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moonythejedi394 · 2 days ago

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snippet from act two of these days cw dangerous boom-boom-bang device

Steve sleeps fitfully until the acrid smell of fear reaches through the walls and stirs him. Steve lifts his head, blinking. Then he scrambles to put his hearing aids in, shoves on his glasses as he leaps out of bed, throws open his door, and runs into Bucky’s room.

Bucky is twisting violently in the sheets, half the pillows knocked off the bed and the duvet on the floor. “Take the shot,” he’s muttering, “take the shot – take the shot –”

Steve jumps onto the bed and tries to grab Bucky’s hand and shoulder, trying to soothe and still him, but Bucky lashes out and throws him off. Steve hits the edge of the bed, his hands fail to catch himself on the mattress and he loses his balance. He falls onto the ground hard, causing a loud thud and making the room rattle.

Steve winces.

Bucky sits bolt upright, gasping as he wakes, and Steve doesn’t know where the fuck it came from, but he’s got a gun in his trembling hand, aiming at the door. Steve scrambles to his feet.

“Bucky!” he says. “Put it down, you’re safe! There’s no one here but you and me!”

(“And me,” Sarah’s ghost grumbles. “I’ve been there for him longer than you have, Steven Grant.”)

Bucky glances around, sees him, then his arm drops. He swallows visibly and looks at the gun like he didn’t even know he was holding it. Steve gingerly takes it from him, then, his throat tight, he pops the clip. His hands start to shake as he sees that it’s full. Steve shakes his head, but he can’t worry about that yet, he puts both on the nightstand. Steve climbs back onto the bed, grabbing Bucky’s face and making his eyes turn on him. He doesn’t seem to even see Steve, his eyes are wild with ghosts that Steve can’t even begin to comprehend.

“Look at me,” Steve says. “Bucky, look at me.”

The blue-white light from the window casts a sick wash over Bucky’s face, making him look hollow, ill, undead. The bags under his eyes are emphasized and the sweat covering his body shines like powdered glass. He pants for breath. His eyes flick to Steve’s and then he swallows heavily, blinking rapidly.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “You’re okay, Alpha. You’re home.”

He’ll think about calling Bucky Alpha like that later. He’ll freak out about the gun later, too. Bucky just pants for breath. Steve shifts onto his knees and pulls him into a tight hug, pressing his face into his neck, against his scent gland; Steve concentrates on keeping his mind and body calm, so his scent produces a sweet and happy sugar smell that will reach Bucky’s frantic mind and sedate him. And he does his best to purr even with how worried he is. He’s been trained to do this. It’s no different than what he does at the VA.

Bucky pants against Steve’s neck, then his arm surges around Steve’s waist and his fingers dig into Steve’s ribs. Steve clings back, despite his training telling him to be more gentle. He knows his scent will have relief in it, too.

(It’s different.)

“It’s February 21st, 2019,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s sweat soaked hair, escaping from his bun which is lopsided and limp now. “You’re in your own home in Manhattan. War’s over, Alpha. You’re home.”

Bucky’s harsh breathing slows. Steve pulls Bucky’s hair tie out and starts finger-combing his damp hair.

“It’s okay, Alpha,” he says.

Bucky chokes on an inhale. Steve holds onto him tighter just as Bucky’s arm cinches down on his waist and pulls him fully onto his lap. Bucky’s breathing picks up that choking quality again and Steve realizes with a jolt that Bucky is sobbing.

“You’re safe,” Steve tells him again softly.

“He wuh–was s–so small,” Bucky gasps between sobs.

“Who?” Steve asks gently.

Bucky just shakes his head and Steve can feel him tensing his jaw. He kisses Bucky’s hair once, twice, then nuzzles against the top of his head and rubs a hand up and down Bucky’s back, bare from sleeping, while his other hand holds the back of Bucky’s skull to press his face into his neck. Bucky shudders in Steve’s arms.

“You’re home, Alpha,” Steve murmurs. “Everyone’s home, everyone’s safe. Benny’s at home with your ma and pop, she’s fast asleep and dreaming about the soccer game she had this morning. Becca’s at NYU in her dorm with our friend Natasha, fast asleep, too. Betty’s at home with your parents, Georgie and Vinny are with her, your parents are home.”

Steve strokes down Bucky’s back, pressing his cheek against Bucky’s sweat-tinged hair. “They’re all safe and they’re all okay,” he says.

Bucky’s breath stutters as he inhales. He rubs his face into Steve’s neck, getting tears and snot over his skin but Steve doesn’t give a shit. He combs through Bucky’s hair with one hand and rubs his back with the other as Bucky’s sobs become gasping breaths.

“I’m here,” he says gently. “I’ve got you, Alpha. It’s okay.”

Slowly, Bucky’s breathing becomes even again. Steve’s cheek stays smashed against his head and he keeps rubbing Bucky’s back until he stops sobbing. Bucky’s arm starts to go slack around him, but Steve holds on.

Eventually, Bucky lifts his head. Steve holds onto his hair as Bucky sits back and sniffs hard.

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize,” Steve answers. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Bucky drops his arm from Steve’s waist, exhaling heavily, and Steve reaches up to brush Bucky’s hair from his face.

“When did you start getting nightmares again?” he asks gently.

Bucky abruptly laughs. It sounds foreign and unsettling in the tense darkness that reeks like fear.

“Start again implies that they stopped at one point,” he murmurs.

Steve’s mouth slips open. Bucky shakes his head. He reaches up and catches Steve’s wrist, pulling his hand from his hair, and Steve doesn’t fight him.

“You should go back to bed,” Bucky says. He swallows and takes another shaking breath, then pushes Steve back a little. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Bucky,” Steve whispers carefully. He pulls his wrist from Bucky’s grip and cups his face with both hands. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be right now.”

Bucky shakes his head; he won’t look at him. Steve grabs his chin and makes Bucky look at him.

“You’re safe,” he says softly.

“You should –” Bucky starts, stops and shakes as he exhales. “You shouldn’t hafta deal with this.”

“I’m not dealing with anything,” Steve says quickly. “You never got nightmares when I was sleeping next to you,” he murmurs. “Is – Were you having nightmares every night you slept alone?”

Bucky’s lips part. Steve brushes his hair back again.

“Tell me,” he asks. “Please, Buck, please tell me?”

Bucky’s gaze drops. His mouth moves without sound, moves without words intelligible on them, and he’s still shaking.

“Not –” he says, his voice hushed. Ashamed. “Not every night.”

Steve makes a soft oh sound and pulls him in to rest their foreheads together. Bucky’s hand lifts, trembling, then he touches Steve’s face and his thumb sweeps across his cheek.

“Most nights?” Steve asks quietly.

Bucky nods.

Steve wipes at the cold sweat on Bucky’s brow. “Let me change your sheets,” he whispers. “You go take a quick shower.”

Bucky exhales sharply. He starts to shake his head and Steve catches his cheeks so he can’t.

“C’mon,” he says. “You don’t have to sleep in this smell. Let me take care of it, you take care of you.”

Bucky shuts his mouth, clenches his jaw, he swallows and finally nods. Steve wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him, wants to join Bucky in the shower and tenderly wash his hair the way Bucky had done for Steve so many times, he wants to help and to touch with more significance than kindness.

But he can’t. He can’t do that to himself again. It doesn’t matter that his bondsickness would definitely be abated if he did those things, Bucky doesn’t feel the same way, and if Steve goes down that slippery slope, it’ll just get worse again.

Steve gets up and helps Bucky shuffle off the bed. Bucky hangs lopsided and slanted to the right for a second, his head turns and his stump jerks, then he grabs it with his hand and straightens himself. Shoulders hunched, he leaves the room. Steve starts stripping the bed. There’s a chill in the room Steve’s never really felt before and it unnerves him.

(“Rude,” the ghost of Sarah huffs. “It’s not my fault ghosts are cold.”)

He takes the sweat-soaked sheets all the way out of the room. He opens the window to get the smell of Bucky’s nightmare out. Steve gets clean sheets out of the closet, makes the bed again with a new quilt, puts fresh cases on the pillows after shaking them out. For good measure, he brings in the nesting blankets he’d had on the other bed. They’ll smell more like Bucky from being used in his bed, and he hopes Bucky doesn’t notice that convenient fact for Steve. He turns down the blankets on both sides.

Bucky walks back in, his hair dripping and a towel clutched around his hips. He clenches his jaw as he sees Steve still there, but goes to his dresser and pulls out clean boxers.

Steve stands by the bed, hugging himself, as Bucky tosses away his towel with his back to him and puts on fresh underwear. He should look away, but he doesn’t. Bucky’s physique doesn’t look exquisite in the sickly light from the window. It looks cruel and unrepentant.

“Bucky?” Steve says. “Why – Why do you have a gun?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, then looks away. “I didn’t get it ‘cause you blocked my number, I already had it.”

“It’s loaded,” Steve adds. “You – you keep a loaded gun by your bed? Why?”

“Neighborhood’s rough,” Bucky answers, turning around.

(“He’s lying,” Sarah’s ghost says softly as she tries to stroke Steve’s brittle hair.)

“You’re lying,” Steve says quietly.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #captain america #marvel #winter soldier #mcu #pre serum steve #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #snippet

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katherine-mcnamara · 1 year ago

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#katherinemcnamaraedit #kmcnamaraedit #katmcnamaraedit #hallmarkedit #loveclassifiededit #katherine mcnamara #kat mcnamara #hallmark #love classified #mine: gifs #the wink had me wheezing #clipping this and sugar back to back is WILD #loml #comfort fc to gif

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caffeinewitchcraft · 2 months ago

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Ghost Eater

Summary: You don't like exorcists. They don't much like you either.

-----

You’d always thought big restaurants like the Brownie Industry only did well in small, midwestern towns like the one you came from. A year working in LA has taught you that, no matter where you go, people will always love garlic bread and sugar.

It’s your day off which means you’re pulling a double shift. You haven’t had time to wash your hair for the past two weeks so it’s frizzing out of your claw clip and flying wild around your face. The lighting is so dim that you’ve tripped over two black purses already, luckily not while you’re running food. The big dining room sounds like an apiary with the tittering laughter of the later adult crowd that’s filtered in from the theater across the four lane road. The main difference between the Brownie Industry here and the one back home is size. The ceiling soars overhead, supported by a series of concrete pillars separating the dining area into three sections.

Normally it would be three servers per section. Today, it’s just you in yours.

One more hour. That’s what the manager promised you. It might even be true if the host stand quits seating you after the table you’re approaching.

There are three people at the table. A woman whose hair might be light blonde or gray in the light of day, her eyes light and piercing. Her face is soft from age, emphasized by the tight, lace collar of her off-season sweater. She reminds you strongly of your mom’s nemesis on the HOA board. The man couldn’t be more out of place next to her despite their equivalent age. He’s wearing a leather jacket – again, it’s not cold here – and a Norwegian metal shirt underneath. His hair is definitely white, so white it almost glows. He’s frowning at the teenager across the table as if she’s touched his motorcycle without permission.

The teenager might be the first you’ve seen all night who doesn’t have their phone out. She’s decked out in what you consider grandma florals – a t-shirt scattered with daisy chains, a bucket hat made out of nana’s carpet bag, and a hand-crocheted scarf in pastel. You can’t really see her face under the shadow of her hat and there’s an odd, blurred quality to the way she fiddles with her napkin. You let your eyes skip past her and back to the two adults. Teenagers don’t pay the bill.

“Welcome to Brownie Industry!” you chirp. You’re sweaty and red but the faded yellow light hides that. You’re a service industry pro so none of your exhaustion shows on your face when you ask, “Is this your first-time dining with us?”

If you weren’t so burned out, you’d have noticed before you introduced yourself.

“Are you Grady?” the woman asks. Her voice is more posh than you expected even with her lace collar. “Grady Pace?”

Fuck. There’s a noticeable temperature differential now that you’re close to them. The restaurant is warm from the number of bodies, maybe even warmer than the summer air outside, but stepping up next to their table feels like walking into an ice rink.

“I’m your waitress,” you say. You don’t have time for this conversation. You’ve got five minutes in your cycle to take their order and then you’ve got food to run. “If you need any other services from me, I have a website.”

“We messaged you,” the man says. His lips thin to the point his thick mustache covers them entirely. “You never responded.”

Because you’ve been making more money at the Brownie Industry than your other job. “I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Wait,” the teenager says, sitting upright. She looks from you to the adults and back again. When she smiles, there’s no humor in it. “This is why we drove eight hours to have dinner at the Brownie Industry? For her?”

“Katie, be polite—”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says, “It’s just—I found a priest, you know? An actual exorcist priest and you guys want to trust a waitress over him?”

“Ugh exorcists,” you say. The memory of sour cabbage is so heavy on your tongue that you stick your tongue out in disgust. When you see Katie’s look, you backtrack. “Effective! Definitely effective.”

“Your mistakes have cost us too much already,” the man says, shaking a finger at her. “We are not converting just for an exorcism.”

“I normally don’t agree with your father,” the woman tells Katie, “but in this case I would like to leave conversion as a last resort.”

“We wouldn’t actually convert,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty sure exorcists can tell when you lie,” you tell Katie. When her scowl deepens, you clear your throat. “Did you all need another minute to think about the menu?”

“We need you to help us,” the dad says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re at work and I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”

“We’re desperate,” the mom says. She reaches for her purse. “We’ll pay you. Triple the rate on your website or even quadruple. We need that thing gone by tonight.”

Katie covers her face. “Mom. You’re embarrassing me. Terry isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, he’s bad, young lady,” the dad says sternly. “A bad influence.”

“We caught her trying to perform another séance yesterday,” the mom confesses to you. She leans forward with a pinched expression. “So Terry’s friend Larry could visit too.”

“Interesting,” you say. The food bell rings, but you think you can ignore it for another minute. You study Katie’s blush. “Why did you do that?”

If she was being compelled, she won’t have an answer to your question. You’ve dealt with a lot of ghosts in your time, but so few are sentient enough – or powerful enough – for compulsion.

“Go on,” the dad says, gesturing at you. “Tell her.”

“Leroy, she’s embarrassed enough,” the mom says.

“No, she’s not, Sarah.” The dad – Leroy – gestures to you again. “Tell her.”

Katie huffs, clearly resistant. But when her dad huffs back, she caves. “So,” she says, “I have this YouTube channel—”

“I’m off in an hour,” you interrupt. You don’t care that you’re being rude. Your patience ran out as soon as she said YouTube. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” You turn to go.

“A moment!” Sarah shakes out her menu. “How’s the nicoise salad?”

Of course they’re going to order. They’d better tip too if they want you to help them with their ghost problem.

----.

“You said an hour,” mom Sarah says when you leave out the employee entrance. She’s shivering next to her daughter. Leroy is off smoking behind his motorcycle, parked next to the Tesla Katie is leaning on, but he stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt when you walk up. “It’s been two.”

“I had side work,” you say instead of it would have been one if not for you. You rub your bare arms when the familiar ghost chill washes over you. You want nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of garlic and brownie batter out of your hair. “Was there something wrong with my service?”

“No?”

You try to make your voice light. “I see.”

Sarah frowns at your tone anyway. “Why?”

“You tipped five dollars.”

Katie jolts like a scalded cat. “Mom!”

Leroy scrubs a hand over his face. “Sarah…”

“What?” Sarah throws up her hands. The parking lot lights catch on her Swarovski charm bracelet. “I tipped!”

“Like ten percent,” Katie says. She pulls her bucket hat over her eyes for a beat and then peeks at you from under it. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you, she’s always like this.”

“It was actually a six percent tip,” you say. You’re getting a clearer picture of this little family now. It’s becoming more and more understandable why Katie might have started summoning ghosts. “If you want to be precise.”

Leroy reaches for his back pocket. “Let me.”

Sarah swats at his hand. “We’re about to pay her a lot more than that!”

“For a completely separate job,” Leroy says. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and hands it to you with a grimace. “Sorry, Grady, I should’ve checked.”

“You should’ve paid if you cared so much,” Sarah retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. She taps her cheek and widens her eyes. “Oh wait… you never pay.”

“Sure,” Leroy says. This time it’s his turn to throw his hands in the air. “Sure, Sarah. I don’t pay for anything to do with our daughter’s private school or her dance classes or her health insurance—”

“If the court hadn’t mandated—”

“You make twice as much as me—"

“Guys!” Katie says loudly. Her mouth is a thin line of upset when she says, “Argue about what an expensive burden I am later when we don’t have an audience, okay?”

Her parents speak at the same time.

“You’re twisting my words,” Sarah says. “I never said—"

“Sweetie, you’re not a burden—”

“Can you just get this ghost out of me?” Katie asks you. She goes for nonchalance and falls short. “My parents haven’t been in the same room for the last five years for a reason.” She fakes whispering. “They don’t play nicely with others.”

Sarah bristles. “Katie.”

“God, I know how that is,” you say. The whole interaction is giving you the worst case of sympathy for Katie. Before her parents can say anything else, you change the subject. “How long have you been haunted?”

“Six months,” Katie says. She fiddles with her bucket hat so that you can see her eyes for the first time. They’re brown, like her dad’s, and have heavy bruises underneath. She shrugs. “They only noticed a month ago though.”

“I noticed your behavior had changed,” Sarah defends. Like her daughter, she fidgets. She plays with her bracelet and clears her throat. “I thought it was a teenage thing.”

“What signs did you notice first?” you ask the parents. They glance at each other and then away.

“Let’s just say we noticed different things,” Leroy says dryly. He pulls out his phone.

“Moodiness,” Sarah says. She ticks them off on her fingers. “Laziness. Disrespect. Over-sleeping.”

“Those are just teenager things,” Katie says with an astounding level of self awareness. She shrugs. “I’m a senior now. They’re lucky it didn’t start sooner.”

“I,” Leroy says, “noticed this.” He turns his phone towards you.

“Ah,” Sarah says, “Yes. That.”

You examine the picture. It’s of Katie on a small dirt bike. She’s wearing a helmet in the picture, but you recognize the fashion sense in the floral boots she’s wearing. The scene behind her is of the hills, low scrub brush recognizable to someone who’s lived in LA for the past five years. On the bike behind her is a smudge. It could be a cloud of dirt blown into frame or maybe a camera glitch. It could be if it weren’t for the leering face emerging from the cloud right behind her head.

“I just want to say I did not agree to getting her a motorcycle,” Sarah says.

“Mom, not the point,” Katie says.

“Look how close that creep is to my daughter,” Leroy says. He jabs a finger at Katie’s waist in the photo where you can see a ghostly hand. “I want him gone.”

“Dad, he didn’t mean anything by it!” Katie turns to you earnestly. “Terry never rode a bike before and I thought, like, what if he moved on after he got a chance to? It was a philanthropic effort!”

“Plant a tree if you want to be a philanthropist,” Leroy growls. “I want this guy away from my daughter.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm really,” Katie says. “He would move on if he could! He says he’s stuck to me because of how I summoned him. He’s like, really sorry. He even spelled out Sorry in the bathroom mirror once.”

“What,” Sarah says in a dangerous voice, “was Terry doing in the bathroom with you, Katie?”

Katie splutters. “Mom, don’t be gross!”

The family descends into bickering. You have heard about ghosts being stuck to a person before, but usually that’s when the person has some sort of psychic powers. Katie’s wearing crystal in her ears, but they aren’t charged. She might develop some talent later in life, but right now she’s a normal girl.

The parking lost is nearly empty now. You recognize a few employee cars, but very few customers. The kitchen will be cleaning for another half hour before they’re ready to go home. The reality is that, if Terry is stuck, you might not be the best way to handle the situation. If he’s not…

Well.

It’s time to talk to Terry.

Opening your ghost sense is hard to describe. Some psychics liken it to a third eye, right in the middle of their forehead. You’ve always thought that sounded really cool like maybe the world gets cast in a blue hue when they do it and the dead appear like they do in movies. You’ve met other psychics who say it’s like a sixth sense. They know where the ghost is and it’s like they download all that information until their minds can just sort of conjure their image.

For you, it’s like letting your body remember it has a second mouth. Cats have an extra sensory organ on the roof of their mouth that lets them detect scents better. Your second mouth is a bit like that. You can still smell brownies and garlic and the city air of LA, but you can also smell/taste something else.

Something like…pepper?

Your eyes water and you sneeze so viciously that your eyes close. When you open them again, four people are staring at you in surprise.

“Gesundheit,” Leroy says.

“You sneeze like Dad does,” Katie says.

“Did no one ever teach you to cover your mouth?” Sarah asks in disgust.

“I wish you would’ve sneezed on her,” Terry says, nodding to Sarah. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” you say. You wipe your nose with the collar of your shirt as you consider Terry. It’s dirty anyway. “Terry. Interesting name for a ghost.”

Terry hasn’t noticed that you can see him yet. He’s floating behind Katie, one arm casually flung over her shoulder. It’s hard to place when he died based on his appearance alone. His hair is chin length, emphasizing the width of his jaw. Squire cuts have been popular for several decades and the bowling shirt he’s wearing could either be a modern fashion statement or a dated uniform. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, sun-kissed and with the air of someone who tells a lot of jokes at the expense of others. His arm around Katie strikes you as possessive, the glare he gives her parents venomous.

