their visitor’s alarming arrival having ruined the previous cheer of the evening. It was unfortunate, but also they were semi-thankful to have some company on what was going to be a solitary evening.

They brought their attention back to the cocoa they were making, and took the mug back into the living room for their guest.

He wasn’t on the sofa however. He’d shrugged off his shirt, as it sat on the sofa making a small damp patch. He instead stood looking at the pictures on the wall, wrapped solely in the blanket.

“Hey, I made you some cocoa.” (Y/N) called to him, snapping him out of his stupor.

“Oh, thank you.” He smiled. “Sorry, my shirt was way too wet and it was making me cold. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s okay.” They smiled in response. “Drink your cocoa and then you can use my landline.”

He looked slightly cautious as he picked up the mug and blew on it to cool it down. They noticed his apprehension.

“I haven’t put anything funny in it, if that’s what you’re scared about. Not everyone living in cabins away from society is a serial killer.”

He let out a slight laugh of relief and mirth, bringing it to his lips and sighing in relief as the liquid warmed his hands and stomach.

“I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“I’m Jungkook. Thank you for your help.”

There was silence as Jungkook gingerly sipped his cocoa and (Y/N) tried to find something to say.

“I’ll go get my phone.” They finally said, standing up to find the device charging in their office and bringing it back to him. With a nod of thanks, he started to dial the number and held it up to his ear, but after a few seconds he frowned.

“No signal.”

He tried again, many different numbers but all with no answer, as (Y/N) stood at the sidelines biting the inside of their cheek.

“It’s no good. I think the weather has wrecked the signal. Do you have WiFi?” Jungkook sighed.

“I’m in the process of switching companies, so unfortunately I’ve been going without.” (Y/N) replied, shifting slightly. “I’m really sorry, I wish I could be more helpful.”

He stood up, ready to grab his things and see if he could make his own way home only to catch sight of the snow flurry outside.

“There’s no way you could survive that.” (Y/N) joined his side, frowning. “It’s probably best that you bunker down here for the night.”

He thanked her and, following a bowl of warm stew for supper, fell asleep on the couch. (Y/N) draped a blanket over him before leaving for their own room.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

The snow did not let up. The next morning, it was practically still dark outside and the dangerous weather brought a heavy feeling upon Jungkook.

“Looks like a white christmas.” (Y/N) commented, offering him a lopsided grin.

“I hope you don’t mind if I stay here a bit longer…” Jungkook stuttered out. (Y/N) placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Of course not. I couldn’t throw you out on a day like this.” They turned on their heel. “Will you help me make lunch?”

With some festive tunes and a roaring fire, it was quite pleasant standing beside (Y/N) and helping them prepare the roast dinner. Jungkook struggled to keep his hands steady, not quite used to preparing meat when most of his meals were microwaved, but (Y/N) was there with their warm, soft hands to guide him.

And when they finally sat down to eat, his eyebrows shot up in surprise at the magnificent taste.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had a proper meal. Like this.” He confessed quietly, eyes focused on the plate rather than (Y/N)’s bemused gaze.

“Really? It’s worth the time.” They replied. “Try it, and who knows? You could be the next Gordon Ramsey.”

They shared a chuckle as they ate, but something else was eating at Jungkook. There was something here he’d never experienced before, a warmth that was previously foreign.

It was when (Y/N) brushed past him to get an extra bottle of wine from the cupboard and he felt a spark just from their touch that Jungkook diagnosed himself.

‘I’m in love.’

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

The days shared together whilst the storm raged on were sweet. Reading books (Y/N) had collected over the years, doing puzzles and discussing their lives. Jungkook couldn’t think of a better use of the time in his life than spending every second with (Y/N). It haunted him every night as he lay on the couch, dreaming of their future together despite the stinging finity of it.

One night, as they sat together doing crosswords, there was a flick of the lights. They would be happy to just dismiss it, if not for the subsequent blackout.

“Shit.” (Y/N) muttered. “Where are the candles?”

Jungkook simply turned on his phone and used the light to shine around the room, granting (Y/N) a path to their new source of light.