“I didn’t name him,” Katie says. “He said it’s short of Torrance.”

You blink. “Wouldn’t he be Torri then?”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Katie and Terry say at the same time. Their cadence is so close that it actually sounds like Terry’s baritone comes out of Katie’s mouth. For a moment, his arm flickers, clipping into her shoulder like a bad animation. When it does, Terry’s form grows brighter, more solid. Then Katie shivers and he’s forced out of her.

You and Terry click your tongues at the same time.

You remember how Katie’s hands seemed to blur at the dinner table. Terry’s not just haunting Katie. He’s trying to possess her. You wonder if that’s why Katie looked up an exorcist rather than a simple spiritual cleansing. Did she know how much danger she was in?

“Okay,” you say. You tear your attention away from Katie and Terry for a moment. Business first. “Sarah. Leroy. Who was it that found my site?”

“I did,” Sarah says. She raises her chin when you can’t hide your surprise. “When Katie was looking up exorcists—”

“She didn’t mean it,” Terry says. He pats Katie’s hat. “Right?”

“—I looked up alternative solutions,” Sarah says, not having heard Terry. Her confidence falters for a moment and she rubs her arm. “I have had some… negative experiences with exorcisms. I don’t want my daughter to go through that.”

Katie’s head whips towards her mother. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Leroy says. For the first time, he reaches out and hugs Sarah with one arm. You don’t know what surprises you more; Leroy hugging Sarah or Sarah leaning into his side. “When Sarah told me, we decided to put our differences aside. I vetted you through some of my contacts and they all agreed you’d be a safe bet.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not bragging either. You’re probably the safest bet in half the western states besides your older sister. “There are some…peculiarities in my method.”

“Charlatan,” Terry whispers in Katie’s ear. He’s grinning now. “Only charlatans are that confident. Look! She can’t even see me!”

Katie looks doubtful.

Usually, you’d try to talk to Terry at this point. Sometimes spirits can be negotiated with. They can be encouraged to move on or to take on a less aggressive form of haunting. Those that are truly stuck can be helped with the right sort of ritual work. But the way Terry’s affecting Katie’s mood and that fucking arm around her shoulders…

You don’t really want to talk to Terry.

“We can ask Terry to move on,” you tell the family.

“Nooooooo,” Terry says and flips you off. “Pass!”

“Sometimes spirits don’t realize how deeply they’re affecting their hosts,” you say.

“You don’t even know how deep I’m about to be,” Terry jeers at you.

“Many ghosts are confused when they’re called to interact with the living,” you say. “It can blur their understanding of death and, as a result, they cling to life. If they stick around long enough, their presence will affect the living like what’s happening to Katie. It’s not always malicious. It can be a symptom of that confusion.”

“Katie, tell her to piss off,” Terry hisses in the teen’s ear. “I’m not confused, I’m bored.” His voice deepens. “Tell her we don’t need her help. Tell her we’re going home.”

Katie opens her mouth robotically. “That’s…” Her brow creases as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. “It seems like we don’t need help then. Terry will move on when he’s ready, like I thought.”

“We aren’t paying you for a ghost therapy session,” Sarah snaps. It’s only because you’re really focusing that you can see the unease under her anger. She’s noticed something wrong with Katie. “Katie, Terry is going away today.”

“Fuck you,” Terry says.

“Fuck you,” Katie says.

Leroy’s head rears back. “Katie, you don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Fuck you too,” Katie and Terry say. The parking lot lights flicker.

“No, fuck you, Terry,” you say, stepping between Katie and her parents. Leroy starts like he’s going to pull you out of the way, but he doesn’t.

“Terry?” Leroy asks. He looks scared. “Terry said that? Is Terry possessing my daughter?”

“Not yet.” You eye Terry’s arm and the way his fingers are sinking into Katie’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” Terry says. He doesn’t look scared. Not yet. Instead, he grins. “You can see me.”

“Not every ghost is malicious,” you tell the parents without taking your eyes off Terry. “But some are.”

“I’m not malicious.” Terry runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. The parking lot lights flicker overhead again. “I care about Katie a lot.”

“Terry’s never hurt me,” Katie says.

You ignore her. She’s not even shaking Terry off now. Her gaze is dull on your face when you say, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m some sort of ghost therapist. However, it’s important to differentiate between malicious and non-malicious hauntings in my practice. My methods are unconventional and, if used indiscriminately, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leroy says. He steps into your periphery. His gaze flicks from you to the spot you’re staring at over Katie’s shoulder. “We want Terry gone.”

“Not a soul,” Sarah promises. She comes up on your other side. “Please help our daughter.”

“Terry,” you say. Your second mouth is yawning wide somewhere in the back of your brain. The taste of pepper isn’t as overwhelming now. “Last chance. Renounce your claim on Katie’s soul and slither back into whatever hole you came out of.”

“We’re soulmates,” Terry says. He bares his teeth at you. “Go on, Charlatan. Call on your God to banish me. I’ve been around for decades and no exorcist has ever been able to put a scratch on me. And when they manage to push me out?” He laughs and the temperature drops another ten degrees. An unholy light flickers in his eyes. “I just come right back.”

“Then I guess I won’t feel guilty,” you say.

“Guilty?” Katie asks.

You walk forward two steps and grab Terry’s face. Terry’s skin is soft and jelly-like. His facial bones undulate like rubber under your grip. “Hi, Terry.”

Now Terry’s afraid. “What the fuck, you can touch—?”

“Bye, Terry.” You drag him towards you. His fingers pop out of Katie’s arm with a wet sucking sound, and he claws at your wrist.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait--”

You eat Terry.

People come from all around to eat at the Brownie Industry. They love the density of the desserts and the heaps of garlic spread over home-baked (shipped frozen) rolls. It’s a treat to know you’re always going to enjoy the meal even if you’re far from home or eating at the same location a hundred times. It’s consistency, sugar and butter. An easy addiction to have.

Eating ghosts is like that for you. They fizz in your second mouth like champagne and melt like fudge. It’s hard to describe and the ephemeral quality of it sends shivers down your spine. Somewhere Terry is screaming in anguish, maybe crying. You think that the family you’re helping is screaming something too, but the sensation of eating is so consuming you can’t hear the words.

Terry is younger than other ghosts you’ve eaten. He doesn’t have the depth of flavor you’d once been addicted to back in Illinois. The best ghost you’ve ever eaten had been like a six-course meal with all the centuries she’d been carrying. In comparison, Terry is like a bag of pepper chips. Interesting, but gone in a moment. Still, he hits the spot.

When you’re done, you burp a purple cloud of ectoplasm into the still night air.

Leroy is the first to speak. His eyes are so wide you can see the whites all around them. “Pay her, Sarah,” he says breathlessly. His hands shake as he reaches for Katie, steadying her on her feet. “Now.”

You smack your lips and graciously accept the wad of cash Sarah hands you. You raise your eyebrows. “This is more than three times my rate.”

“Consider it a tip,” Sarah says. She’s more composed than Leroy, but still pale. She studies you. “That was…revolting.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” you say. You put your money away and then perk up at a sudden thought. “Hey, if you can, can you leave me a review on my site?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to tell anyone?”

You wave your hand. “Secrets are bad for business. Besides, Terry deserved it. I��m sure they’ll understand if you write that in your review.”

“They…?”

You smile and don’t answer.

The family don’t ask many more questions after that. The parents promise to leave a review and Katie just stares at you as if concussed. You assure the parents that she’ll be back to normal as soon as the soul-shock wears off.

“And if it doesn’t?” Sarah asks.

“Message me,” you say.

“You don’t check your messages,” Leroy says.

“Oh,” you say, patting your stomach, “I’ll be checking them a lot more often now.”

You’re hungry again.

---

(Patreon)

#my writing #ghosts #second person #it's spooky season #long post

2K notes · View notes

pin-k-ink · 5 months ago

Note

nwjwnsjshwuw im thinking abt having a big argument with hoshina and ending in a rough rough smexy love makingg PLS PLS

daredevil // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ dub-con, manhandling, threats, mentions of injuries and death, mild objectification, rough sex, hair pulling, biting/marking, cunnilingus, blowjob, asphyxiation, mentions of pregnancy, unprotected sex, power play, degradation/name calling, face-fucking, dacryphilia, dirty-talking, squirting, it’s kinda fluffy halfway through

wc ⇢ 6.9k

a/n: i got emotional halfway through because im not used to writing characters being this mean. i legit cried. i think you can see the moment i switched up T_T

The sharp bark of Soshiro's voice sliced through the ops room like a whip-crack, killing the busy din dead. You felt those clipped syllables punch straight through the chaos and detonate somewhere deep in your gut.

Fingers frozen on the holographic display, you didn't need to turn and verify the sudden tension coiling through the atmosphere. No, you could taste the aura of displeasure rolling off your boyfriend in practically visible waves from here.

"[Y/N]." Soshiro's growl cut through the stifling quiet like a blade, frayed patience and restrained irritation strung so tightly you could practically picture the vein pulsing at his temple. "A word. Now."

You drew in a steadying breath, fighting the tiny reflexive flutter that sparked low in your belly at that display of pure, smoky dominance. Get it together - he's clearly pissed, not putting on a show for your viewing pleasure. Yet.

Squaring your shoulders, you pivoted to face the stormy-eyed glare currently attempting to bore holes straight through your skull. Soshiro filled up the doorway like an imposing sentinel, arms corded with restrained menace, expression thunderous enough to shrivel houseplants at twenty paces. His violet hair stuck up in wild disarray from where he'd no doubt been raking anxious fingers through the tumbled strands.

But it was the scorching intensity blazing in those hooded scarlet eyes that really snared your attention. The crimson irises were near eclipsed into molten rubies framed by a few slivers of hungry violet, all razored focus currently centered on drinking in every subtle micro-expression flickering across your features.

You refused to be cowed so easily, however. Keeping your shoulders rolled back, you arched one brow in studied defiance and allowed your lips to quirk in a subtly smug smirk.

"Oh, hi babe," you greeted with intentional lightness, forcing your tone to remain easy and unbothered as you blinked up at him from beneath your lashes. "Everything okay?"

You allowed a tiny pout to exaggerate your expression into one of affected innocence - the picture-perfect vision of blameless bewilderment. The muscle ticking along Soshiro's jaw was the only warning before he bulldozed straight through your attempted deflection with the subtlety of a wrecking ball through rice paper.

"Cut the innocent act, [Y/N]-chan," he near growled, the unexpected endearment somehow dripping with more menace than sugared intimacy. Soshiro's nostrils flared as he visibly struggled to rein in whatever was quickly fraying his legendary restraint to mere threads. "Ya know damn well why I'm pissed."

Doing your best to smother the tiny thrill that sparked brighter at his thinly veiled anger, you blinked up at Soshiro through your lashes. You made a show of tracing your gaze down the powerful column of his throat, over the broad, heaving expanse of his chest and sleekly-muscled abdomen just to see his jaw tick again before replying.

"Actually, I don't have a clue, Shiro," you drawled, allowing your voice to dip into a lower, slightly breathier register as you emphasized his nickname with just a hint of taunting lilt. "Care to enlighten me?"

The low, subsonic growl that rumbled through Soshiro's frame in response was downright primordial in its blatant aggression. Before you could so much as hitch in another pointed inhalation, he was suddenly looming over you like a tsunami of leashed brute strength and simmering danger.

Powerful hands whipped out to bracket your upper arms, fingers digging into the lean cords of muscle with just enough force to raise a scattering of pinprick tingles across your hyper-aware nerves. You instinctively craned your neck to maintain eye contact, refusing to be cowed by Soshiro overwhelming your personal space so completely.

His chest expanded with a deep inhalation, the steady rise and fall of that broad, hair-roughened expanse practically hypnotic this close. When Soshiro finally spoke, each precisely enunciated word seemed to reverberate straight through your very marrow with tangible menace.

"Don't play dumb, sweetheart," he rumbled in that same tone of deadly, ominous calm somehow more chilling than any shouted epithet could ever be. "Should know better than to try handlin' me with that pretty pouty act by now..."

"Alright, enough with the thinly veiled threats, Soshiro," you snapped, finally allowing your own temper to flare in the face of his brooding menace. "If you've got something to say, then spit it out already."

His eyes flashed with something darker at your blunt challenge, fingers tightening fractionally on your arms. "Ya really wanna go there, baby?" Soshiro practically purred, upper lip curling in a hint of a sneer. "Fine. The off-books recon op your platoon ran yesterday without clearin' it through the proper chains first. Ring any goddamn bells?"

You felt your own jaw tighten as you fought the instinctive urge to look away guiltily. So that was the root of his pissy mood - the intel-gathering mission you'd deemed necessary despite lacking official authorization.

"It was a prime opportunity that required swift action," you countered, struggling to keep your tone even and professional despite the clear fury simmering behind Soshiro's stare. "We got the intel, didn't we? I'd say the results justified—"

"Don't even try justifyin' that bullshit to me," Soshiro snarled, deep timbre pitching even lower and more ominous as his grasp morphed from restraining into something far more purposefully bruising. "Ya went cowboy, leading yer whole squad into an unsanctioned op without backup or oversight!"

Anger sparked bright and hot in your core at having your capabilities and decisions questioned so bluntly, so publicly. Who the hell did Soshiro think he was to dress you down like some disobedient child rather than a respected platoon leader?

"I am more than capable of assessing potential threats to my team, Vice Captain," you bit out, not even trying to mask the distill that saturated his title. You leaned into Soshiro's restraining grip rather than pull away, unwilling to show even an iota of weakness or retreat. "Perhaps if you spent more time actually supporting our efforts rather than lounging around base, you'd see—"

The words cut off in a breathless huff as Soshiro bodily hauled you closer, eliminating what little distance still separated your bristling frames down to mere ionized inches. His free hand whipped up to fist in your hair, wrenching your head back at a sharp angle that robbed your next words of any scathing barb before they could slur free.

"Don't you dare imply I don't have yer back in the field," Soshiro growled, the words seeming to thrum directly into your feverish skin as your gazes locked and held. Pupils blown wide into yawning chasms swallowed up nearly all traces of amethyst, leaving nothing but pools of opalescent darkness consuming his features. "Ya know damn well that's never been the issue, baby."

Something darker and far more insidious than mere confrontation seemed to bleed into his gaze, tempering the naked fury until it scorched like smoldering coals banked and awaiting the right spark to detonate fully. One side of Soshiro's lips peeled back in a hint of an utterly failed attempt at a smile — something feral and cold and utterly devoid of humor.

"No, the real issue here is yer single-minded self-importance and blatant disrespect for the chain of command," he rumbled in a tone of quiet, inescapable certainty. "Yer stubborn refusal to recognize the bigger picture beyond yer own glory-seekin' antics, consequences be damned..."

You opened your mouth on a vehement denial, every fiber of your being thrumming like a livewire at his unflinching accusations. But Soshiro allowed no quarter or deflection, not a single millimeter of mercy. Shifting his weight minutely, he rolled his hips forward to trap yours in an unforgiving vise of solid, unyielding strength.

"I'm done makin' excuses or turning a blind eye every time ya blatantly disregard established protocols just because ya think ya know better or yer pride's been wounded," he growled, words seeming to sear in an unstoppable cadence. "Tonight, we're going to settle this power struggle once and for all, Platoon Leader..."

His free hand fisted tighter in your hair, making you grit your teeth against the stinging pull and tightening your jaw mulishly. Who the hell did he think he was talking to you like some disobedient child?

You bristled at the clear undercurrent of challenge and threat woven through his tone, refusal to back down flaring bright and hot in your veins. "You don't get to dictate anything to me, Vice Captain," you bit out through a tightly clenched jaw, relishing in stabbing him with his own title right back.

"I don't give a fuck about bruised protocol or your oversized ego — we got the intel that could save thousands of civilian lives, and you're pitching a fit over chain of command? You weren’t even here for the past week." You shook your head slowly, allowing your lips to curve into a sneer of derision that you knew would prick at his notoriously thin skin.

"I didn't realize playing by the rules was more important to Hoshina Soshiro than actually accomplishing the mission," you drawled with heavy sarcasm, feeling a flare of vicious satisfaction as his eyes seemed to swell even darker with unbridled fury.

His jawline flexed sharply as he visibly ground his teeth, tendons standing out in harsh definition beneath the stubbled hinge. For a long moment, the air between you seemed to thicken into a smothering fog laced with static and the acidic taste of pure restrained violence.

Then Soshiro began slowly shaking his head in a subtle negation, the tattered threads of his control audibly shredding apart under the strain. When he finally spoke, the words emerged in a gravelly rasp that seemed to bypass your eardrums entirely and reverberate straight into your very bones instead:

"Ya just don't get it, do ya, sweetheart?" He sneered the affectionate nickname with an acidic twist of mockery, the sound of it slicing through your defenses to draw an instinctive flinch.

"This goes so far beyond yer meaningless authority trips or whatever bullshit glory ya think getting some scrap of half-baked intel means in the grand scheme," Soshiro snarled, leaning in until you could taste the earthy, masculine tang of his anger on each raggedly exhaled word.

"What ya clearly fail to comprehend is that yer stubborn selfishness nearly got every last member of your platoon — your people — killed chasin' some suicidal lapse in judgment." His words were measured yet potent, viciously clinical in their precision and impact.

You felt your eyes widen involuntarily at the blunt accusation, mouth opening to spit some scathing retort and defend your proven capabilities as field commander. But Soshiro barreled on in a tone of thunderous judgment, allowing no room for interruption or deflection.

"You're so caught up in yer own goddamn hubris, always convinced you've got the angles figured out, prepared for everythin'..." His laugh was about as far from humorous as could be imagined — a harsh, barking bark of wry disdain that dripped acid. "Did it ever cross that thick skull exactly how I'd feel getting the call about a squad of glassed corpses thanks to some insubordinate asshole's solo glory play?"

His words sliced straight through to your core, searing their bitter truth across every nerve. Still, you couldn't quite bite back the wounded denial that burst free:

"We made it back clean, no casualties! Your concerns are total unfounded bullshit, Soshiro!"

But that only seemed to be the spark that detonated his final, fraying reserves of patience.

Soshiro moved with liquid grace and unanticipated speed, finally releasing his hold only to redirect his hands in blurring arcs that allowed no counter or evasion. One second you were straining against his restraints, mouth open on another heated rejoinder — the next, you'd been twisted and slammed back against the nearest bulkhead with brutal, jarring force.

The air punched free from your lungs in an explosive gust, leaving you gaping in mute shock at the speed of his assault. Soshiro loomed over you now, forearm braced across your chest in an unbreakable bar of corded muscle and virile strength, one thigh shoved between your splayed ones to lock you in a helpless full-body cage.

"Ya fucking insolent, arrogant brat," he hissed through gritted teeth, trembling with the sheer force of his restrained fury. You could feel every rapacious inhale, every shudder vibrating through him as he struggled to restrain the final dregs of control. "I don't give a damn that ya got lucky, sweetheart..."

Soshiro leaned in closer, eliminating the final precious slivers of personal space until his nose nearly brushed your own, until all that filled your addled senses was the overwhelming musk of his anger surrounding you, consuming you utterly.

"I'm gonna ensure yer willful idiocy never jeopardizes what's mine again," he growled in a tone edged with lethal promise, eyes locked with yours in a final duel of wills. "Startin' by reminding ya exactly who calls the shots around here."

The threat hung heavy between you, tension so thick you could practically choke on it. Your hands were balled into fists, nails digging crescents into your palms with how hard you were clenching them. The urge to lash out, to throw one final barbed insult was almost overwhelming, consequences be damned.

So you gave in, any rational thought consumed by the raging wildfire of anger and adrenaline blazing through your veins. "Fuck you," you spat, putting every ounce of venom and derision you could muster behind the two simple words.

That was it - the final straw that severed his taut grip on control. You saw it in the way his pupils blew wide, swallowing up those blazing crimson irises in a yawning void of heated fury. A harsh breath hissed out between his gritted teeth as his body went taut like a bowstring pulled to its maximum tension.

Then with a feral growl that reverberated straight to your bones, Soshiro surged forward and crashed his mouth against yours in a searing, branding kiss. But it wasn't gentle or tender — no, this was all pent-up aggression and unleashed hunger given free rein.

His teeth nipped at your lips with stinging force, drawing a sharp gasp that his questing tongue instantly occupied. You gave as good as you got, hands fisting in the front of his uniform to yank him closer as you bit at his lower lip hard enough to draw copper on your tongue.

Soshiro's growl transformed into something darker, richer, as your wrestling rapidly devolved into a primal give and take of dominance. Whenever he tried to slant his mouth and deepen the frenzied kiss, you'd buck your hips against his solid weight to throw him off-balance again.

His big hands were everywhere—tangling in your hair to angle your head, skimming over your waist and the flare of your hips, squeezing with possessive force. You could barely draw breath between the slick slide of your joined mouths, harsh pants and lewd smacks mingling in the supercharged air.

This was rawer, messier and infinitely more satisfying than any carefully orchestrated seduction could be. No, this was desire stripped down to its most base, primal core — all pretense and propriety discarded like tattered rags in the wake of you both finally giving in.

When you finally wrenched your mouth free with a gasp, Soshiro's eyes were heavy-lidded and glazed with naked hunger. His lips were reddened and spit-slick, hair awry where your hands had fisted through the strands.

"Ya try that stubborn martyr bullshit one more time, sweetheart," he rasped in that low, gravel-rough tone that never failed to make you shiver. "And next time I won't be playin' so nice..."

Those last three words were practically rolled across his tongue with how much dark, molten promise they contained. You felt a fresh spark of fiery arousal flare brighter at the implicit threat, chest heaving as your lips curved in a smirk of defiant invitation.

"Is that so?" you all but purred, dragging your nails down over the slope of his shoulders deliberately. "I'd pay to see you try keeping that in check..."

The only answer was Soshiro's low, rumbling chuckle as he swooped back in to seal your taunting lips in another searing, messy clash of tongues and teeth and relentless, glorious hunger.

Soshiro didn't waste any more time with words. With a low snarl vibrating against your swollen lips, he banded one powerful arm around your waist and simply lifted, hauling you up against his solid weight effortlessly.

You gasped at the sudden movement, legs instinctively winding around his hips as he pinned you against the nearest bulkhead. Soshiro took full advantage, angling his hips to grind against your clothed pussy with delicious friction that had you keening softly into the heated cavern of his mouth.

"Still runnin' that smart mouth, baby?" he rumbled after dragging his lips away, leaving a hot trail of nipping kisses along the thrumming pulse at your throat. "Need to learn to show some fuckin' respect..."

With that, Soshiro spun on his heel and began forcibly carting you down the corridor like a rutting beast claiming its prize. You didn't bother stifling your breathless laughter at his caveman antics, fingers tunneling through his sweat-dampened hair to yank his head back.

"Put me down this instant, you arrogant, over-muscled—"

The rest of your taunt dissolved into a startled squeak as Soshiro abruptly pivoted and slammed you back-first against the nearest surface. The wind rushed from your lungs in an explosive gust, leaving you blinking stupidly as you refocused on his blazing glare mere inches away.

"You were saying, Platoon Leader?" The way Soshiro all but spat out your title was blatantly mocking. His palm pressed insistently against your sternum as he slowly leaned in, each rasping inhalation gusting across your tingling lips. "Pretty sure it was somethin' about respectin' yer superiors..."

You opened your mouth to fire back a scathing retort, but Soshiro's free hand whipped up to fist in your hair, wrenching your head back at a sharp angle as he sealed his lips over your parted ones in a scorching brand of possession. Any words dissolved into desperate, needy whimpers against the molten slide of his tongue claiming every inch as undisputed territory.

When he finally tore away with a rasping groan, you were left trembling and light-headed from the sheer intensity of it all. Soshiro's lips curved in a slow, predatory slash of dark promise as his free hand skimmed down your side to palm over the curve of your hip with shameless appreciation.

"That's better..." he rumbled in that sinful baritone utterly saturated with sin and naked masculine satisfaction. "Think I prefer having that pretty mouth occupied with better uses for now."

His fingers squeezed purposefully against your flesh in emphasis. You couldn't quite stifle the tiny mewl of purely visceral need that slipped free at the subtle dominance play.

Soshiro tsked softly, somehow managing to layer the simple sound with undisguised derision. "So fuckin' needy, aren't ya baby? Don't worry..."

With that, he ducked his head to rasp the words directly against the heated hollow beneath your ear, sending a cascading shudder of expectant tingles across your hyper-aware nerves.

"I'm gonna take such good care of puttin' that greedy little mouth to proper use once we're somewhere more... private."

The heavy pause and emphasis he placed on that final word resonated straight to your pussy in a thrumming promise-slash-threat. You couldn't even formulate a response before Soshiro's mouth was crashing down over yours once more in a searing, breathtaking conflagration.

This time there was no struggle, no battle for dominance beyond your complete, unconditional surrender. You simply clung to Soshiro with a breathy mewl as he backed you through a doorway, devouring every pleased rumble and husky groan passing between your joined mouths with utter desperation. You caught brief glimpses of passing officers gaping at their Vice Captain brazenly manhandling his girlfriend, but the heat searing through your veins made you utterly uncaring of any scandalized looks.

Something solid bumped against the back of your thighs, not that it slowed Soshiro's relentless advance in the slightest. He simply lifted and deposited you on the awaiting surface without ever breaking the heated exchange.

Then his hands were roaming with purposeful possession — carding through your hair to angle your head for deeper plundering, skimming over the swell of your breasts with sublime friction, palming along the flare of your hipbones to hitch you closer to the edge. You gasped when his questing fingers trailed across the taut fabric straining over your nipples, hips bucking instinctively as his fingertips tweaked and rolled the sensitive buds through the clinging material.

You finally managed to wrench your mouth free with a ragged gasp, struggling to draw a steadying breath. But Soshiro seemed to take that as a challenge, immediately dropping his attention to your throat instead. He latched on to the wildly thrumming pulse point at the curve of your shoulder, his fangs piercing your skin with just enough force to leave a perfect ring of marks.

You couldn't stifle the needy whimper that slipped free at the exquisite combination of pleasure-pain. Soshiro's responding growl sent fresh sparks of tingling heat straight to your aching core, making your hips roll instinctively against the rock-hard bulge of his cock straining his pants.

"You have no fucking clue what that stubborn attitude does to me," he groaned, sounding utterly wrecked already. Soshiro's hips surged against yours with a rough, uncontrolled snap. "No goddamn idea how hard I get hearin' ya mouth off, so fuckin' confident and bratty, like no one could ever dare lay a finger on ya..."

He punctuated the words with a sharp nip at the hinge of your jaw, then a teasing tug on the lobe of your ear. You felt the heat of his smile curve against the heated column of your throat, the bastard.

"Ya like being such a spoiled princess, huh?" Soshiro all but purred, his tone edged with that familiar hint of mocking arrogance that never failed to make your pussy clench in anticipation. "Always gettin' what ya want, how ya want it..."

Before you could even begin formulating a retort, Soshiro had wrenched away and was yanking the zipper down on his pants. You felt your mouth go dry at the sight of his thick, straining cock jutting out proudly from the vee of his open uniform, tip glistening with pearlescent beads of precum.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips on instinct, and Soshiro's eyes darkened further at the action. His voice emerged in a husky rasp, the sound so deliciously filthy you felt it like a tangible stroke across your skin.

"Well, not this time. I’m about to make good on all those promises to fuck some respect into ya, sweetheart. So go on - open that smart mouth and suck my cock."

His tone was pure sin, dripping with dark promise and filthy intent. You felt your entire body flush with molten arousal, pussy clenching as he fisted a hand in your hair and tugged firmly, hauling you off the desk to kneel at his feet.

"Soshiro, I swear to god, if you think I'm gonna—"

But the rest of your protests died on a strangled gasp as Soshiro all but slapped the heavy length of his cock against your parted lips. The tang of his salty essence flooded your tastebuds, making your mouth water as he gave a shallow roll of his hips and smeared a streak of precum along your cheek.

"Ya can drop the act now, baby," he bit out, voice low and gravelly with raw desire. Soshiro's crimson eyes were nearly eclipsed by the sheer force of his hunger, a muscle ticking along his clenched jawline. "We both know how much of a cockslut you are - ya don’t gotta pretend like you're not dyin' to have this cock stretchin' yer pretty little throat?"

His words sent another surge of arousal through your veins, a rush of liquid heat pooling in your core and leaking from your pussy to stain your panties. You couldn't deny the way your heart stuttered at the way he was looking down at you, the sheer intensity of his gaze searing straight to your soul.

"So go ahead and admit it," he practically growled, giving your hair a yank and thrusting his hips forward to slide his cockhead across your cheek in a humiliatingly obscene display. "You’re nothing but a selfish brat, always needing something to fill up that smart mouth..."

His other hand fisted tighter in the roots, forcing your head back further until your eyes watered and throat worked reflexively. You couldn't suppress the tiny gasp that slipped free at the rough treatment, making his cock twitch against your parted lips in a silent demand.

"Say it, slut," Soshiro ground out, eyes narrowing in warning as they bored into yours. "Ya can’t fool me. Not after I’ve seen exactly how well that pretty little mouth takes my cock..."

The memory of all the times he'd fucked your mouth, the way he'd ruthlessly pinned you down and pumped his cock deep in your throat until tears streamed down your cheeks and you coughed and gasped for air flashed behind your eyes. Just the recollection of how he'd made you choke on his cum was enough to have your thighs clenching instinctively, pussy growing even slicker with each filthy demand.

"Go on, say it." His tone dropped lower, rougher with a hint of warning. "Ya can either do it now, or I'll fuck that disobedient attitude right out of ya the hard way."

With that, Soshiro hauled you up by his grip on your hair until his cockhead bumped against your lips once more, eyes narrowing. A thrill of mingled arousal and trepidation sparked through your veins, sending a rush of molten need straight to your clenching core.

But still, you forced yourself to lift your chin in stubborn defiance, glaring up at him with all the force of your ire.

"Go to hell," you spat with venomous disdain.

You were barely able to smirk in victory before you felt his fingers wrench your jaw open, the sudden movement sending a spike of pain-edged pleasure down your spine. Then Soshiro was slamming his cock between your lips, the force of it nearly choking you with how sudden and brutal the action was.

"That's what I thought," he muttered, but his tone was far from annoyed. If anything, the gravel-rough rasp was laced with a heavy undercurrent of satisfaction and pure, undisguised hunger.

You blinked back the haze of unshed tears as he shoved deeper, not pausing until the swollen tip was nudging the back of your throat and your nose was pressed against the neatly trimmed hairs at the base. Only then did he finally allow himself a ragged groan of pleasure, the sound nearly a sigh of pure relief.

"Ya know, baby, you look so much better like this," he taunted, rolling his hips to slide his cock a fraction deeper before retreating in a slick glide that had you swallowing back a moan. "When you're finally doing what you're best at - taking my cock and shuttin' that smart mouth up..."

Soshiro punctuated his statement by thrusting in again, not pausing as his fingers twisted cruelly in the roots. He kept his pace slow and shallow at first, clearly savoring the way you were struggling to suck him off and breathe around the thick length filling your throat.

He held you there until your vision began to blur and a whine built in the back of your throat, then finally allowed you to suck in a ragged gasp as he drew back. His cockhead was a deep, glistening purple, slick with spit and precum.

You opened your mouth to snark back, but the words died on a breathy gasp as Soshiro fisted his hand in your hair and yanked your head back sharply. A low, husky chuckle rumbled from his chest as he slowly dragged the swollen head along the seam of your lips, his eyes locked with yours.

"So pretty when you cry," he purred, swiping his cock over your lower lip. You couldn't quite stifle the tiny mewl of desperate arousal the action drew, which only seemed to amuse Soshiro even further.

"I could watch ya suck my cock for hours," he mused, eyes flashing darkly as he dragged his free hand over his cock and smeared the precum pooling at the tip across your lips. "But maybe… I'd rather finish in that greedy little pussy, instead..."

Soshiro didn't bother waiting for your reaction, merely tightened his grip on your hair and hauled you up until your legs buckled and you stumbled onto the desk behind you. He crowded in, pushing your thighs wide apart with his own before his hands slid down to yank your uniform down your hips.

You didn't have a chance to even process the fact that he'd stripped you naked in mere seconds, leaving you clad in nothing but the sweat-dampened tank top you wore beneath the uniform. Your mouth went dry as his hands dropped lower, spreading your pussy apart with calloused fingers before ducking his head and pressing his lips against the soaked folds.

"My girl's so ready for my cock, huh?" he purred, the sound almost drowned out by the obscene slurping noise that sounded as his tongue delved into your dripping cunt. You couldn't hold back the whimper of pleasure that escaped at the sensation, and Soshiro responded with a low chuckle.

"Such a sloppy little cunt," he taunted, nipping at the swollen clit until you keened desperately. "All this slick leaking out of you, baby, and I haven't even put a finger inside."

You flushed hotly at the blatant degradation, unable to bite back the instinctive gasp of embarrassment and pleasure. But Soshiro seemed intent on driving the humiliation home, teeth latching onto your clit and sucking hard until you couldn't help bucking against his mouth, desperate for more.

"Fuck," you groaned, tossing your head back as the tension began winding tighter in your core, threatening to snap at any second. "Soshiro, please, I need—"

He pulled back abruptly, the abrupt loss of friction wrenching a strangled whine from the back of your throat. It took all your willpower to peel your eyes open and meet his gaze, and when you did, you felt your core clench at the blatant heat that burned in his gaze.

"Ya think ya deserve my cock after the stunt you pulled today?" he drawled, one eyebrow quirking upward mockingly. "Ya nearly got every member of your squad killed, and yer still so damn cocky about it all. Think ya deserve anything beyond the tip of my finger?"

Soshiro punctuated the question with a single digit, sliding it through your slick folds and teasing it over your hole until you were panting and rolling your hips, desperate for more. "Luckily for you , though, I'm not here to teach you a lesson, baby. No..."

He trailed off as he slowly slid his finger inside, eyes darkening as he watched the way you arched against the desk with a needy whine. He crooked the digit, teasing against your most sensitive spot until your hips bucked and pussy clenched tight, chasing the release he'd so cruelly denied.

"I'm here to fuck some respect into ya."

Soshiro pulled back just as abruptly, and the frustrated cry that left your lips was downright embarrassing. But then his hands were tearing at his uniform, yanking the shirt open and shrugging the material aside until his gorgeous chest was on full display, rippling with each huffing breath.

You watched in mute awe, feeling your pulse skyrocket and pussy clench around the sudden emptiness as he shoved his pants down to pool around his ankles, kicking the clothing aside. He fisted a hand around his cock and tugged, groaning raggedly at the contact.

"I haven’t felt that tight cunt in weeks," he growled, his free hand landing on the table beside your hip with a thud. "Been jerkin' off every night to the memory of this pussy squeezing my cock, but nothing's gonna compare to the real thing..."

He surged forward and sealed his lips over yours in a brutal kiss, swallowing the breathless cry as he lined the fat head up against your entrance and snapped his hips forward. The stretch was delicious, and you couldn't help moaning into his mouth as he bottomed out.

"That's better," Soshiro groaned, breaking away just far enough to speak against your lips. "So much better than my goddamn fist, fuckin' finally..."

He didn't waste any time, pulling back and thrusting in again in a punishing rhythm that had you seeing stars. There was no time for adjustment, no chance to savor the initial feeling of having him buried to the hilt. Instead, Soshiro set a relentless pace, hips pistoning back and forth in a series of deep, measured thrusts.

He broke away from your mouth, and you gasped for breath as his lips blazed a trail down the column of your throat. Soshiro's hands were everywhere, stroking and squeezing and groping at every inch of your body as he fucked you without abandon.

"You’re droolin' all over my cock, sweetheart," he taunted, teeth scraping at the hinge of your jaw. "Bet ya pulled that stunt just to get my attention, huh?"

His voice was a low growl against your throat, lips curving into a smirk against your skin. "Didn't realize ya were so desperate for me, baby..."

"No," you gasped, trying desperately to cling to some semblance of control, some way to regain the upper hand. "I didn't even know you were coming—"

"That's a fuckin' lie," Soshiro spat, snapping his hips harder. His pace was relentless, the thick girth of his cock filling you perfectly with each punishing stroke. "Ya knew I was due back today, knew I'd have no choice but to deal with yer bratty ass myself, and ya pulled that bullshit on purpose..."

He punctuated his point with a particularly sharp thrust, making your breath hitch. Soshiro didn't pause, didn't let you catch a break. He was fucking you into the desk like an animal, and the worst part was — it was working.

"I'm done letting ya pull this shit," he snarled, teeth biting into the slope of your shoulder. The sharp flare of pain sent a fresh surge of liquid heat pulsing from your core. "I'm done letting ya risk your neck every goddamn mission, not knowing if yer gonna come home or wind up in a fuckin' body bag."

His hand landed on your thigh and shoved it wider, the new angle allowing him to sink impossibly deeper. You couldn't choke back the needy moan at the new sensations, the way the heavy slap of his balls against your ass mingled with the lewd squelching noises of his cock slamming into your soaked pussy.

"You became mine the day ya kissed me back," Soshiro ground out, his words a low growl that made your blood run molten in your veins. "And if ya can't keep yourself in line, sweetheart, I'll make sure yer too busy suckin' my cock to go anywhere near the fuckin' field."

His hand tangled in the roots of your hair, twisting to wrench your head back and bare your throat in a helpless arc. Soshiro's fangs descended, the tips digging into the soft flesh beneath your ear as he growled directly against the shell.

"Gonna knock you up if I have to."

You gasped at the filthy words, but they only served to heighten the building sensations. You felt your pussy fluttering around his cock as his hips slapped against yours, his pace growing more uncoordinated as his own peak drew nearer.

"Maybe then ya'll understand exactly why I want to keep you safe, baby." His words were a rasp against your neck, his lips blazing a trail of molten heat against your skin. "Why I can't stand the thought of losing ya, no matter how damn reckless ya are. You're the most stubborn, arrogant, selfish woman I've ever met..."

His free hand dipped between your bodies, teasing along the taut expanse of your belly until it came to rest on your hip. Then he leaned forward, putting his entire weight behind the next thrust, and you cried out as he hit a spot that had sparks dancing behind your eyelids.

"You're also the best — ngh — goddamn thing that's ever happened to me," he finished with a groan, and you were so shocked by the unexpected confession you didn't even have a chance to reply before he was crashing his lips over yours again, stealing your breath and any coherent thoughts along with it.

The next few thrusts had the tension in your core coiling tighter, tighter, until you were practically thrashing against the desk, pinned in place by the force of his strength and the solid weight of his cock stretching your pussy wide. You were close, so fucking close, but Soshiro didn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing down.

In fact, he only seemed to be fucking you harder, with sharper thrusts that were rapidly pushing you toward the edge. You clung to his shoulders, nails biting into the tanned flesh as you whimpered and writhed and struggled to maintain even the slightest scrap of self-control.

"C'mon, baby," he purred, his mouth trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the arch of your neck. "I wanna feel that cunt milking my cock, sweetheart... Wanna feel ya gush all over my cock while I'm pumping ya full, just like I promised..."

It was too much, his words and the delicious drag of his cock stroking every sensitive nerve ending inside you. You couldn't bite back the sob that slipped free, couldn't hold out any longer as the coil wound to its breaking point.

"Please," you begged, voice cracking and breaking as the sensations overwhelmed you utterly. "Oh god, Soshiro, please, I'm—"

The rest dissolved into a ragged cry as the tension finally snapped, sending you plummeting over the edge. The orgasm hit you like a wave, flooding through your veins with a rush of searing heat as you shuddered and arched against his chest, spraying his cock with a gush of slick as he fucked you right through the pleasure.

"That’s my girl."

You felt Soshiro's groan reverberate against your lips as he thrust once, twice, three more times. Then his hips slammed forward, pinning you flat against the desk as he bottomed out and came with a hoarse, ragged shout of completion.

His cum spurted against your womb in a rush of hot liquid, filling your pussy so full it leaked out around the straining thickness of his cock. You felt yourself clench and pulse around the sensation, riding the aftershocks of your own peak.

Soshiro finally sagged above you, forehead dropping against your collarbone as he panted for breath. You blinked dazedly, struggling to clear the stars still flashing across your vision.

The two of you remained locked together, unmoving save for the erratic rise and fall of your chests. Gradually, you became aware of Soshiro's fingers carding through your hair, smoothing the sweat-damp strands back from your temple as he pressed a trail of soft, gentle kisses along the slope of your shoulder.

When you finally regained enough energy to lift your head, Soshiro was already waiting, leaning in to press a kiss to your mouth that was achingly tender. It was such a sharp contrast to the way he'd manhandled and fucked you mere minutes ago, and the juxtaposition of it all was almost enough to make you dizzy.

You felt him hook an arm around your shoulder to gently ease you upright, keeping his other arm braced against the desk for balance. The two of you were a complete mess, clothes torn and sweat-soaked, and his cock was still half-hard inside you.

"You okay, sweetheart?"

His tone was low, rough, and so, so tender you felt your heart constrict at the sound. Soshiro's expression was soft, almost vulnerable, and he didn't hesitate to cup your jaw and press a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips.

"I mean, besides the obvious." He gave a slight roll of his hips, making you gasp as his cock twitched and pulsed inside your overstimulated pussy. Soshiro chuckled, the sound edged with dark promise.

"I meant what I said earlier," he added, his tone serious as he met your eyes once more. "I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life than when I heard what happened, and that was before I realized what a stupid, selfish little brat I have for a girlfriend."

Your mouth dropped open, and Soshiro immediately seized the opportunity, claiming your lips in a searing kiss. When he finally pulled back, you couldn't stop the small whine that escaped, and his eyes glittered with mischief and pure masculine satisfaction.

"We're gonna be having another conversation about your behavior, though," he continued, his voice dipping lower as his eyes darkened further. "Preferably with a paddle and my belt around your neck. But for now..."

He pulled back, slipping his softening cock from your abused cunt and drawing a whine of disappointment at the loss. Before you could protest, Soshiro was scooping you into his arms and turning to carry you across the room.

"For now," he murmured, pressing his lips to the crown of your head in a soft kiss, "Let's just get ya cleaned up and tucked into bed. And then..."