“Thank you.” They called out as they lit a match and illuminated the room once again with a limited glow, letting Jungkook tuck his phone back into his pocket as they went to investigate their generator, only to groan aloud when they realised it was going to take ages to boot up again.

After a half hearted argument from Jungkook he’d earned a place in their bed, instead of his usual couch, to keep warm.

As they settled down to sleep, (Y/N) quite clearly put a fair bit of distance between them. Cute. But nevertheless (Y/N) slept facing inwards, meaning Jungkook could fall asleep seeing their beautiful face. And did he enjoy that. the fluttering of their eyelids, creasing of their brows, the sleepy murmurs. It was a surprise that he got any sleep at all, when every instinct wanted to savour the moment forever.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Sunlight provided a natural alarm, calling for the two to wake up but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to depart from the comfort of (Y/N)’s embrace. Subconsciously, or maybe even consciously, they’d wrapped their arms around him to keep warm. He revelled in hearing their heartbeat, their soft sleepy breaths.

When Jungkook finally drew away from the ethereal being beside him, his heart dropped when he looked out the window. The sun was shining brightly, the storm having evidently ended at some point in the night leaving behind heaps of snow but a clear sky. This was it. The day he’d been dreading.

How would (Y/N) feel to see him go? Would they be as torn as him, knowing that his life belongs in the city but his heart belongs with them?

Jungkook finally decided that he would go about life as “usual”. Maybe (Y/N) won’t bring it up, and they won’t ruin the domestic fantasy that had been so perfectly brewing. In fact, just to sweeten things he decided to make them breakfast in bed. As much as it chilled him to do so, he unwrapped (Y/N)’s arm from around him and stood up with a stretch.

They were running low on fresh food, with 4 days of being locked away from society. But luckily there was still eggs, and bread. Jungkook set to work, enjoying the little luxury he never enjoyed in the city to cook breakfast. Normally in the morning he could only have a coffee or protein shake before leaving the house, but in this perfect little world with (Y/N) such time restraints didn’t exist.

Just as he was plating up the food, he heard the sound of a car engine outside. Oh god, who was it? Had someone somehow gotten his SOS? How would he tell them to fuck off and leave him in peace.

Rather, he heard the person emerge from the car, stomp up the driveway and insert some keys into the door. The entrance swung open, and he was frozen to the spot as he saw another man enter and stomp his feet on the doormat to remove the snow.

This stranger looked up to lock eyes with Jungkook.

“Who are you?”

“Who are you?” Jungkook echoed back.

“The boyfriend of (Y/N), who owns this cabin.”

“My car broke down in the storm a few days ago, so (Y/N) offered me shelter until I could call someone for help.” Jungkook felt his grip around the knife tighten, his knuckles becoming pale with the pressure he was exerting.

“I see. Let me go and see my partner and then we’ll see if I can do something to help.” The stranger’s smile would be heartwarming, but Jungkook felt like his blood had been replaced with lava.

The vermin pushed his way past Jungkook into the bedroom, and Jungkook felt his stomach turn as he heard the sleepy mumbles from (Y/N) and then some not so quiet kissing sounds.

The eggs were starting to grow cold on the plates as Jungkook processed the situation. (Y/N) had never mentioned a boyfriend. All this time they’d ripened him up, made him fall for them only to tear his heart to shreds?

No, no. (Y/N) was far too kind to do such a thing. Clearly there were other forces at play making him hurt. Whatever the reason, this ‘boyfriend’ was bad news.

He looked down to see the knife still gripped tightly in his hand. At least he had one option.

He picked up the plates and poured a cup of fresh coffee before making his way into the bedroom. (Y/N) was sitting up in bed, but the new guy was at their side like a leech.

“I made breakfast.” Jungkook spoke up, placing the plate in front of them gingerly and holding out the mug for them to take.

“Thank you.” They blew on the coffee to cool it down before taking a sip. “Yoongi has agreed to take a lot at your car and see what he can do. If he can’t fix it, he’ll give you a lift back into the city and we can work from there.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“I’ll go get my toolkit. Do you think you’d be able find your way back to the car?” Finally (Y/N)’s boyfriend detached himself from their side and stood up, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.