He glanced down, the look in his eyes making you shiver in anticipation.

"And then I’ll be waking you up in the morning the way I know you love best."

#this ain’t proofread yet #kaiju 8 x reader smut #kaiju 8 smut #kaiju 8 x reader #kaijuu no. 8 x reader #kaijuu no. 8 #kaijuu 8 #kaijuu 8 gou #hoshina smut #hoshina x reader smut #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro smut #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #hoshina x reader #soshiro x reader smut #soshiro smut #soshiro x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

Text

Follow You Anywhere 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You're online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: I couldn't help myself.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So... this is what it looks like today?" You aim your camera at the sky outside your window, "sorry, the screen is kinda in the way."

You let out a nervous chuckle and flip the camera to yourself. You make a silly face. You were never overly fond of your image on the screen but the vlogs help. Like a little diary, mostly for yourself. You and your seven followers on Insta.

You bat your lashes and fix the clip in your hair, "oh, I got this free. Yeah, I bought a new hair oil and they threw this in the bag." You let your thoughts run wild from your tongue. You found a journal too daunting, the blank lines leaving you just as empty. This is easier. "Anyway, I shouldn't have spent the money to begin with."

You give another splintered laugh. The one you let out when you're anxious, or scared, or happy, or even mad. You bite your lip and catch yourself in your digitized reflection. You stop and turn your camera to your bedroom.

"Today, I'm gonna clean this mess. Me and you guys together."

You scour the room with the lens. Your laundry is piled on the floor and you have a stack of books you need to put on the shelf. It isn't the worst it's been but it's getting cluttered.

"But first, we'll have breakfast, can't start the stream on an empty stomach," you chirp and nearly drop the phone, "oops, uh..." You fix your grip and check the number in the corner. You have one viewer; on a good day, it's three, most days, it's just you talking to the void.

You go into the kitchen, just down the short hall from your bedroom, opening into your living room. You go to the counter and prop up the phone so the camera is on you again. You tap your fingers and hum.

"What should we have for breakfast?" You ask. You don't feel as crazy talking to yourself even if there's really no one watching. "Oo, French toast. Gotta use up the eggs."

You go to the fridge and pull out the eggs and the milk. You bring them back to the counter, shuffling around for a bowl, a whisk, and the cinnamon.

You mix up your ingredients and dip the bread, one piece at a time. You put on a skillet and fry up the slices, presenting a stack of three to the camera. You smile and dust some icing sugar over the top.

“Probably shouldn't have all this sugar for breakfast,” you shrug at the camera, “alright, quick break…”

You put the stream onto the ‘back soon’ page and take your plate to the small foldout table against the wall. You're not a fan of eating on camera. You finish and rinse up before snatching your phone up again.

You return to your bedroom and put the phone on a middle shelf and flip the stream back to live. Still that one viewer…

“Anyway, I'm back,” you wave at the lens.

You hesitate, looking around as you stand straight and spin. Cleaning, right. Before you can set to work, the phone dings.

A message?

You go back to your phone and squint at the chat bubble floating up.

‘Looked delicious too.’

“It was,” you agree with a grin, “thanks.”

‘Don't mean the toast.’

The next message has you blinking. Your nape burns. They can't mean… you clear your throat and giggle.

“Well, let's get started,” you back up and clap your hands, “you know, I've been so carried away with work. This place is a pigsty.”

You sit on the floor and sort through the clothes. You toss them into the basket as you sit in silence. You stop yourself and glance at the phone.

“How about some tunes?”

You walk on your knees to your bedside and turn on your bluetooth speaker. You go to your phone and find a playlist before pulling the stream back to full screen. As you do, you hear a noise you've never heard before.

‘BourbonBear has tipped.’ Huh? Really?

“Oh, thanks, er, BourbonBear,” you giggle around the name, “how nice. Maybe one day I can afford a proper camera for this, huh?”

You smile and go back to the dirty clothes. You quickly ball up a pair of panties and shove them in the basket. You carry on until they're all untangled.

You move on and tidy your desk, bending underneath to gather up a few loose pens. You make your way around the bedroom, putting away books, fixing the blankets on the bed, and straightening the little figurines on the shelf above the bed.

You grab the stick vacuum and suck up the dirt and proclaim your task done. It took a lot longer than you thought. It's after eleven. The one viewer is still there.

“Whew, okay, I'm gonna get myself washed up and go to the park. Maybe I'll post that later,” you give a thumbs up next to your head as you talk to the phone, “thank you.”

You end the stream and let out a sigh. Your videos aren't much and you doubt they're very interesting but it's like venting for you. Almost like having an invisible friend. You think you will take some pictures of the flowers to share.

🧸

You take your usual path through the park. The walks help you unwind your worries. You try to come after work at least a couple days during the week and both days on the weekend. You find the mindlessness of the routine to be calming.

The deeper you get into the wooded length of the path, you slow to admire the birds in the branches and the critters crawling in the brush. You take out your phone and snap a few photos of a blue jay before it wings away shyly. You smile and flip the cam, smiling as you take a goofy selfie. You can add that to your post.

The path winds ahead and you follow it in the din, listening to the river just down the incline to your left and the tweeting from the sky. You lift your face and inhale the woodsy scent. The sudden crack of a twig startles you and you spin to face the noise. There's no one there. Sometimes you forget other people are free to just walk on through.

You chuckle at yourself and continue on. The path leads out to a suburban street where you like to look at the houses. They're much more spacious and pretty than your grimy brick apartment building.

You come out from the shade of the trees and wander along the avenue. There's a mailbox painted to look like the house it stands before and a little nook for second hand children's books to be borrowed through the neighbourhood. Sometimes you picture yourself living in one of those houses though you don't think it could ever truly be.

As you crane your head, you sense a shadow in your peripheral. You're walking a bit slow. You sidle to the side to get out of the way of the other pedestrian. When no one passes, you look back. No one.

You must be imagining things. You shrug and plod along. You're already thinking of what kind of tea you'll have when you get in.

🧸

You sit down with your mug of ginger citrus tea and set to editing your post. You add a light filter to the photos as you shuffle through them on your laptop. The process is slow as the computer is nearly five years old now and chuffing on its 4GB drive. You get to the selfie you snapped, a stop.

You lean in to get a better glimpse of the background. It's fuzzy but there's a figure just over your shoulder. How could that be? You looked and there was no one there. That's so strange.

You stare as a chill courses through you. You're thankful you hadn't put your earphones in. You wouldn't have heard whoever it was and they may have even snuck up on you. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light.

You hit ‘post’ and try to shake off the foreboding. It's nothing. You're being silly. Besides, you're home and safe now. Next time, you'll be more alert.

A message pops up. You stare at the dot over the chat bubble. You tap with your thumb and bring up the DMs.

'Stream tonight?' BourbonBear asks.

You tilt your head. You already did some today. You're tired and want to lie down and enjoy your time off. You type back 'sorry, not tonight. tomorrow <3' and another notification vibrates. A comment on your latest post.

'Pretty sweater', also from BourbonBear. You heart their comment and leave a thanks below.

You flip back to the selfie. You can't really see your sweater in the picture, just the scalloped knitting of the collar. Well, you suppose it does look cute. You put your phone down and leave it on your desk. That's enough Insta for today.

🧸

You time your shopping trip for the least busy hour. It's early and the store is almost empty except for employees stacking bread on shelves or wandering listlessly around the deli. You have your phone in the basket of the cart, aimed at you as you roll it along slowly and check your list.

The stream is just as empty. It's only just started but you don't expect too many people to be up at this hour. You stop and grab a loaf of sourdough, checking the date before showing it to the lens and putting it in the cart. You smile and announce the next item.

"Strawberries... you know I was thinking I might get raspberries instead," you say, catching the eye of one of the yawning employees. You must seem like a weirdo. It's why you typically don't film in public.

As you roll around to the fruit, you notice the count change. One viewer. You choose a basket of raspberries and show those. You see a message float up; morning.

You smile and return the greeting softly and place the berries down carefully beside your phone. You need yogurt to go with the berries.

You work down the list, making some substitutes as you tick off each item. You linger in the ice cream section a bit too long and talk yourself out of a gallon of rocky road. You lean on the handle of the cart and smile down at the lens.

"Going to check out," you say, "see you all later."

All? There's still just the one. You end the stream and take your phone out of the basket.

You wheel around to checkout and line up at the only open till. You put your items up as you greet the cashier with a smile. She seems tired as she gives a dull response.

As you put the yogurt on the belt, you sense someone join the queue behind you. You glance over as a large man stands only feet away. He's tall and burly and staring at you. Maybe he heard you talking to your audience, or he would think, yourself. You continue to unload your groceries.

"Never tried those," he comments as you take out a box of strawberry Pocky.

You pause and hold them up, chuckling nervously, as you do.

"Pretty good," you answer, "I eat way too many."

You notice the man doesn't have a basket or a cart. That realisation needles under your skin. Maybe he's just getting lotto or smokes?

"You like sweet stuff."

"Too much," you squeak even though it doesn't sound like a question.

He just stares, not saying a word. You swallow tightly and pull the last few items out of the cart and get behind it to wheel it through the lane. As you do, he looms closely, adding to the sweat gathering on your lower back.

You roll along and wait for the cashier to ring through the rest of your things. She bags them up neatly in two large paper bags. You pay with your card and thank her as you lift the first into your cart. The man behind you moves forward and grabs the second, startling you.

"Got it," he says as he places it with the other, squeezing by you, crowding you.

"Oh, excuse me, sir," you stammer, "oh," you lean on the cart to roll it to the end of the lane as you make space between you and the stranger. "Thanks, er, uh... thanks."

You turn and grab the handle, jittering. He's really weirding you out. Especially as you realise he's walked right by the cashier. He's following you.

"I can help get ‘em in your car," he offers in a drawl.

"Oh, that's alright, I... bus," you cringe as you realise you've said too much.

"I could drive you. I have a truck."

"No thank you," you walk faster, the cart rattling with your pace.

"Why not?"

"I don't know you, erm, sorry--"

"You don't?" He catches up and shoves his phone in your face, your Insta profile glaring back at you, "I paid for the milk, maybe the berries..."

"What?" You stop, just by the door and turn to him. "I don't--"

"You haven't eaten, have you? I'll take you for French toast. That's your favourite."

"Um," you blink at him as your eyes tinge, "I don't..."

"You got me through a hard campaign, just wanna say thank you," he adjusts his cap and you notice the pin on it. He's a veteran. Oh, 'campaign'.

“Just got back home," he shifts on his feet, a meek gesture for such a large man, "and... your videos helped me remember it. Helped me hold onto it in the sh-- in the stuff."

"I... wow, okay, that's... I'm glad I could do that."

"I really don't mind giving you a ride. Lots of weirdos on the bus," he insists.

"That's nice but--"

"Please," he softens his tone, "been a while since I sat down and had breakfast without worrying about the sky falling."

You shudder and grip the cart tight. You don't know how to say no. You didn't think about who was watching. You always just assumed they were bots. Then you think of the chaching noise and the amount flashing on the screen.

"BourbonBear?" You ask.

"Yeah," he cracks a crooked smile and smooths his hand over his thick beard. "Everyone calls me Syv.”

#dark!captain syverson #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #follow you anywhere #sandcastle #captain syverson #dark captain syverson #captain syverson x reader

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liz-allyn · 2 months ago

Text

bittersweet: sugar + vice vol. 2 (pt 2) [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: "okay. about last night..." [mob!peter parker x oc!MJ] continued immediately from part 1 "Love on the Brain").

words: 5.6 k

tags: fluff and angst, my favs. food. stupid wealthy person antics, jealousy, boundaries, some world-building, PG-13 references to spicy memories from Pt. 1.

Part 2 - Bittersweet

The doorbell chiming yanked Honey unceremoniously out of her morning grogginess as she exited the bathroom. The bell tolled through her throbbing headache, causing her to squeeze her still-gummy eyes tight. She could only think of one word.

Peter.

Honey felt slightly guilty for throwing him out of his house last night. Even if it was an extravagant house. Even if it was at the top of an unconscionably expensive, 5-star hotel, where he could easily afford another place to stay.

Very slightly.

Even if she threw him out immediately after the most outstanding sex of her life.

Worrying her lip, she debated her next move. She let out a long sigh, tugging on the lapels of the spare bathrobe she'd found. She forced her legs to move, retracing the steps buried in the lust-filled haze of her memory.

Impatient, the door chimed again.

Her gait was more of a ginger waddle, and every muscle beneath her neck felt like it was made of jelly. Her body beneath the waist hummed. She could describe it as falling between a tender tingle after a deep tissue massage and the aching burn she'd imagined would follow a CrossFit session at the top of Everest.

Images from last night flooded Honey's brain. How Peter had pleasured and defiled her. He bent her body deliciously, fitting her to and around all of his aching needs while elevating her toward a new stratosphere of ecstasy.

She stowed those thoughts away. There would be a time for them later. Probably later that night. Maybe even in a week, after her body finally recovered.

For her own dignity's sake, she would not let the morning after Peter Parker walked back into her life be that time.

She stepped towards the entrance and saw the tattered remains of the clothes she wore last night scattered in the dining area. Shredded like a wild animal had gotten to them.

She averted her eyes, grinding her teeth as the door chimed again.

"Alright!" she hissed. "Hold your horses––!"

She gripped the doorknob and swung open the door, clipping her tone immediately.

A wide grin beneath a thin mustache and furrowed, silver, bushy eyebrows greeted her.

"Good morning, madam," the older gentleman stated.

He wore a crisp, fitted white uniform and a pleasant smile. She blushed immediately, gathering her bathrobe tighter at her chest, and gawked at the seven uniformed hotel staff in the hallway.

The man who greeted her had a warm, olive complexion with bronze freckles. Sunspots dotted his face, blended together the tiny wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. "Pardon our intrusion."

Honey jumped out of the way without much time to react as the gentleman dutifully led the staff into the penthouse. Wide-eyed and tongue-twisted, she stared with wide eyes as the man motioned for his staff to follow.

The scent of coffee filled the entryway as a young man rolled in a cart. It was stacked with an impressive display of cream, sweeteners, and tea bags circling two gooseneck, stainless-steel coffee pots. Her eyes followed the kid as he passed, her stomach growling at the familiar aroma of fresh Colombian coffee beans.

Honey opened her mouth to speak but hushed again as a middle-aged woman in a double-breasted white uniform pushed in another cart stacked with silver serving platters with cloche dome tops.

She could feel the steam wafting off the cart and had just enough time to move as she saw two more women, each with their own cart of linens and sizzling serveware, following behind.

Honey's stomach growled while her gaze followed. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut short again. Two more uniformed women walked in wearing matching steel-gray housekeeping dresses. The sleek dark fabric was contrasted with white cotton trim on the short sleeves and the high, Peter Pan collar of the dress.

They moved like a rising surf—fluid, swift, and unstoppable—as they crested and split in opposite directions. They were gone again in a flash.

Honey barely had enough time to see them disappear before the heat of the subsequent presence was at her back. Her head snapped to the open doorway, and immediately, her face fell flat.

Peter.

His lithe form leaned against the doorframe, and she was sure he would've occupied the entire space had it not been an oversized 8-foot door.

Peter's presence came with a lightness Honey was unused to. Specifically, the light beige Ralph Lauren suit over a lilac button-up.

"Mornin,' sunshine," he drawled through a lopsided smirk.

The sunshine seemed like it was radiating from him. Sun rays reflected off the linen of his suit. A quick coy smile revealed a flash of his white teeth. His eyes glowed warm amber hues, highlighting the roasted chestnut of his hair. Despite it being freshly cut and combed and his waves being tamed with hair product, a stubborn curl peeked over his forehead, like a flower leaning towards sunlight.

Like the flowers in his hand. He held a thick bouquet of mostly yellow daisies and ivory roses. In between the perfectly crafted arrangement, stalks of delicate, purple flowers protruded from the thicket. They brought out the lilac in his shirt.

She reexamined it again.

Not lilac.

Lavender.

"M'surprised you're up this early," Peter dreamily murmured, observing her with starry eyes.

Honey looked down at the flowers pressed against his chest, then back at the gold in his gaze. She observed the gentle curve of his smile.

Honey's face was the polar opposite, with icicles to prove it. "I'm surprised it wasn't the cops at the door."

It was like popping a metaphorical bubble. Or one of his lungs.

Peter's eyebrows dipped as he pulled his lips into a frown. She turned her back to him smoothly, letting the door swayed open behind her. The door creak followed the sounds of her retreating steps.

Peter shot a quick glance toward the sky. He dragged in a breath and let his shoulders sag. Somewhere in his mind, the phrase 'Well, what did you expect?' echoed. He let the air out of his lungs, and turned on the unflinching charisma.

He followed her— because, of course, he did— meandering in with something of a swagger.

"Y'know, that's a good point," he said matter-of-factly, "now tha'cha mention it." He studied her from behind, watching her pad through his home, searching for the rest of her clothes.

Peter continued, slyly. "I'm surprised they didn't show up last night. All that screamin' you did when you were ridin' me..." He couldn't see the embarrassment on her face, but he noticed the way her back stiffened. "Surprised they didn't think a wild animal was on the loose," he added, lips curling with satisfaction.

"Congratulations!" she replied, her tone bright with feigned enthusiasm. "You went thirty whole seconds without bringing up your dick! What. An. Achievement." She pointed expectantly towards the dining area. "Are you hosting a party to celebrate your success?"

She observed the kitchen staff curiously. They were in prime form, quickly and quietly retrieving plates, serve dishes, cutlery, and linens from the cart. They flowed through their movements, like synchronized swimming. Her gaze drifted towards the housekeepers spraying and wiping down the table surface with cleaner.

Heat spread across her skin as she recalled how they had desecrated that spot just hours ago.

Blinking the memory away, she watched the servers step in place of the housekeeping staff. They tossed a linen tablecloth flat over the surface, setting the table for a fancy breakfast.

"Brunch for the Royal Family?" she commented.

Peter peeked over to see the flush on her cheeks, the way her skin heated up as she looked away from the dining table. Setting the bouquet down, he smirked. He knew exactly what was on her mind.

"A queen, actually," he shrugged, suppressing the faint curl of his lips. He wasn't here to gloat. "More of a date, really." He watched her next move intently.

"Well, that's my cue," Honey muttered. "I outta get going. Especially if you plan on eating anyone else out at the table." Her chin held high, she turned her back to him once again.

A strangely familiar sound— like a sharp, slick whipcrack— echoed from behind. She felt a tug on her midsection, then went flying backward. The force yanked Honey off her feet—just as it had the night before. She landed in Peter's arms with a shocked squeak.

"What the fuck?" she shrilled, grasping at the foreign substance on her back. It suddenly occurred to Peter that they hadn't discussed what Peter was using to reel her in, like many aspects of his complicated life.

He turned her towards him like manipulating a doll. Smugness and affection layered on his expression, like the cat that ate the canary.

"What is that?" Honey gawked. As she pulled her hand away, she inspected it closely this time. Shimmery, silver twine made from gossamer threads tangled around her fingers. "Jesus— is that... coming out of you?"

"No," Peter chuckled, amused by her horror.

She observed him, confused by his immunity to the web's stickiness as he casually tossed the string aside. While she was distracted, he gathered her close to his chest. At any other point, she would've fought him—because, of course she would. Her curiosity drove her attention.

Her eyes were on the black leather cuff around Peter's wrist. He'd worn it many times before. Honey just assumed it was an odd piece of jewelry. Maybe he didn't like the feeling of $30,000 designer watches on his skin.

Now, the glint of a tiny metal device hidden beneath the leather caught her eye. Her eyes darted to his other wrist, spotting another device as his fingers enveloped her shoulders.

She blinked curiously between the balled-up silk, to the leather cuffs, and to the hotel employees. They didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. They were likely instructed not to see anything.

Eyes still wide, she blurted, "Seriously, what the fu—?"

A fierce kiss silenced her. Peter smashed his lips to hers, capitalizing on the slight part of her mouth, and slipped his tongue inside. If he could've inhaled her into his lungs, he would have. He noticed faint pressure from Honey's palms against his chest, stubbornly resisting, as usual. The tension drained slowly as she succumbed to his grip.

Maybe she quit wanting to escape him.

Maybe she realized he was inescapable.

Peter was the one who couldn't escape Honey. Nor did he want to.

Seconds turned hazy. Peter was dragged deeper into a maelstrom. The longer he tasted her tongue, the more his blood surged like the swell of the tempestuous ocean against a sea wall.

Lust filled his lungs and his brain with gale-force winds.

Peter remembered last night, too. God, he was already half-hard just thinking about it.

Before he melted from the memory, he pried his lips away from hers. The act took all of his power-of-will. The most he could manage to sacrifice was a couple of inches of distance apart. Peter was already a mess, chest heaving. Honey looked just as wrecked—swaying unwittingly with shaky breaths.

Peter whispered to her, his voice dark, "You're outta your mind if you think I'm lettin'ya walk away."

A pulse-pounding shudder racked through her body. Peter swore he could feel her pelvic muscles flutter in response. It triggered a sick feeling of validation of the sinful desire polluting his mind. For a moment, he felt free to wallow in its toxicity.

That voice always managed to subdue her. Peter locked this information away for later.

He was also aware that he needed to touch her. He craned his neck a little further until his nose kissed hers. The action grounded them both. A flicker of levity broke through the lust, and his familiar smirk returned. "And you're batshit crazy if ya think I'm here for anyone else but you."

Honey gazed up at him owlishly, still locked in a haze. She only vaguely registered the breeze as the staff rushed past them. Her cloudy eyes found their way over to the dining table, now fit for a queen. Or a Good Housekeeping magazine cover.

The door slam pulled her back to the present.

"I thought I made myself clear last night." Peter bit his lip as he said it, holding the sides of her face as he oozed with charm. His sultry eyes fawned over her. "M'not lettin' you go. Not again."

"Let me go, Peter." Honey's voice was firm with a stone expression.

Immediately, Peter's shoulders dropped a full inch, and his voice pitched into a whine. "Will'ya stop being so stubborn—?"

"Let me go, Peter."

"Fine. You're mad at me—Y'made'ya point. Now, can we just talk about this? Like adults? Just sit down—"

"Let. Me. Go. Peter."

Honey's voice seemed to echo as she said it, charged with an electrical current threatening to fry him alive. It was more than a sneer; it was an ominous rattle before a bite.

Instantly, the teasing nature of their banter evaporated.

Peter blinked several times, like he'd been sucker punched. He was unsure of how to respond. A tick formed in his jaw as he observed her, watching intently, gears turning. Lips pursed together into a thin line.

Seconds stretched out uncomfortably as she just stared back.

Honey's spine as she stood in front of him—stood up to him—was steel. The little line between her brows popped out like a switchblade, her eyes skewering him just as deeply.

If she was afraid of Peter's unreadable expression, she didn't show it.

Seconds ticked on in their stalemate, during which dozens of scenarios played out in Peter's mind. At least a dozen of those scenarios were inappropriate ways of... making her do it.

Didn't matter what it was. 'It' could easily be anything Peter wanted.

He had the power—not just metaphorically.

Peter had enough strength in the upper half of his pinky to simply bend her to his will.

Peter's throat felt so tight it began to ache. A dry swallow rippled through his neck. Then, he made his choice.

His hands opened, releasing her with a forlorn expression. The moment he did, Honey took a giant step back—a recoil. He could've sworn he heard a faint gasp fill the gap they formed, like she'd been holding her breath.

In terror, he realized with disappointment.

Honey curled her arms around herself. His eyes dropped to the floor.

That look cut him deeper than any blade could.

"Honey," he said softly, emotions lodged in his throat. Burning mist clouded his vision. He wasn't here to cry, either. But his heart felt heavy all the same. "I just wanna talk."

"I thought you wanted to have breakfast with me."

"I do—!"

"Then ask me!" she snapped, frustration heating up her words. "Ask me! Instead of dragging me around like you're some…some caveman!"

Peter glanced up. The way she spat out the last word gave him pause.

He studied the pout on Honey's lips. The angry scrunch in her nose. Arms crossed, jaw firm. She glared up at his tall stature, looking courageous and formidable. At the same time, her eyes betrayed her vulnerability. She was desperate to be heard.

Honey had demolished every obstacle placed before her. Even if the obstacle was him, she made it look (and him feel) three inches tall.

The ferocity of her gaze could intimidate a tiger.

Simultaneously, the butterfly wings of her lashes could charm a viper.

The bow of her lips could force a king to his knees.

How can she not know this? Peter mused with wonder. How on earth was she unaware of how much power she possessed?

Significantly more than he could ever have.

Honey could make Peter do anything.

"If I had five minutes left on this planet," he began, eyes brimmed with an ocean of unspoken words, "I would want them to be with you."

A pause filled the room, consuming all of its oxygen. Peter held his breath in anticipation.

A surge of terror tightened in his chest, but it was tangled with something deeper—an overwhelming sense of adoration. To the outside world, they were two halves of the same sunset, golden rays that kissed a dark, cold earth.

Honey gazed at him intently. "I would like that," she said.

And he finally could breathe again.

"—But I can't."

Honey stated it matter-of-factly. As if she didn't just reverse the planet's rotation. Peter's gaze dropped to the floor as his heart shattered. He was close to falling apart entirely.

"I can't… I-I…" her words trickled out, trying to support her stance with a lack of conviction. Or direction. Or sense. "I have things to do."

That sassy tone of hers was back. Peter lifted his eyes to hers, "Oh?"

She shrugged, "Important things."

"Oh," he nodded along, furrowed brows in a serious expression.

"Yeah." She mumbled, almost too quiet to hear. She fidgeted with her fingers, threading them together, until finally, she grasped her arms into a comforting hug. "Like normal people."

The last part was meant to be a jab. "Normal?" Peter replied with decorum.

"Like… taxpayers."

"Hmm."

"—and moms…" she gulped dryly, "on TV."

Peter nodded conspicuously as if he were fully supportive of her bullshit. His patronizing politeness only frustrated her further.

"Okay, like most people have things to do," she argued harshly, "like bills to pay, people to see—

"Bills."

"And chores! Tasks. Responsibilities."

Peter snorted with feigned enthusiasm, "Wouldn't know anything about that."

"Well, I have a job to get to," she blurted, solidifying her position. "I need to go home and shower and empty my dishwasher, bring my clothes to the laundromat—"

"Uh-huh."

Frustration carved out her tone. "And you know what else? You don't get to hijack my whole day just because you found a couple of hours in your schedule, Peter!"

He had nothing to say to that.

"And before you ask," Honey pointed a polished fingernail at him, "don't get hung up on last night! You're still in the dog house." She turned to leave but stopped to add, "Or… people house!"

A moment passed, but she still wasn't done.

"If I had a dog, you would be it!" she growled. "Outside, in the winter, in a tiny wooden shack of shame!"

Then…

"–Not that I would ever do that to a dog, but maybe a-a cold-blooded— if you were a turtle, or…wait, that doesn't work— A fish! You'd be on your ass! Or fin— is that Portuguese linguiça sausage?"

Her demeanor had flipped like a switch, from cold to curious, as soon as the smell of food hit her. It was as if the entire conversation had never happened until that point.

Peter couldn't help but smile. "From that place you like," he confirmed, his tone enticing.

She paused, silent.

Mused.

Deliberated.

"Alright. First—sausage," Honey blurted out,

decision made. The irritation in her tone seemed directed at herself.

"Then," she warned, "you're in the turtle-fish house!"

She spun on her heel and sauntered towards the buffet as if she'd dropped a mic.

"Okay, so hit me," Peter said.

Honey glanced up at him. The look she gave suggested she was willing to do exactly that.

They sat at opposite ends, so far apart at the dining table that it was almost comical. Only a few minutes had passed since they agreed to sit and eat together. It might as well have been years. Every moment was packed with awkward silence.

Straight-faced, he lifted his arms, extending them in a welcoming gesture. "Let's hear it. I know you got questions. I got answers. Let's go."

"Oh?" she lifted her eyebrow as she pinned him with a mocking glare.

"Yep," Peter shrugged, maybe a bit too aggressively. "Let's hear 'em. Fire away."

A tension-filled moment of silence settled between them. The whole time, Honey skewered him with her glare. Then—

"Where should I start?" she spat hotly like lava erupting from a volcano. "Should we start from the top? Gimme three hundred words on how you spent your summer vacation." Each word sizzled off her tongue. "Or should we rewind a bit and talk about the ropes of glue shooting out of your body?!"

An amused laugh burst from his lips, his teeth flashing wolfishly. "I mean… yeah—" he smirked. "When ya put it like that, I'd be willin' t'give you a demonstration—"

"Grow up, Peter!" Honey snapped, her fork clattering on the china.

The accused straightened his shoulders and mouth into a line.

Contempt filled her incredulous glare. "Y'know what? Let's talk," she sneered, her anger releasing. "Let's talk about you since you're the center of everyone's universe. You, right now. Peter Parker, the Boss." She was flippant, each word intended to pierce his prideful armor.

"What's been goin'on in your world, huh?" she questioned, pleasant in her tone. "How's crime?" She said it like referring to a common relative.

Peter shot her a brief glare, only encouraging her patronizing.

"Must be good," she remarked. "What's the mortgage on a ten-thousand-square-foot condo in Manhattan nowadays?"

"Wouldn't know," he shrugged, picking his fork back up to take another bite. He pondered quietly as he chewed. "I bought the whole building."

The crassness of his declaration gave her pause. Honey hated how cocky arrogance looked as good on him as one of his Ralph Lauren suits.

"You bought— a hotel?" she asked in confusion.

Peter's eyes slid over to hers, looking like the devil as he brought a coffee mug to his lips. His eyes were twin flames, burning into her like he was trying to ignite a fire in her belly. Sipping a hot beverage seemed like a lewd act.

Depraved thoughts filled his skull as he laved his tongue across his scorched lips. He pulled the mug away, and his mouth glistened. He watched Honey's reaction expectantly.

"Yup," was all he said.

She stared at him, face unreadable. Not the kind of way she stared at his hands or his mouth.

"I suppose…" she crooned in a silky voice that edged on seduction and trepidation. For a moment, Peter's belly flipped with the excitement of a fisherman sensing the first slight tug on a lure. "The fact that Wilson Fisk used to own it had nothing to do with that decision?"

A bucket of ice water had been dropped on him. Coldness stabbed his heart and splintered his bones.

That name.

The name that paralyzed him. Made his hair stand up on end, even after all these years. She exposed a nerve with just a couple of words.

"Oh," she said knowingly, reading him like a book. "Are we still afraid to say his name?"

Peter's own words echoed back at him.

"...We don't say his name..."

Peter traveled to the day he rescued Honey from Fisk's men. He remembered inexplicably snapping at her, his hackles raised at the thought of what Mayor Wilson Fisk could do—what he had already done—to Peter's family. What depraved violation he would have done to this unassuming, bright-eyed girl.

Unassuming, only because she had no idea at that point that she was his.

The memory blurred and morphed into a twisted reflection of the current moment.

Innocent. But smart.

Trying to ignore the sudden pulse behind his eye socket, he lifted a shoulder and dropped it. Peter's practiced indifference returned to his face. He returned to his plate, calm and collected. "I'm layin' down plans—"

"With Carol?" Honey finished, eyes narrowed into slits.

Peter's eyes shot to hers, and he looked truly confused momentarily. His expression only seemed to anger her further.

"Is that who you're 'layin' down plans' with?" she asked lividly. There was no concealing it. Honey's eyes were sharp enough to cut his throat.

"What?" Peter blurted out. "Carol??"

God, he hoped he didn't look as stupid as he sounded.

"Yeah!" Honey hissed back, hopping to her feet. The chair creaked loudly across the marble floor as she shoved it away. “Carol. Fucking. Danvers.” Honey spat each word out like they were sour. "I believe that's her full name, no?"

Peter's brow arched, bewildered. Confused.

"'America's Sweetheart'!" she added through gritted teeth, pushing her fists into the table. The plate clattered at the impact. "Captain America?" she said as if to aid his memory. "You know?"

He blinked.

She bordered on shrill. "The one with America's Ass?"

Of course, she referred to the former Air Force pilot who became a TikTok sensation, a pop star, a fashion model, and a feminist icon. Everyone's favorite.

Typically, Honey wouldn't resort to bashing another woman, avoiding the "cycle of patriarchal misogyny which pits women against each other," to quote her sister. But deep within her fiery eyes, jealous voices conspired against her rationality.

Meanwhile, Peter's eyebrows squished together, as if he couldn't quite grasp what language they were speaking. "Wha-What're we talkin' abo—?"

Her glare was razor sharp. "What's Carol laying down, huh? What's she like?"

Peter stared back with eyes like saucers and an empty thought bubble next to his head. "She's… Fine?"

It took less than one second for him to deeply regret his answer.

"Oh, I'll bet she is!"

Something wild sparked in Honey's eyes like a crackling bonfire. She rounded the table marching towards him. "Y'think I'm stupid? I follow Deuxmoi, asshole!"

Peter let out a long groan, practically dragging his fingernails down his face. "Honey—"

"Don't 'Honey' me!" she sneered, adding a mocking dramatization of his voice. She threw her hands up in front of her face as if waving them at an invisible breaking news chyron. "'Carol Danvers spotted at 1Oak last night with alleged Syndicate crime boss Peter Parker... Is Captain America About to Break Bad?'"

Frustration filled his tone, "That's—! That was noth—"

"Oh, don't gaslight me, Peter!"

"I'm not!"

"Don't gaslight me about gaslighting me!"

"That was all TMZ bullshit, and you know it!" Peter shot back, now on his feet as well. She pursed her lips together, shaking her head in disbelief. Peter took a steadying breath. "Yes," he admitted, more composed, "I met her at a club, yeah. Because that's where she wanted to meet! I had a business proposition–"

"Business?" she bitterly laughed, crossing her arms. "You two goin' in on a new restaurant? Hipster gastropub called Peter's Cockpit?"

"Jesus Christ, Honey, I didn't fuck her!" he exclaimed in a near whine, waving his arms like a windmill. "It was—" he fumbled over his tongue. "Nothing else happened! No one is in anyone's… cockpit…"

He winced at his own words. Raw memories from last night flared up in his chest. "Where d'ya get off accusin' me, huh?" he interrupted, suddently. "What about you and Pedro, eh?"

Honey's eyes bulged out of her head in shock.

Peter was referring to, of course, the sexy, hazel-eyed waiter that flirted at the restaurant the night before. Clearly, Honey didn't see the correlation.

"Pedro!?" she bellowed in disbelief.

"Pedro!" Both of their voices echoed off the stone of the lavish suite.

Honey groaned so loudly, it was a roar. "Pedro's gay, you dunce!"

Peter's brows furrowed as he considered this. "Come again?"

"I've known him since junior high! He helped Becca get her first job when she was 15. At that very restaurant!"

Silence.

Peter blinked, a trench forming between his eyes.

More silence.

"So. You're... not... ...into him?"

Honey scoffed at the question with a rueful chuckle. He sensed she would've laughed if she hadn't been so furious. "Seriously? I've seen rainbows that were straighter!"

He felt his skin fluster. The thumping percussion inside of his chest leveled out to a dull thud. His heart ached all the same.

Peter's eyes rested on her. She stayed rigid, arms wrapped tightly around herself in a way that reminded him of a tree fighting to remain upright in the wind. A cherry blossom braving an early-spring cold snap.

Her eyes were cast to the side, and filtered sunlight gave her an ethereal glow. Anxiety reflected across the color of her irises.

"Did it hurt?" Honey asked, barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head at her question, glancing briefly at the shimmer resting on her lower lashes. Her voice was meek but raw with unspoken emotion, like a wave of tears being held back. "Thinking I wanted him?" He recognized her attempts to look anywhere else but at him.

Peter's chocolate eyes softened. "Did you want it to?" he questioned gently. Not an ounce of judgment thrown her way. "Hurt me?"

His beautiful girl swallowed dryly, blinking the shimmer away. Her eyes wandered to the floor. "Maybe," she replied thoughtfully, discovering it herself.

Peter hadn't expected her honesty but wasn't surprised. If anything, he found it disappointingly refreshing.

He watched her fidget with her hands. "Regardless," she said, clearing her throat. "I guess now you know how it feels."

Shame brimmed her gaze as it bounced off the walls and floor. Peter considered her expression, silently reading all the emotions she could not conceal.

"Carol isn't what you think she is," Peter said, matter-of-fact. His ferocity had calmed, and his arrogance had dissipated like a storm cloud. Tiredly, he ran his hand back through his hair. "Matt heard that she might be making the leap into politics. People are saying she could make a play for Congress. Maybe even the governorship."

Honey stared at him in silence. Waiting.

"I was hopin' I could convince her to stick a little closer to home," Peter sighed with a half-shrug and a dim spark of hope in his smile. "Somewhere... maybe like City Hall."

Honey arched a brow, processing. "Mayor," she said, contemplative. "You want her to run against Fisk."

He looked sheepish now, pocketing his hands. "Lotsa people think she could win."

Honey's eyelids narrowed. "Do you even vote?"

"She'd have mine," Peter replied without hesitation, then his eyes snapped to hers. "And no," he added, muted but coy. "Before you say anything, that wasn't a euphemism. Or an objectification of any of her..." The words dwindled as he struggled to form the right word. "...Assets."

Peter cringed after saying it, and he could've sworn that her eye twitched.

"I wasn't lying, Honey," he added. His heart was in his throat. "Last night. When I said, 'There wasn't anyone else for me.' I meant it."

She was silent momentarily, but a million words bubbled up behind her glassy eyes. "There has to be something else for me," she whimpered, vocal cords tight.

Her vulnerability was in plain sight. No further posturing. The heartbreak in her voice felt like a knife jammed between his ribs.

"I can't—I-I just can't..." Honey struggled, losing her composure.

"I don't…" Peter muttered half-consciously. Terrified at the realization. "What-what are you saying, you-you don't wanna be with me?"

The tears bubbled up again on her lower lash line. Her plea ground out miserably, voice breaking, "There has to be more to me, to my life, than just being… yours."

He blinked at her, confused.

"I can't belong to you, Peter," she replied. Tears glided down her cheeks, now flooded with raw emotion. "I can't belong to anyone else."

His Honey shivered before him, choking back sobs. She barely looked strong enough to stand.

And that's when it hit him.

The sharp contrast between the woman who stared him down and the shivering girl before him became apparent. It was day and night, fire and fear.

Fear.

"Mari."

The word snapped her out of her downward spiral. Wide-eyed and caught off guard, Honey's gaze flicked up to his.

Peter gazed at her with a worried line between his brows. He focused on her eyes, made impossibly brighter from tears. The sight broke his heart.

Peter took a careful step forward, the way one would approach a wild horse. The slightest twig snap might send her running.

"I'm not trying to put you in a cage," he offered gently. Saying those words were painful, in a nauseating way. "Not again."

The gentle relief he spotted in Honey's gaze tore through his sternum. Peter couldn't decide whether he would rather bleed out or trap her away beneath his ribs.

Peter's hands itched, desperately wanting to close the gap between them, wipe away her tears with his thumbprints, and blanket her with his hold. Vigilantly, he kept his heels glued to the floor. He'd like to think he did so out of respect for her wishes and not with fear that she'd run away from him.

"I'm— I'm not," he babbled, dread filling him. Everything felt suddenly upside down. Reversed. He was a stranger again, with a frightened girl trembling in his bathtub. The thought terrified him. "If-if-if that's what you think—"

"I love you so much," Honey declared, clear as a bell. His heart was in his throat again. He swallowed it down, afraid he would empty his stomach in front of her. "I really do."

The opposite emotions tugging at his psyche felt like an ax swinging downwards, severing thick brush with a satisfying whistle. They culminated in a wet chopping sound—the split of his heart in two pieces.

"It's the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think about at night." She dabbed at her chin with the back of her hand, taking a measured breath. "Sometimes I think that it's all I have left."

His heart sank. "But it can't be, though. "

The knowingness of his voice pierced her further. "It can't," Honey replied gently. Sorrow weighed down the corners of her mouth, though he could tell she was still trying to smile. "I need to love myself." The last word had her lip wobbling.

Peter tightened his jaw, trying to channel the energy of his agony into something other than tears.

"For now," Honey added. The soft reassurance flickered like candlelight, providing the only warmth he could hold onto.

Peter locked his jaw and nodded slowly, understandingly. The more he thought about the equation, the more sense it made to him.

It wasn't about him.

He declared, resolved. "You're the boss."

A/N: Go ahead. Let's hear it. If you loved this, reblog. If you thought it could be better, give it a like. If you hated it, do nothing. Thanks to my muses, now and forever. 🦌 Back to S&V Masterlist • Back to Main

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toxicanonymity · 10 months ago

Text

steady as she goes.

3.5k, Clement Mansell x f!reader | spotify playlist CHARACTER BACKGROUND: He does a lot of crimes but car theft is the only thing referenced. He loves Jack White 🎶. He's sexy and has swagger. Hot clips with audio 🥵 🥵 SUMMARY: He takes you out on his idea of a date. WARNINGS: I8+, unsafe p in v (car), creampie. Praise. Mild hybristophilia (craving that criminal cock). Canon-typical destruction of property. Reader can straddle him. Jack (White) gets cucked (by Clem's vocals). ONE SHOT. A/N: Dedicated to @milla-frenchy: happy 500 followers! 🎉 well-deserved (masterlist). I'm so glad we share an interest in this man. And THANK YOU, gifmakers!! Always inspired by gifs from @boydholbrook-fan, @ilovewhiteroses, and more. Co-written with my partner, "Jordi" 🖤.

A car cruises down your street blasting music, but you don't think it's Clement. It's too early. The sun is just starting to set, and you're fresh out of the shower. It's still an hour before he’s supposed to pick you up. But sure enough, the loud rock music gets close enough to make out the White Stripes. You look out the window, and his classic car is rolling into your driveway with the top down. Shoot. You're not ready. But goddamn, he looks good. Too good to worry much about the time.

You grab the closest item of clothing - a black slip dress – and throw a silk robe on over it. As you rush down the stairs, the car door opens outside. You wait a minute for him to ring the doorbell, but he doesn't. You stick your head outside and he's reclining with his butt against the passenger door and his arms crossed. You slip on a pair of shoes and go out to the driveway.