“Yeah, probably.” He stuttered.

As Yoongi went to find his tools, (Y/N) finally returned their attention back to Jungkook.

“I’m really going to miss your company. Maybe your car breaking down was a blessing in disguise?” They smiled, and Jungkook felt his cheeks grow red.

“Thank you.”

“And you’ve got my number, right? Anytime you feel like it, feel free to drop me a text message and you’d be welcome to stay for a night if you need some escape from the city.” Jungkook nodded dumbly, not able to form the words to say that he never wanted to return home, he wanted to stay with them forever and he’d give up anything for them.

“Alright buddy, you ready?” Yoongi had returned. Jungkook narrowed his eyes at the patronising language but nodded.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

The snow crunching with every step was the only sound as they traipsed through the woods to find Jungkook’s car. He wasn’t ready to give up his happiness, but how could he assert himself to (Y/N)’s boyfriend?

“I bet you’ll be glad to get home.” Yoongi spoke up. “I can’t imagine what it’s like living out here full time like (Y/N) does.”

Jungkook just gave a grunt of non-discretion.

“Is that your car?” He pointed to a large object in the distant road, covered in snow but vaguely car-shaped.

“I guess.” Jungkook replied simply.

Once they were at the car, Yoongi started wiping the snow from the bonnet and opening it up to look at the engine.

Jungkook just watched as Yoongi peeked around.

“Just looks like a fuse has gone. I have some backups in my kit.” (Y/N)’s boyfriend dug around in the toolbox until he found a small plastic container, before setting to work.

Jungkook felt a horrible feeling in his stomach. As soon as this was done, he’d be sent on his way. This vermin would be the one to hold (Y/N) close, to enjoy their meals and company, to admire their smile. Jungkook could not stand that thought.

He bent done, to observe what Yoongi was doing. But simultaneously, his fingers snagged a wrench from the toolkit.

“That should be all-” Yoongi was cut out by a harsh shove, pushing him over onto the ground. He caught himself with his hands, and turned to sit up and ask what had happened. He was met with the sight of Jungkoom standing above him, wielding the wrench before bringing it down onto his head.

The man let out a cry of pain as it collided, but Jungkook was not deterred. He brought it down, again and again until blood spattered everywhere and Yoongi’s face was an unrecognisable mess. He finally stopped, and dropped the wrench with shock of what he’d done. Seeing the gruesome sight was enough to make him puke, and when he was done doing so he still couldn’t help the streams of tears running down his face, mixing with the blood. What had driven him to such a drastic measure? How fucked up had he become, so isolated from society that he was capable of bashing someone’s brains in?

He managed to get to his feet, and his instincts were screaming at him to run. Back to the comfort of (Y/N)’s arms, if they would even accept someone as messed up as him.

As he trudged back through the woods, thoughts of what he could say rushed through his head. Would he tell them upfront that he killed their boyfriend? Would he blame some traffic, an attack from a wild animal, maybe even another person?

He hadn’t decided on a plan when he returned to the cabin, and rather than formulate one Jungkook just banged on the door in desperation. He needed to be with them, he needed (Y/N) to comfort him and tell him everything was going to be okay.

(Y/N) answered the door still dressed in their nightclothes, and when they saw Jungkook’s blood and puke splattered clothes they instantly ushered him in again.

“What happened, are you okay?”

Jungkook opened his mouth but no words could come out, just heavy breathes.

“Were you attacked? Where’s Yoongi?” (Y/N) continued, but Jungkook could only sob at their boyfriend’s name, leading (Y/N) to make some deductions.

“Oh Jungkook. Come on, we need to get you changed.” (Y/N) sighed, trying not to let their bad feeling regarding their boyfriend’s fate overcome them.

He let them take his hand, enjoying their skinship being reunited. Even if they were only together once more under tragic circumstances, Jungkook couldn’t help but to be thankful.

#yandere bts #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #yandere bts au #yandere kpop #kpop yandere #Yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jeongguk #yandere jeongguk x reader #yandere oneshot

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