********************************

This man is wild. You can tell already, and you met him just last night.

He came into your bar. You took his order and he said, “Whatever you’re drinkin’.” You were only drinking coke with grenadine, but to your surprise, he nodded without hesitation. You made the drink and watched him take his first sip. “Man, this shit ain't bad,” he said. He had big energy, and his presence really commanded the room despite how casual and carefree he acted. He put the Raconteurs on the jukebox.

Throughout the night, you felt his eyes on you and had a few tense moments. His hand grazed your hip as you passed each other. When you came to give him a refill, he introduced himself before going to play pool. At one point, when he was leaning forward to line up his shot, you noticed a gun sticking out of the back of his pants. You discreetly warned him that the manager would kick him out if she saw it.

“Keepin’ me outta trouble. That sure is nice of ya, sugar.”

You smile shyly. “Just hide it,” you tell him

“Why don’tcha come on out and watch me put it away?.”

His charm was irresistible.

You quickly found yourself out in the parking lot, pressed up against his car with his nose dragging up your neck. “Mmm,” he hummed into your skin. “Not every day a lady sees my gun.” You felt something against your hip, looked down, and were startled to see him holding the gun. “It's okay baby,” he reassured you, then opened the passenger door to the car. “Wanna touch it?”

“That's okay,” you shook your head, still flustered. “It looks nice though.”

“Yeah? How ‘bout I let ya shoot it tomorrow?” he asked as he leaned over to open the glovebox.

“Really?” You asked, heart fluttering.

He acted like he was mentally debating it, then laid his weight into you against the car again. He rested his hands loosely on your sides. “Really,” he murmured, then leaned in for a slow kiss -- no tongue, but it felt pornographic nonetheless. “Pick you up at eight.”

Instead of going back inside, he got in his car and peeled off, blasting the White Stripes.

********************************

You take in the view of Clement leaning against his car in your driveway. He's wearing a dark, button-up shirt and a chain. His shapely arms stretch the material.

“You're really early,” you smile, almost breaking into a laugh. “Wanna come in while I finish getting ready?”

“I dunno about that,” he drops his hands to his sides, then stands upright and slowly steps forward. He looks you up and down and his voice becomes sultry as he gets closer. “Look ready to me.”

You assure him it'll only take fifteen minutes.

“I dunno if I can wait that long,” he murmurs as he comes within arm’s reach. He runs his hands down your sides, his expansive palms gliding over the silky robe.

You suppress a giggle. “You can wait fifteen minutes.”

“Course I can,” he murmurs, getting right up against you. He brings his mouth to your ear and lowers his pitch. “But I ain't gonna.” He grabs your ass. “Mmm.”

Your cheeks heat up. Has he noticed you're not wearing panties? “Look perfect,” he insists. He goes to open the passenger door. All the thoughts are gone from your brain.

You get in the car, no bra, no panties, no jacket. And somehow you feel completely comfortable.

Clement rests a broad, veiny hand on your thigh as he drives. His touch is light, and he occasionally takes his hand away to make a turn. When he passes the shooting range and keeps going, you ask, “I thought we were gonna shoot.”

“Oh we are, darlin'. You're gonna be my gorgeous gunslinger.” He smiles and turns up the music.

He drives to the outskirts of the city, pulls into an industrial area, and parks behind a big abandoned building. There's one flood light and it’s buzzing, casting a flickering white light on the gravel.

Clement parks and turns off the car, then gets out. He pulls a six pack out of the back seat. You get out and join him at the back fender.

He opens a bottle of PBR beer and takes a swig, then offers you your own bottle from the six pack.

“I'm good,” you decline.

“You sure?” He asks, holding the new bottle up. It's a Mexican Coke.

“Oh, wow,” your face lights up.

He opens the bottle with a wink and mentions, “didn't have cherry.”

Your heart flutters and your ears get hot as you accept the drink.

You sit on the back of his car talking and enjoying your drinks for a while. You shiver and he asks, “you alright?”

“Well, I'm not really dressed,” you laugh.

“Lucky for you, this car came with a jacket.” He hops off the trunk of the car and reaches behind the driver’s seat. When he returns a few moments later, he’s wearing a vintage brown leather jacket and holding a jacket for you.

“Looks about right, whatcha think?”

“Yeah.” You carefully step down off the car.

"Hold on,” he says and drapes the jacket over one arm. Then he steps in closer and nudges his fingers under your robe, hitting your bare shoulders and giving you goosebumps. He nudges the robe off, and it falls down to your elbows. You take it off. His eyes glue to your chest. You rub your arms. He holds out the jacket for you and you let him put it on.

He looks you up and down and gives a low whistle. “Perfect,” he nods. Then he steps closer and slips his hands inside your jacket, sliding them along your silk dress, then resting warmly on your lower back. He pulls you into him for a hug. Your erect nipples are poking him through the fabric. He lets out a low growl and pulls you in tighter. A warm, mostly soft bulge presses into you and makes you throb. He noses your hair and inhales as he grabs a handful of ass.

“Ready?” He asks in a low growl, and you've forgotten what he's referring to.

“Hm?” You respond.

“Ready to shoot?”

“Uh, yeah.” It doesn't seem like the safest environment, but there's something sexy about it, too. Your gut tells you he's dangerous, but you like it because he makes you feel safe at the same time. Like you’re not the one in danger.

“One second.” He grabs something from under the driver’s seat and puts it in his pocket. It looks vaguely flask shaped but taller. It barely fits. Lastly, he gets his gun out of the glovebox and puts it in the back of his pants.

—

Clement lights a cigarette, then you walk with him toward the floodlight. He puts his arm around you and offers you the cigarette, but you decline.

“Mmm good girl,” he murmurs with the cigarette still in his mouth. “I can tell ya ain't *too* good though.”

“Hey. I turned down beer and cigarettes. How do you know I'm not good?”

“Just got that vibe, baby.” He squeezes your arm. “And I sure am glad.”

There are multiple wide garage doors along the side of the building. You arrive at a door that's lifted up two or three feet. He holds it at the bottom and slides it up another foot or so. You still have to crouch down, and you hold your dress and the jacket against your bare thighs as you do it. It's spooky inside. Way too dark, and the space is derelict.

Once Clement's inside the building with you, he pulls a string hanging from the above. Then he drops his cigarette and the sparks bounce over a dirty concrete floor before he stops it out. Several bulbs buzz awake along the high ceiling, evenly spaced but far apart. The furthest one is against a half painted brick wall. There are crates stacked up along some of the walls and a few in the middle of the space. As you get closer, the light clearly illuminates a host of bullet holes in the back wall. There are also casings on the floor. On the wall to your right, some of the windows are busted out.

He takes his jacket off and lays it on a crate against the wall. He removes his gun from his pants and puts his leg arm around you as he shows it to you. It’s a silver gun with two swallows engraved on the handle. The birds have their wings spread and are facing each other.

“It was my daddy’s,” he says. “Only thing Mama saved for me.”

His face hardens and he turns and aims toward the back wall, triceps bulging under his shirt. He pulls the trigger. The gunshot is loud, but not as terrible as it could be. Debris bounces off the wall.

He hands you the gun, and. you accept it apprehensively.

“Are you sure this is okay? Here?” You have to wonder about people hearing the gunshots, and plus how you're destroying the wall.

“Don't you worry, darlin’. Place won't be around much longer anyway.”

“Okay.”

“Ever shot a gun?”

“Yeah but I'm rusty.”

“You'll be fine, darlin’. Go ahead.” You aim it hesitantly, half expecting the entire wall to crumble. Clement gets behind you and braces his hands on your arms. “Steady now,” he murmurs. His body is so close to yours, you get butterflies. Then he puts his arms around you. He doesn’t help you aim right away. He noses your temple and inhales your scent. “Mmm,” he hums. You relax your arms, holding the gun with your elbows bent. Then he plans a wet kiss on your neck. “Can’t help myself, sugar.” He kisses and sucks at your neck and you moan. He lightly bites you and you take your right hand off the gun to reach back for his head. You're gushing, and wonder if it's going to run down your legs at this rate.

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head. “Wanna see ya shoot first.”

You let out a disappointed sigh, and he rests his hands on your hips. He presses his pelvis forward, and a hard shape in his pants gives you a rush of need. He murmurs, “You feel that? Oooh.” His hands on your hips pull you back on his bulge. “You can have it when you're done.”

You compose yourself and aim the gun again. He slightly adjusts your arms and directs you toward an unblemished patch of paint straight ahead, just above the exposed brick. “Hit that, and we’re done.”

It only takes you one shot.

“Well hot damn!” He celebrates. “Look at you.” You hand the gun back to him. He slinks around you, hugs you from behind again, and murmurs “don't even need my help, do ya,” then kisses your neck again. “Let's go,” he says into your skin, then retrieves his jacket from the crate. As you're walking back toward the garage door, he turns around and starts walking backwards and whistling. You glance back and he's pulled a bottle of lighter fluid out of his pocket. He's trailing the liquid as he walks.

Your heart jumps to your throat. “What are you doing?”

“Ohh, don't worry, darlin’. It'll burn slow at first. Plenty’a time to get outta here.” He holds the garage door up for you to duck under. He flips the lid of the lighter fluid closed and crams it back in his pocket.

You back away as he takes out a matchbook. He lights a match and drops it into the lighter fluid. The fire races under the garage door and Clement’s eyes are beaming darkly in the glow of it. After a moment, he says, “Woo! Lets go, baby.” You're speechless, and very turned on. He takes your hand in his and charges toward the car. His stride is so long, you're nearly jogging to keep up.

“Hahaaa,” he laughs to himself as he gets in the car. He revs the engine and turns on the music. He pops a breath mint. He sings along with Blue Orchid, and his voice really isn't half bad.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

He looks at you fondly for a moment. “Love a woman who's up for adventure.” He puts his hand behind you to reverse.

As he drives by the building, you crane your neck to see. The fire is only a flickering glow through the busted out windows so far.

He turns down the music only slightly. “Stars are out tonight,” he observes. “Know a spot with a great view,” he offers as you exit the property.

“Ok,” you try to suppress a smile.

“Yeah!” He yells and peels off on the main road. You look up at the stars with the wind in your hair. Soon, he turns onto another dark road, somewhat winding, uphill.

He parks in a dark corner of an abandoned office park. It's littered with empty bottles and faded cans. The chainlink fence has half fallen down, and there are a couple of steel drums. Clement gets out of the car. With most of this part of town abandoned, the light pollution isn't very close. You're up on a hill now, too.

He takes the lighter fluid out of his pocket, squirts it in the barrel, and drops the plastic container in with it. Then he lights the matchbook on fire, drops it. And a blaze quickly grows in the barrel.

Then he gets back in the car and moves the seat back. He leans over and pulls you in for a heated kiss. Then he pulls back and murmurs, “Now get over here” as he takes off his jacket.

—-

Thankfully, the car is roomy and so are the seats. You take off your jacket and put the robe back on. The air is cool and crisp and feels fine. As you climb over to straddle Clement, he greets you with his hands on your thighs. He slides his palms all the way up the backs of your thighs and reaches your bare ass. Then he lifts your little slip dress and says “God *damn*,” at the sight of your bare cunt. “If I knew this. . .”

“You didn't let me get ready,” you lightly punch his chest with a hint of laughter, cheeks burning. He chuckles.

“Well good. Guess I'm *never* gonna let ya get ready.” Your heart flutters at the implied future. He sticks his left hand between your legs and cups your bare cunt. “Oh, baby.” You hover above his thighs while he leans back and unbuttons his pants, then unzips and pulls them down to expose a massive bulge in his white briefs. Your breath hitches at the sight.

He grabs your ass and pulls you forward so your crotch meets his cotton-clad bulge, and a shock of desire spreads through your body like fire. He thrusts upward and you moan at the contact of his warm, hard, package. He kisses you and uses his hands on your hips to rub you against him with your mouths connected. He breaks the kiss with a sigh and says, “Fuck, let's go.” He shoves his hand down his briefs and you allow him the space to take out his commanding cock and balls. Your mouth falls open.

“Not as huge as it looks,” he reassures you. “Gonna love every inch of it.” You nod. It's the girth that has you wide-eyed.

“Oh you're drippin’ on me, sugar.” He lets his thick manhood rest against his lower belly and pulls you in so your clit presses against his warm, smooth shaft and you’re aching to have him inside you. “Let’s feed this hungry pussy already.”

He holds his cock as you hover over it then begin to slowly lower yourself, getting closer to entry. You pause, and he runs his tip through your dripping folds and helps spread the slick down his shaft. Then he nestles his tip at your entrance and you twitch.

You begin to sink down on him, with his tip spreading you wide open. “Mmm,” you whine.

“Yeah, good girl. . . you can take it, baby.” It's every bit as big as it looks. You sink down, feeling taken apart in the best way, and he pulls you down flush.

Speared on his engorged cock, pleasure races through your chest and thighs, out to every inch of your body.

“You good?” He asks, chest heaving.

You rise up then sink back down.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs. “want ya to hear somethin’.” He reaches for the tape deck and changes the cassette. He presses play and it's Ball and Biscuit by the White Stripes.

“I know this one,” you smile. It's a sexy, languid alt blues song.

“Just wait for the next one,” he murmurs, looking at you with a raging lust in his eyes. His cock twitches inside you. He pulls your face into his again and lifts his hips, pushing farther into you. You've never felt so full. “Oh baby,” he breaks the kiss. “You feel so good.” His face is so handsome in the flickering fire light. His blue eyes look almost black. The slice of bare flesh in his eyebrow is too sexy. You run your hands through his hair and he groans at the light rake of your fingers against his scalp.

He lifts into you to the beat of the song. You begin to roll your hips in sync with him.

“Ohhh, yeah,” he breathes. Part of you wants him to lose control and ravish you, but this slow fuck is perfect for the intense stretch of your cunt around his cock.

You kiss and moan as your bodies move together, and the pleasure swells deep inside you, all around his cock. He nudges the silk robe off your shoulders and pulls down the straps of your dress. He groans at the sight of your breasts. He covers one with a hand and one with his mouth and his whole body is moving in time with the music. Your chest feels light. For the rest of the song, your body is wrapped around his, and his hips are slightly lifting you with each thrust.

The same song starts over, but it's not the same singer. The voice is smoother, deeper than Jack White’s. You pull your head back to listen. Clement studies your face, and it takes you a few seconds to recognize the vocals. It’s him, Clement.

“Holy shit,” you mutter, and his face comes to life. “Your voice is–God.” It's hard piecing sentences together impaled on him.

“You really like it,” he marvels.

“Of course I do, it's . . . perfect.”

His eyes soften with affection and he kisses you deeper, smoothly thrusting. He seems to take up all the space in your body.

The passion between you intensifies until it might burst. You need all of his body. You break away from a messy kiss to undo one of his shirt buttons, then another, and he unbuttons the rest in a hurry, and leans back against the chair as you spread his shirt. His chain sparkles in the firelight. It's hanging slightly above a chest tattoo that has the same birds as the gun. His tan skin glistens in the flickering glow.

You plant your hands on his hard pecs to ride him. The movement of his hips becomes more pronounced, and soon he's taken over. He thrusts upward sharply but smoothly and starts fucking you from the bottom, grunting and sighing. He pulls you down on him each time he thrusts. You moan, feeling like you're on the brink.

He pulls you close again and kisses you sloppily while your bodies move as one. “Clem, I'm gonna–”

“Mmm,” he cuts you off. He grunts and moans against your mouth. He's close too.

“I'm gonna fill ya up, baby. . .You want that?” he pants.

You nod.

“You want big Clement dribbling’ down your thighs?”

You nod urgently.

“That's my girl.” His massive hands move you on his cock, and you whimper as you begin to unravel. You clench around him, and he fucks you through it. Then he grunts as he thrusts upward “nngg—ohhhh, uugggh.” He pulses into you, warmth spreading in your core as you finish choking his cock.

You collapse into his arms and twitch with aftershocks as he cradles your head. After a minute, you're still impaled on him and he says your name. You pull your head back.

He looks back and forth between your eyes. A firetruck siren interrupts you. There are more sirens in the distance. Clement shifts his head to look past you, through the windshield, through the broken chain-link fence. His eyes illuminate warmly and he breaks into a small smile. You look behind yourself to see a building on fire in the distance. It's now half engulfed in flames.

What a view. This man is wild, and you can't get enough of him.

-------- -------- Thank you so much for reading!! If you want, you can subscribe to notifications on @toxicfics for all my fics. If you want to be on a Boyd Holbrook character tag list lmk but fyi I sometimes write dark. I have a dark fic rn called The Raid with Steve and Javi. Javi captures reader to make her get clean (off drugs) and she's very horny for them. Steve shows up in part 2, then he has his own PWP one shot, Javi isn't home. Series ongoing.

#clement mansell #clement mansell x reader #justified:city primeval #boyd holbrook #justified fanfiction #clement mansel #boyd holbrook smut #clement mansell smut #boyd holbrook fic #toxicanonymity ☠️#boyd bungalow ☠️#👱‍♂️

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pinksilvace · 5 months ago

Text

! PAC NYC CATS SPOILERS !

What I remember from the show, feat. some official photos

This is all going off of my note-less memories so there may be some minor inaccuracies to these recollections.

Welcoming Remarks/Overture

The crowd was welcomed by the voice of Junior LaBeija, who encouraged us to google him before shutting our phones down.

We were encouraged to make noise at any and all parts of the performance

Filming, even during bows, was strictly prohibited

This show is LOUD. I wore ear plugs the entire time, and I don't consider myself to be particularly sensitive to noise. It makes sense, considering that the audience is meant to yell and the music has to be heard over them.

The theater space itself was relatively small. All seats were good seats.

Mr. Mistoffelees (Robert "Silk" Mason) could be seen dancing through the window set pieces above the back of the stage.

Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats

(clip)

The cast began all around the theater, with spotlights illuminating them as they began to sing. They did not mount the stage until the "Mystical Divinity" portion of the song.

The crowd went WILD at the part that has had its choreography revealed already.

The Naming of Cats

The "Man over there" bit was done by Antwayn Hopper (Macavity). In general, he seemed to be having an absolute blast throughout the show.

During the parts where cats sharing the names in the poem were mentioned, spotlights illuminated them.

Munkustrap led this number and was the only one onstage for the duration of it.

The White Cat Solo

(clip)

Compared to how this is presented in replica productions, the dance moves were very fast.

I am uncertain as to whether this part was meant to characterize Victoria, or if it was just a great chance for BABY (Victoria) to show off her incredible dancing skills.

The Old Gumbie Cat

Jennyanydots (Xavier Reyes) began the number by pulling out a trophy, showing she'd won at balls in the past

During the day, it was implied (I think?) that Jennyanydots has lots of sex. Whether it's sex work, a sugar daddy situation, etc. was unclear. What I can say is that she did lots of bouncing - on other actors, on the edge of the stage, and on a chair.

At night, Jennyanydots is a very harried single Latina mother trying to keep her kids out of trouble.

Instead of Jenny competing in a category herself, Cassandra (Emma Sofia)(implied to be one of Jenny's children, either literally or metaphorically) competed while Jenny directed her choreography from the sidelines.

The Rum Tum Tugger

VERY laid back. This is definitely Jason Derulo's version of Tugger, but done so incredibly right. He was honestly a bit too effortless for how easily he won categories.

It's not shown in this photo, but he wore a gold and black striped fur coat throughout most of the show, sort of like Munkustrap's grey and black one (shown above, with Jenny)

There wasn't very much choreography in this number, save for a bit at the very end where he was facing off "Pretty Boy vs. Thug"

Grizabella the Glamour Cat

Grizabella ("Temptress" Chastity Moore) approached the side of the stage and killed the mood. Everyone kind of just avoided her. Munkustrap tried to talk her into going away, but she refused. He then tried to pay her actual cash to leave, but she stood her ground.

Sillabub (Teddy Wilson Jr.) approached her curiously and backed off at a very subtle warning from Demeter (Bebe Nicole Simpson). (I have to add on that Sillabub wore an orange t-shirt, short pink overalls, and orange converse shoes with a crown of sunflowers on their head. They were easily my favorite character.)

Grizabella showed off a trophy she had won in a previous ball and implored the interim judges to let her compete. They refused.

This Grizabella was almost frighteningly determined.

Bustopher Jones

For the performance I saw, Garnet Williams filled in for Nora Schell, with Tara Lashan Clinkscales filling in for Bombalurina.

Bustopher was referred to with they/them pronouns.

A large portion of this number was spent with Bustopher walking around the theater. When they mounted the stage, they pulled open their shirt to reveal a bustier emblazoned with the English flag.

Bustopher competed and won in the "Body" category. They continued to remain present throughout the rest of the show.

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer

(clip)

It is specified both in the program and during the number that these two are from Victoria Grove, New Jersey

Those New Jersey accents were aggressive

"one of the goyles suddenly misses her woolworth poyles"

Honestly, I wouldn't expect anything less from them

During the Macavity scare preceding this number, Macavity dropped off some trash bags filled with clothes for Bombalurina and Demeter. Mungojerrie (Jonathan Burke) and Rumpleteazer (Dava Huesca) attempted to steal these.

During the second verse, both changed costumes behind some costume racks on either side of the stage.

They competed in the "Tag Team" category against Victoria and Tumblebrutus (Primo) and lost. They then stole the trophy, which Victoria and Tumblebrutus stole back.

Anyway I just desperately need other US productions to give them New Jersey accents

Old Deuteronomy

Munkustrap (Dudney Joseph Jr.) was the only one onstage for the first part of this

Tugger (Sydney James Harcourt) approached the side of the stage and grasped Munkustrap's arm at the "numerous progeny" line

The stage was left empty for Old Deuteronomy (André De Shields) to walk out on

Before he walked out, Sillabub threw flower petals all over it

Mr. Mistoffelees (Robert "Silk" Mason) pulled out Old Deuteronomy's chair for him

There was a VERY long pause for applause when Old Deuteronomy reached his throne at the far end of the catwalk. He turned in a very slow circle. We made eye contact.

Song of the Jellicles/The Jellicle Ball

(clip)

During the Macavity scare, Macavity strides up to Old Deuteronomy. Old Deuteronomy waves him back out of the room in a way that honestly looked like magic. (It's worth noting at this point that the Macavity in this production is a goofy role.)

Because of how the stage is set up, most parts of the dance number were done with only 2-5 actors onstage at a time. When there was a larger group, the dancing remained mostly sedentary.

No mating dance

Grizabella appeared on one of the high balconies. Sillabub waved enthusiastically at her. Everybody else just stared at her.

Many categories were competed in during this part. One of them was sort of an "anything goes" (I forget the exact name) category, in which Munkustrap came out in a golden ensemble with giant wings. Old Deuteronomy didn't like it. Munkustrap gave him sass.

Memory (part 1)

Old Deuteronomy walked out of the room along with everybody else (I THINK.) Grizabella approached the side of the stage, took off the scarf covering her hair, and draped it over one of the railings.

Grizabella caressed the stage as she sang.

Sillabub approached the other side of the stage, watched her for a bit, and departed. They returned near the end of the number with a glittery dress, which they offered to her. Grizabella ran away.

At the end of the number, Sillabub climbs onstage to grab the scarf and look out at the audience. Cut to black.

Moments of Happiness/Moonlight

This part took place entirely between Old Deuteronomy and Sillabub. Sillabub was still onstage, almost got scared away when Old Deuteronomy returned, and knelt in front of him.

As Old Deuteronomy sang about happiness through many generations, he tied the scarf around Sillabub's neck.

While all of this happened, old photos and reports about old balls were being projected on a large screen at the back of the stage. There was then a listing of old house mothers. Most of these were real. The final name listed was Grizabella's.

The rest of the cast joins in for Moonlight, stationed all around the theater. Bombalurina and Demeter were right next to me on the lower balcony. Bombalurina smiled at me.

Gus the Theater Cat

Shereen Pimentel (Jellylorum) was AMAZING.

Gus (Junior LaBeija) was only present for this number and the bows. Most of his lines were performed like spoken word poetry rather than through song.

There was no show-within-a-show piece after this number, but Gus did say the "I once played Rumpus Cat" line. At the very end was Tumblebrutus (I THINK) re-enacting a young Gus a la Grizabella in Tecklenburg 2015.

Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat

(clip)

AGGRESSIVELY a New Yorker in the same way Mungo and Rumple were from New Jersey. Queen of the subways.

Skimbleshanks' (Emma Sofia's) hair had tiger stripes!!!

Lyrics were both English and Spanish (?), especially during the "it was very pleasant" part

She lost her category against Rumpleteazer. They embraced and continued to dance together for the rest of the song.

Macavity the Mystery Cat/"The Fight"

Macavity (with a comically evil cackle and some Hanna-Barbera-style running around) dropped off some more trash bags through one of the windows in the back, which Demeter unpacked. As it turned out, those bags were filled with designer products.

"Macavity wasn't there" was a line used to refer to the fact that Macavity was supposed to be competing but didn't show up on time

Oh yeah, Demeter and Bombalurina were members of the House of Macavity

After Macavity proved to Old Deuteronomy that all of the products were genuine, they all got dressed up and competed in "Labels". The House of Macavity won.

Members of the losing team found attached tags on the products, indicating that the items were shoplifted.

As police sirens blared and blue and white lights flew around the room, Old Deuteronomy ushered Macavity to leave the venue. The police officers entered, looked around the audience, and then looked on the stage, where Old Deuteronomy stood in front of the bags of stolen goods and gave himself up as the perpetrator of the crime.

Macavity returns looking downright distraught.

Magical Mr. Mistoffelees

(clip)

It was much more believable to see everybody turning their backs on Tugger in this production than any other I've seen

Mr. Mistoffelees was referred to with he/him pronouns, so that's what I'm using here

Mr. Mistoffelees is introduced as a ballroom dancer who meets success, in part, by magic-ing his opponents into having wardrobe and performance malfunctions.

He also steals their stuff but I'm unsure whether that has to do with saving Old Deut or if it's just enriching for him

Old Deuteronomy was magicked into a box and stood very still when the curtain was pulled off. When Macavity approached, Old Deuteronomy jumpscared him.

After the song was done, Tugger and Mistoffelees kissed. They were not, as I have seen others say, eating each other's faces; it was very chaste and tender and lasted for just a handful of seconds. The audience went wild, of course.

Memory (part 2)

Grizabella came out in the dress Sillabub had offered earlier

Maybe I was reading too much into it but it looked to me like Old Deuteronomy and Sillabub conspired together to make her reappearance happen

This song was sung in a lower key than usual to better suit Temptress' voice

She looked so uncertain the whole time

Journey to the Heaviside Layer

A big staircase hinged down to the stage, just like in replica productions

Grizabella left through a door at the top of the stairs. Through it, the sounds of New York City could be heard.

The Ad-dressing of Cats

This song makes WAY MORE SENSE in this production in OG Cats, in my opinion. There, it sometimes feels like a bit of a slog. Here, it reinforced the core message of the show about accepting people as they are. To me, the context made it much more powerful.

These last few numbers were loud even through my ear plugs and I don't know why.

The ensemble (Frank Viveros and Shelby Griswold) brought the cast flutes of champagne

Bows

Munkustrap announced each member of the cast as they did individual dances down the stage. This was one of the only songs unrelated to Cats music.

Tugger did a striptease.

After all of the actors, the conductor came out vogueing down the stage.

Afterward, the cast began singing the "practical cats, dramatical cats" portion of Jellicle Songs. I sang enthusiastically along, catching Bustopher's eye. They blew me a kiss.

Other thoughts

Electra (Kendall Grayson Stroud) EASILY had my favorite costume: a holographic top and little black skirt with a huge ruffled rainbow coat over it

Victoria's costume changes made her much less noticeable than usual, especially as she mostly served as a member of the ensemble (I don't think anything in particular about this choice; I just found it interesting)

Despite all of the changes, this very much felt like a production of cats. Even though the actors were staged to be humans, they did nothing else to emphasize it. All of the lyrics were true to replica cats productions.

Where ballroom beats were implemented, they never distracted from the songs they were placed into. They actually enhanced the songs very nicely.

Almost all of the changes made to the original story make sense in the context of this production. I.e., Alonzo's absence makes sense because his role is no longer necessitated. Same with Coricopat and Tantomile.

I am in LOVE with this Sillabub. I really cannot emphasize that enough. They had so much youthful whimsy and KILLED those high notes. They should have been frolicking but instead they were at the club smh

Understated Tugger was an interesting look, and I think it worked well, considering that this Mistoffelees was definitely the most eye-catching member of the cast.

It was actually really cool to see a production where Macavity is accepted as one of the tribe. I fully believe that Mungojerrie learned a few pointers from this one. Again, I have to emphasize that it looked like Antwayn Hopper had the time of his life in this role.

Speaking of, there may have been some Deut bros (Tugger+Munkustrap+Macavity) staging, but I don't remember clearly enough to say for sure.

Most of the transfer of the story made sense... except for the stuff surrounding Grizabella. I've seen the directors talk about ageism in the ballroom community, but with how much emphasis this production put on respect for elders via Old Deuteronomy and Gus and the lack of general contempt from the cast, I honestly don't know why she would have been outcast to begin with. I also have no idea why she ran away from Sillabub.

I kind of wish there had been more extreme makeup, but most of the cast switched between their characters and ensemble roles frequently, so it makes sense. It didn't make the show any worse.

Overall, this was an incredible production that deserves the praise it is given. Yes, I think a number of Cats fans are casting too much judgement on the creative decisions. Yes, I think too many reporters have dunked on the original Cats staging more than is warranted in order to prop this production up. Regardless of those two factors, it was clear that the cast and creative team had a real love for both Cats and ballroom, and I think they married the two concepts beautifully.

#fern muses #cats the musical #pac nyc cats #spoilers

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thecoolerliauditore · 23 days ago

Note

I remember last year finally watching Pearl and Scott's last life and. I think I experienced... the same thing that people who dislike FH did in 3L but with Pearl? I was encouraged to watch it by a friend because they said that gaslight gatekeep girlboss was super wholesome and loyal to each other, and that Scott even turned red rather than hurt either of them. But when I watched it, idk it wasn't as bad as I've seen some people describe FH but I was just struck by how often Scott calls Pearl insane or crazy or unhinged just for... existing? Playing the game? Being just a little bit silly sometimes no more than anyone else? He acted like she was a wild animal he had to reign in even though she didn't do anything crazier than what he did. Sometimes he would just randomly call her insane it felt like. It made me finally understand what people meant by those words being ableist with how often he threw them around! It got really uncomfortable!

I got sold GGG as a very cute wholesome winners POV, and I guess compared to everyone else in LL it was, but only if you compare it to other LL teams. People said he was suddenly mean to Pearl in DL, but he mostly repeated a lot of the things he already said about her in LL! I was expecting there to be some shift in how he treated her. Makes me scared to watch Jimmy and Scott's 3L POV if this is what people consider Scott being wholesome!

FASCINATING. this might be my cue to go rewatch GGG Last Life.

I'll be very open and say it's been a fair amount of time since I've sat down to rewatch LL, so I might be looking back at Scott and Pearls relationship with rose tinted glasses -- I spoke a little bit on the soft manipulation that existed between them still, like when Scott yelled at Pearl to kill Joel, but my impression of them is fairly wholesome. Then again I watched LL first and didn't have the context from 3L so the first time I watched their POV it was just. Haha funny blue man cute accent.

So take the rest of this with a grain of salt, at this point I'm fully prepared to say something like "Scott never hit Pearl" and someone will link me their equivalent of the sugar cane scene from 3L lmao.

So I can offer up some semblance of an explanation, if that helps at all to explain the perception gap. One thing is like you said, they were wholesome in comparison to the rest of the teams in LL, which I'd argue were the most disastrous in the series with the damage the "reds can't team with non-reds" rule did to them.

3L teams were also pretty bad, but when you went to compare FH to other teams you had other duos like DD and Renchantyn that had their own issues but served as a very solid point of reference for how they seemed to genuinely respect their partners. Thinking about the clip where Grian and Scott leave Scar and Jimmy to pull the lever on exploding Monopoly Mountain and Grian is trying his best to say he's worried for Scar through gritted teeth because he's Grian and Scotts just like. Well Jimmys probably gonna screw this one up 🙄 A very one to one comparison point presented directly for the viewer.

Scott and Pearl, on the other hand, were the only duo in LL amongst a bunch of massive teams that were falling apart all around them. It gave them this "us against the world" feeling, so to speak.

Maybe if Team BEST was more honest about being Teams BE and ST then we would've had a better comparison point and Scott and Pearl would've seemed way more insane, but then again I've had people vague to me that LL Ethubs is their 3L FH so I'm biting my tongue on this one.

Another thing that I think is more poignant is the factor of hindsight. Scott calling Pearl insane Now is horrifying because of what he did in DL and his calling her that being very much more serious.

In LL Pearl really didn't have any baggage attached to the word "insane" afaik? Unless she got upset at him and I've just forgotten cus it's been too long which is a very likely possibility.

So at the time it just seemed like. Pearl being Pearl and Scott gripping his head in stress and going aughhhhhhhhh ahhhhhh. Which is like. Fine at least to me. Her antics made his blood pressure go but he still went along with them more often than not and stuck by her side.

"She didn't do anything crazier than he did" is SUPER true btw LL Scott is a menace but I also must point out this is a point in hypocrisy but also a point in Pearls personality rubbing off on Scott that season. He was always a crazy arsonist but now he's a crazy arsonist without the angst.

Like the POV is haunting to me now that I have the context of DL and beyond and Scott being serious about the "insane" thing but before I got that context it really did just look like. Pearl being some sort of animal that has wandered into Scott's base and started gnawing at the curtains and Scott trying to scare her away with a broom yelling at the top of his lungs YOURE INSANE. YOURE INSANE. But also the creature if it leaves will Take All of His Lives Away so he has to learn to live with her and through her learn to be a little more chill. Which is the main appeal of that POV, to me at least.

compare say. The part in LL where Pearl steals one of Scars crystals and is genuinely being silly and antagonistic by running around giggling. And Scott's thrown his hands up and going "I DONT APPROVE THIS BUT IM NOT HER BOSS DONT LOOK AT ME". To Episode 2 of WL where Pearl is like? A little bit cheeky to Gem and Gem literally scolds Scott for not "controlling" her well enough and Scott apologises and promises he'll do better. <- ?????? Everything I type out this interaction I have to remind myself it's real btw like what.

and I must say they do have a lot of really genuinely cute moments that season that might be blinding me shoujo sparkle style to the horrors. Like their staring into each others eyes ritual thing for boogeyman assignments, for example. Compare that to the um. Axe crits.

ANYWAY. fascinating insight. To rewatch Pearls POV I go (<- clown makeup is locked and loaded)

#asks #long post

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romeo-golf · 8 months ago

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Food has become more than foreplay now

He's sitting in grey sweatpants, stretch-marked gut hanging over the waistband as he gorges himself again on pizza, beer, and doughnuts. His belly is swollen and tight, the pressure inside making breathing a challenge, and he's positioned himself in front of the mirror to make sure he can see it from every angle.

When he looks down all he sees is a semi-circle of furry flesh, rounding in front of him, ending somewhere just shy of his knees. He feels enormous and it drives his libido wild.

He's been edging for a week now, promising himself not to jack off until tonight, completing his 8,000 calorie a day target for the full week. His body yearns for it and as he finishes the last slice of pizza his wobbles his gut. The rhythmic motion of his blubber bouncing on his thighs, rubbing gently against the end of his dick, makes him feel like he's slipping into a trance.

More. He needs more. He imagines the sensation 10-, 50-, 100- pounds heavier. He feels the precum dripping out of him and reaches for the doughnuts. Pushing them in, one after another, like a crazed animal.

Food has become more than foreplay now. It's an aphrodisiac, a flirtation, a sexual endeavour that he simply cannot indulge often enough to satisfy the gainer-brain that screams at him. He tugs his clothes down his thighs and gropes the bulge in his boxers as he chews another custard-filled deep-fried sugar-coated treat. Those calories. This fat. The decadence.

The thoughts fill his head as he strokes gently, easing himself close to orgasm and just holding it there, luxuriating in the hedonism of it. The moment is too good not to share and he leans forward to grab his phone and balance it on a side-table just in front of the couch.

The sensation of his gut squished between chest and thighs is another erotic thunderbolt and after setting the camera to record he slouches back, pushing one hand deep under his overhand to finger the growing wet patch in the fabric.

"Fuck…" he mutters to himself while pulling his fat-pad buried cock out of his shorts and gently teasing it with his right hand, while the left gropes, wobbles, and fingers his excessively obese body.

He wants more. He needs it. He loses himself in thoughts of how impossibly huge he could be and then brings himself back to reality by remembering just how much he's eaten this week, how fat his fitness-tracker app suggests he'll be in 6 months from now if he keeps doing it. He doubles the figure in his head, knowing he'll do this all year, and feels his groin tense as the orgasm builds.

"470lb… 470lb… 470lb" the number flashes in bright bold text in his mind's eye as he feels his balls empty themselves up his body. Glazing his wide chest and swollen gut with a hefty load.

The satisfaction envelopes his body and he opens his eyes to see his reflection. Post-nut clarity doesn't hit like it once did, not when he just knows he'll do it again next week.

He wipes his hand down his gut to remove the jizz on his fingers and picks up his phone to save the clip and start sharing it with all the guys he knows will wake up soon and send him encouragement to keep going for another week of gluttony and growth.

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daddy-suguru · 2 years ago

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HELLO MDI! (I really hope this is your alias because my high brain was having a hard time figuring it out I'm so sorry😭)

Congratulations on your milestone! I am wishing you 10k more my dearest (I hope petnames are okay too)

I would love to join your event!

I request Suguru ♥ and I would love if it be smutty, I have no preferences so honestly, go wild.

congratulations again and I look forward to properly binging and rb your fics as opposed to just admiring from afar (reading them in pieces on my lunch break when they pop up on dash)

have a great day

sᴜɢᴀʀ’s ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇs | Mdi means minors don't interact, 🤣 but I felt that high brain be good brain. I go by sugar but pet names are welcomed! Also thank 🙇 I'm happy you've been reading them during your lunch breaks! I have so many shorts on here from last year to do through I hope you enjoy them :3 and thank you, I'm excited to get to write for so many people :3

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs | sexting, suguru missing you, suguru recording himself, gamer!suguru, jerking off

Suguru lets out a groan while checking the time, you have two hours left of your shift. Pulling his headset off his head, setting it on the coffee table in front.

Standing up out of his gaming chair momentarily to slip out of his sweatpants. Spitting into the palm of his hand, wrapping his fist around his head. Sliding his hand down with a low groan while grabbing his phone.

Holding it over his cock, recording himself. Sliding his fist down smearing his spit, before settling at the base of his dick. Slowly pumping, stopping half way.

The bead of pre cum on the tip of his cock swells till it trickles down the side. While Suguru moans, “See what you’re doing to me princess?” Sending the dimly lit, short clip. With the massages;

Do you want my cumshot? I'm trying to make sure I last longer to enjoy your pussy. When you get home, I'm slipping off your clothes and spreading your legs apart for me to slip between.

I'm missing how you taste baby girl, I know reading this is making your pussy drip for me. Slip in the bathroom and send me a picture of your pretty princess’ pussy.

My cock is getting harder thinking about you. Hurry home princess, I need you sitting on my face, whimpering and whining while you suck my cock.

Suguru frowns when his messages aren't quickly read. And he pulls up his private folder, showing various videos and pictures of yourself. Hs favorite was the one with you on your back and legs spread.

The expression on your face is pure bliss while he slowly spreads your pussy apart with his cock. Letting out a groan while speeding up his fist. Even when you aren’t just looking at you could make him cum quickly.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #geto smut #geto x reader #geto suguru #suguru geto #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #jjk x reader #jjk

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damn-stark · 8 months ago

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Sugar fun side story before things went to shit…

Satoru and you doing the “We’re ___ of course we,” trend…

(I know that trend didn’t start back then, but I had an idea…)

Satoru starts it because it was his idea and he says he wants to be followed by more people on his social media, and your followers can help him achieve that. Albeit he only got you to do it because he promised to pay for your manicures and pedicures for the next 6 months.

He also starts wearing expensive shades and a charming smirk.

“We’re Japanese of course we pray before we eat.”

He grins and clasps his hands together before the video cuts to you smiling and showing off fancy clothes because you’re both not so humble when it comes to clothing and accessories.

“We’re Japenese of course we celebrate Christmas even if it’s not for religious reasons.” You’re showed off next sharing a big smile before the camera cuts back to Satoru.

“We’re Japanese of course we don’t wear outside shoes when walking into our house. I mean who does that?—

“Satoru you can’t say that, that’s mean,” you interrupt him as you lean towards him. “You know that not—”

The clip gets cut off because Satoru edited it out and goes back to you walking around the lake you live by.

“We’re Japanese of course my parents don’t like me because I’m a girl—”

“No,” Satoru cuts you off sharply and turns the phone away to scold you. “What did I say? None of that depressing shit!”

“It’s true! Now shut up or I’ll stop doing this!” You counter back, making him groan before the video returns to you so you can do it over.

“We’re Japanese of course I’m judged for what I wear because I’m a woman and—”

The clip abruptly gets cut off again because Satoru hates your responses and instead when the next clip plays it’s Satori happy to be participating.

“We’re Japanese of course….” She pauses and hums for a second before she remembers what Satoru told her to say. “Oh! Of course we like anime.”

“Satoru, that’s such a stereotype—”

He ends that video before you can ruin the clip and the next part is him in front of the camera. “I’m Satoru Gojo, brother to your beloved model,” he says and goes on to say your name before he ends the video and posts it because he knows the media will go wild for it.

#fanfiction #damn-stark #sugar #jjk fanfiction #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen wip #gojo satoru #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk satoru #gojo satoru x sister!reader

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draconicfool · 4 months ago

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@weltenwxndler asked: sylus had kept an eye on the individual that was eros. the files didn't match up, no matter what he looked up. the ipc's data wasn't always top notch but to a certain degree it could certainly be trusted. and here there was absolutely no record of a man with that name. no birth date, nothing. he was like a blank slate and that rarely happened with kieran and luke looking around space. he gave them both a look before dismissing them. fine, if the data was either not there, he could look up the countless transactions that had been recorded but all that showed up were his "parents". not like sylus was a data maniac or a huge nerd that needed for every citizen in space to be recorded in their archives. a silly idea, but belobog had only recently come back into their view and since he was tasked with updating the records and keeping the network in grand shape, sylus saw no choice but to directly acquire information... giving away his position in the ipc was not an idea that he entertained. fear and suspicions would not make him gain what he wanted. hence he stood in eros' clinic, a huge wound on his right thigh (his boys mixing up his knee with his thigh was beyond him... but healing himself back up just to receive another wound, he wasn't that masochistic). he signed himself up for treatment before more or less limping into the doctor's room. "I'm sorry, I was out in the wild before I was attacked and..." well, he had used some emergency first aid bandages but sylus still had to take off his pants to present the wound, so he did. gently and carefully pushing his underwear up, along with his best asset, he turned to eros. "I tried to treat it but neither me nor my two... friends are experts on the matter. could I ask you to help me out?" he smiled softly, deep inside finding 15 different ways to kill his subordinates. he meant to make an impression, but not to stand there half naked...

Now, Eros loved a handsome man as much as the next guy. There was nothing he adored more perhaps than flirting with someone. However! His job did come first and foremost. So when he'd called the other in, he'd barely registered what Sylus looked like. His purple eyes were scanning over the paper on his clip board before finally they went to him. And thusly to the wound on his leg. When he'd read that was the issue he hadn't thought it would be that...well, that intense! Not that he couldn't handle it, but all the same. The things Fragmentum Monsters could do he supposed.

Even if that wasn't what the actually was.

"Ah, have a seat, sugar- Aeons, y'must be exhausted walkin' 'round like that." He approached as the other got onto the cot. Black-tinted fingers quickly putting on gloves before they ran along the bandages and the length of the wound.

"Y'know s'real intense out in th' Snow Plains- y'shouldn't be goin' on y'er own."

#weltenwxndler #🐉 ; to carve it out your life [answered]#🐉 ; to simply die for [ic]#🐉 v: slumbering dragon [main]#cw injury

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semolinapudding · 1 year ago

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Mundane scenes with genshin characters.

Random casual and commonplace scenes that bring these characters closer to reality and human life.

Gender neutral reader.

Content Warnings: throwing up, alcohol.

Cyno

🍧You hear the sound of nail clipping from Cyno clipping his toe nails on the terrace, with his foot sitting on his thigh. He's got a simple and silver color nail clipper that is so loud, either because of it, or because of his thicc nails.

🍧You often see him washing his feet at the faucet in Avidya forest. Actually, there's no time you don't see him washing his feet at the faucet with a handmade soap everytime he comes from the desert with really dirty and full of sand feet. Collei usually brings him a clean towel.

🍧There's something calming and satisfying about seeing Cyno do these simple everyday life things that everyone does.

🍧He sometimes just sits on the margin of the terrace of Tighnari's chalet, in the morning sun, and sips dark coffee, no sugar, you know, because he always mentions it when buying coffee from some other places. His loud sips are an usual background noise, silent and deep in his own thoughts, with a hand sitting on his thigh.

🍧Cyno always sighs hard when leaning down in bed after a hard day.

🍧When he wakes up from a nap, you know he's hungry. And if it isn't dinner time yet, he just eats some cheese with onions he's cleaning himself. He blinks pressed, his eyes sting because of the onions.

Tighnari

🍧Tighnari can be heard whistling unbothered while doing chores or wandering the forest. The tone and Rhythm of his whistling is recognizable. Is soothing and relaxing to listen to while doing something or just being in the area.

🍧Tighnari does push ups near the bed sometimes, without a particular reason.

🍧You came to Avidya Forest to find out the beloved forest ranger infested himself with salmonella, after eating an infested mushroom by mistake. He throws up often and sometimes he doesn't even get to reach a bucket or the outside. A doctor comes to Avidya to check and cure him. Salmonella is contagious so Cyno and Collei have been told to keep their distance.

🍧When he doesn't get salmonella from mushrooms, Tighnari can be seen sewing his clothes and Collei's as well. Her bra got a tear and Collei is too messy. She can't do a tight and strong sew like Tighnari does. He pricks himself with the needle and groans annoyed, pressing with the thumb on his stinged finger.

Wanderer (Bambi)

(I named him Bambi.)

🍧Like a wanderer he wanders the streets of Sumeru, his face hidden by his hat. He may think he isn't human but you don't think that at all, as he gets lost in the crowd of people in the market, just like any of us.

🍧Bambi goes grocery shopping. Just how many times does this guy argue with people over the quality of pumpkins?

🍧His bag tears at the bottom and all his vegetables fall to the ground. He swears loudly, in public, and gets down on his knees, thinking of what he should do. He places all his vegetables in his hat. Luckily, a granny gives him a more rezistent bag because walking the bazaar with a huge hat full of vegetables is stupid enough to raise attention.

🍧So those vegetables are actually for a soup he's making, out in the wild. You watch his fingers try to lit up a match. He breaks the third match in half already, but he's forcing patience onto himself.

🍧When he lits up the fire and prepares the pot, a wild animal steals a veggie from his bag. He turns around and chases it screaming, then forgets about it.

🍧Bambi gets rocks in his shoes often, and starts shaking his foot, making those annoyance mouth sounds. Many times he has to take off his shoes to remove the rocks.

🍧When he eats something, usually dogs gather around him and he waves his hands at them to send them away, but they come back. He throws his food to the dogs and walks away.

🍧He trips over and swears the ground or whatever. He lifts himself up and flies because he got mad at the ability to walk.

🍧You watch him from a distance as he's taking his shoes and socks off, to get into the water of a lake. Birds usually gather at the shore of the water and he likes to throw water at them with his feet, laughing meanly while they fly away.

🍧Bambi is a weird name for someone as mean as him.

Venti

🍧Aside from seeing him very often at Angel's share, drinking wine all alone, he has other moments that make him just as human as everyone else, just what is the difference between an archon and a human, if it's to exclude immortality?

🍧You notice how lonely he actually seems. All by himself, with a glass of wine, staring in the distance, or when he walks through Mondstadt just like an usual citizen, and he sprains his ankle on the stairs. That must be painful. He cries in pain while people nearby approach him worryingly. Yeah, embarrassing things happen, is part of life. He's fine, he says he's fine, as he walks limping.

🍧And when he cuts apples with a penknife at Windrise and eats all by himself, is just another simple view that you like to see.

🍧He writes poems and you know it because you saw them exposed at Lisa's library, signed as "A bard". You recognize his handwriting. You're even more sure he's the one writting them when at Angel's share, in the mundane noises of other people passing and talking, he's concentrating on a piece of paper. When you approach, you see he's writtings lyrics.

🍧A quiet place is always best for inspiration waves and no interruptions, and is mostly Windrise, but coincidence makes it that you find him in some other places as well.

🍧Venti recites his poetries in whispers to make sure the rhyme fits well, he writes and mumbles it all over again until it is just right.

🍧In the morning, while humming melodies, he detangles his messy hair and braids it back, making your morning dreams sweeter.

🍧He throws up after drinking, which is rare. But it happens and is awful for him and everyone hearing it.

🍧Not so pretty about him is the strong smell of alcohol that hits you when you approach him at Angel's share, and he's already past many wine shots.

Author's note:

Hello mini puddings. Of course I am back. I've had this in my drafts for a while and it's time to let it fly. This time with something I came up with myself. Tell me how you like it.

#genshin impact headcanons #funny #slice of life #Cyno #tighnari #Wanderer #scaramouche #venti #headcanons

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harlequinromancing · 9 months ago

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Bergamot and Beans Ch1

AstarionxTav, Coffee/Tea Shop AU - set post endgame. First meetings, falling in love, eventual smut. (And a little angst!) No warnings apply.

WIP - subscribe on Ao3 or follow for more.

“You’re late,” Alfira said, removing her apron and levelling a disappointed look at Maeve.

“I know, I know!” Maeve huffed, throwing her satchel behind the counter and pulling an apron on. “I done got stuck talking to Master Sinclair, didn’t I? Y’know how he drones on in the evenings.”

Alfira strode away from the counter and picked up her lute, beginning to tune it.

“Maeve, you know I have no idea what any of these people are like, right?”

“I tell you about them all the time!” Maeve turned to Alfira with an exasperated look, pinning her wild red hair out of her face.

“Yes, but you know how you drone on.”

“Oh, shut it, you make me listen to every bloody detail of your life,’ she said, haphazardly clipping on her name tag.

“That’s because it’s far more interesting than boring old monks in a stuffy library… Oh. Wow…’ Alfira trailed off, looking over Maeve’s shoulder. She cleared her throat and continued. “You have customers, by the way.”

“Feck, sorry, okay, what can I–” Maeve turned to face the men behind the counter, plastering on a smile, and found herself momentarily dumbstruck by a strikingly beautiful elf. “…get you, gentlemen?” She hoped she had managed to brush it off as being flustered.

The more harried human of the pair spoke first, asking for a strong cup of coffee with a frightening amount of sugar. Maeve raised her eyebrows at his request - she pitied whoever had to spend time with this man after he consumed it.

“Sure thing, and what about yourself, sir?” Maeve said, turning back to the elf, stealing a moment to properly look at him. He was gorgeous, all perfect lines, and soft-looking hair. He reminded her of one of the marble statues she had studied years ago - the seductively handsome devils playing at being angels.

“Coffee isn’t really my drink.” He sounded almost bored, leaning against the counter, but there was a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked at Maeve. His red eyes seemed to stare straight into her, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. “Surely there’s something more… appetising?”

Well here at Bergamot and Beans we're known for our wide selection of teas! 23 flavours and counting,” Maeve said instinctively, gesturing to the shelves behind her.

Hell’s inferno, she thought, what a tosser I sound like.

“Elkazaran Breakfast’s the most popular,” she supplied, when he raised his eyebrows.

“Sure, why not?” he said, and looked almost… disappointed.

“Great, have a seat and I’ll get those ready. A copper each, thanks.”

They dropped the coins on the counter and Maeve turned away to prepare the drinks as Alfira started playing her set, the opening bars to Somebody’s Girl filling the shop.

When they were ready, she set them down in front of the two men, the human man thanking her far more graciously than a simple coffee delivery warranted. That, and his amusing order, earned the two of them what would be her only genuine smile of the night.

‘Enjoy! Let me know if you need anything else,’ she said, unintentionally directing it towards the pretty elf.

“Thank you, Eveaw,” he said with a smile, and far more warmth than she normally received from customers. She lingered for just a second, to savour the feeling, until two women walked in and signalled the start of the evening rush.

Maeve was already halfway back to the counter when she twigged to what he said. She looked down at her chest and read the name tag there: ‘MAEVE’.

It was upside down.

She muttered out a curse and tore it off, throwing it under the counter as she greeted the two women.

Several more people came in after, and by the time she had a break in service to come check on them, the men had already left. The coffee cup had been drained completely, but the lukewarm tea was almost entirely untouched.

Several hours later, Maeve pulled her hood closer around her face as she turned down a dark alleyway.

She stepped down a set of stairs to a basement door, and palmed a silver coin to a dwarven man sitting in front of it.

“Good to see you again, Morrigan,” he said in a low voice, opening the door for her. “You’ve got a nice crowd in there. Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks Darmund. Shan’t be needing it, if it’s anything like last week.”

Darmund laughed quietly, clapping her on the back as she passed through the door. The sound grew as she ventured deeper into the building, down another flight of stairs and through the twisting halls, until she emerged into a large, dark room filled with people and a smoky haze.

Lakrissa found her quickly, taking her cloak from her and ushering her to the edge of the ring.

“I like the new hair colour,” she said, twirling a lock of it around her finger, “the brown suits you.” She looked down at her fingertips, noticing the residue it had left there, and wiped it off on Maeve’s shoulder.

“Thanks. It’s only temporary. I figure now I’m making a wee name for myself, it might serve to be less recognisable down here.”

“Smart thinking. Now you're just another copper-a-dozen half-elf."

"Thanks," Maeve said dryly. "How's looking in the ring then?"

"Well, it sounds like you might finally have a challenge on your hands again, there’s a new fighter in your class with some real buzz. Betting’s against you, so you stand to profit if you win.”

Maeve tucked in the ends of her wrist wraps, flexing her hands to test the fit and watching her opponent do the same.

She looks strong, but slow, she thought.

Maeve was right - once she got in the ring and dodged a few pot shots, she was practically dancing around the other woman, teasing her and trying to goad her into a mistake.

One lapse and I’ll have her. It was almost too easy.

But then, through the haze over the other woman’s shoulder, Maeve spotted a flash of white hair across the room. Her eyes followed it, mind wandering to her interaction earlier that day.

There’s no way he’d be down here.

“Get your head in the game, Morrigan!” Lakrissa shouted from behind her. Maeve realised her distraction a moment too late as a fist connected with her jaw, hard .

Three evenings passed before Maeve saw the two men again at Bergamot and Beans.

“Not a fan of the Elkazaran Breakfast were you?” Maeve asked when they approached her.

“...What? Oh, uh, no, it was fine,” the elf said, taken aback. He wasn’t the first to be surprised by her sharp memory. “But nevertheless, I think I’m in the mood for something different today.”

“Of course, what tickles your fancy?” Maeve said with far more enthusiasm than required. She cringed internally as she listened to herself.

“You know what? Surprise me.”

His eyes travelled down to the side of her face, clearly catching the purpling bruise on her jaw. Maeve quickly turned her attention to the other man.

“And for yourself? Strong and sweet again?”

He was looking a jot less harried than the last time he was in, but still had an unmistakable air of disarray about him. Typical wizard.

“You remembered!” he said, brightening visibly. “Yes please.”

As they walked away, Maeve caught the beginning of their conversation.

“See Astarion, this is what a little loyalty gets you…”

Astarion. Maeve mouthed the name silently, filing it away for later. A pretty name for a pretty man.

This time, she double checked her name tag before delivering their drinks. Just as she had hoped, Astarion thanked her with extra emphasis on her proper name, so she risked a wink at him and earned a slight smirk back.

Returning to the counter, she kept an eye on the elf, watching for a reaction. He sipped his tea, looked decidedly unfazed, and continued his conversation with his very animated friend. Maeve didn’t see him touch the cup again.

Bugger.

Two nights later, right at the end of the evening, the bell above the door tinkled.

Maeve looked up from the book she’d been engrossed in for the last half hour to see Astarion again. But he was alone this time.

“The lemon green was a bust too then?” she asked, fatigue dulling her usual chipper work-voice.

“Not my favourite,” Astarion said with a chuckle, and she was struck again with that curiously intent stare of his.

“Keen to try something else then? A little more floral perhaps?”

“Dealer’s choice,” he said, waving his hands in her direction.

Maeve gestured for him to take a seat as he dropped a copper on the counter, and she turned to survey the shelves of tea.

She heard his footsteps a few seconds later than she anticipated, like he had lingered. Probably looking at my arse, she thought – he wouldn’t be the first.

Her fingers trailed across the jars of tea before settling on the jasmine. White flowers for white hair.

Maeve brewed two pots of it and when she turned to take one over to him, she jumped, surprised to see him sitting at the counter just a few seats down.

He appeared to be engrossed in a sheet of paper in front of him, a pair of gold reading glasses perched on his nose, but Maeve caught him smirk when she startled.

“Thank you, Maeve,” he said when she set the pot down, a hint of ritual to his speech.

“Yer welcome, Astarion,” she said, holding back a wee grin.

He paused in his movements, looking up at her with narrow eyes, like he might say something. But he breathed out a little ‘huh’ and his face softened again, his eyes still on her.

“You’ll want to pour that quick, it’s a delicate wee brew, the jasmine.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you from yours then,” he said.

“Of course,” Maeve said, and tapped her fingertips on the counter. “Enjoy.”

She returned to her own seat, pouring out a small cup and inhaling the sweet smell of it, watching him over the rim of her cup as she pretended to drink.

When Astarion tasted the brew, he made a face that could only mean “Meh.”

Maeve chuckled into her tea, and he looked over at her.

“Big fan of that one, are ye?” she asked.

“I’m starting to think tea’s not the drink for me either.”

“Don’t be silly, love. Just have to find the right one, don’t we?”

“Three down, twenty more to go,” he said, nodding at the shelves of tea.

“Hopefully it doesn’t take that many. I’ll have to go looking for some more options then!” she laughed.

“Gods forbid,” Astarion said, looking back at her with a slight smile. Maeve held his gaze for a moment, and when his eyes travelled back to her yellowing bruise, she looked back down at her book.

They sat in relative silence for several minutes, Astarion taking one sip for every 10 of hers, until Maeve slammed her book closed.

“What a feckin’ idiot!” she muttered, taking another drink of tea to calm her down. She noticed Astarion looking over at her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It couldn’t have come at a better time, actually. This report was threatening to put me to sleep for the first time in my life.”

Maeve snorted indelicately into her tea, and luckily he spared her a remark.

“What are you reading then? Who’s the fecking idiot ?” he asked, mimicking her accent with surprising skill.

“Elminster Aumar’s Extended History of Faerun - you’d think the bloody man had never left Baldur’s Gate, what with how much he’s made up. Doesn’t know a feckin’ thing about The Whalebones…” Maeve stopped herself before getting too far down that path. Alfira could pretend to listen tomorrow.

“Gods below, what convinced you to pick up that drivel?”

“Some silly bint working at Sundries. Gods, don’t get me started on her either.”

Astarion huffed a small laugh, looking away from her.

Maeve lifted the lid off her teapot, making a small noise of disappointment when she saw it was empty. Astarion slid his over without a word.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

“You’ll enjoy it far more than I will.”

Maeve poured herself a cup, took a sip, and made a face.

“And you expected me to like that one?” Astarion teased.

“Been in there too long, it’s turned bitter now,” she said, and glanced up at the clock. “... d’ya want to try something else? On me.”

“How could I turn down such a tempting offer?” he asked, leaning forward to place his chin on his hands.

“This time I am gonna make you choose something though,” she said, leaning across the counter towards him. “Sweet or spicy?”

“Well, I do like spicy food,” he said conspiratorially.

“I thought you might.”

Maeve prepared a single pot and set it on the counter between them.

“This one,” she said, holding out the open jar of tea to him, “is a divisive one. Technically a tisane, because it contains no tea leaves - but try telling the average punter that. Dark chocolate, chilli, and dates are what you’ll be smelling there.”

Astarion took a deep inhale of the scent, pulling a face that at least tried to appear receptive.

“Well it certainly sounds interesting if nothing else,” he said, and slid his cup over.

“That it is,” she said, making no move to pour. “And it needs a few minutes to really develop those flavours. So while we wait… Tell me, Astarion, what brings you in tonight? I suspect it’s not tea.”

“Well, Maeve . You remember Gale.”

“The wizard you been coming here with?” she asked, leaning against the counter towards him.

“The very same. He was terribly busy and insisted I come down so you wouldn’t forget about us. Something about maintaining our ‘customer loyalty’… Honestly I stopped listening after that. But… I suppose there are worse ways to spend an evening.”

“I suppose there are,” she said, letting a wry smile settle on her face. “And he doesn’t need to worry. Hard to forget someone who drinks coffee strong enough to kill me nan… Or a face like yours.”

Astarion huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Does that one usually work for you?”

“More often than not,” she admitted, laughing as well. “Probably not as well as it does for you.”

He fixed her with a stare, his face unreadable. “You are perceptive, aren’t you?”

“My stock-in-trade.”

He held her eye for a long moment.

“Interesting.”

Maeve scoffed. “Ah, I’ve been called worse I suppose.”

Guessing that enough time had likely passed, she poured out a cup for each of them, and took a drink, enjoying the slight tingle of the chilli. He watched her the whole time, without reaching for his own.

“Go on then, it’s perfectly safe now.”

He took a sip, and this time he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.

“That one’s not bad, actually.”

“Aha!” Maeve exclaimed, slapping the counter. “We’re making progress! I’ll mark that one down in the maybe column.”

“You’re keeping score,” he said, levelling a playful look at her.

“Can you blame me? You’re a repeat customer even though I’ve not served you a single thing you’ve more than tolerated. How could I pass up an invitation like that? I will find something that you like,” she said, stabbing a finger down on the counter in emphasis.

“So you like a challenge, then?”

“It’s not even necessarily liking them … I just cannot abstain from them, no matter how hard I try.”

“I imagine that gets you into a fair bit of trouble.”

“You’ve no idea.”

“I may have some.”

Maeve narrowed her eyes, thoughts briefly flitting back to that flash of white she saw…

“Do you now? Surely not with the company you keep. How much trouble can you really get into when you’re with a wizard all the time?”

“He’d surprise you,” Astarion chuckled. “But I don’t spend all my waking hours with him. I still have time for… trouble .”

“And what kind of trouble is that?” Maeve asked, dropping her voice lower and leaning in towards him.

“Well,” he said, mirroring her actions, “there’s the usual excesses; drinking… debauchery… sex.”

He enunciated the last word clearly, staring into her eyes as he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers trailing along the edge of her jaw.

Maeve held his stare, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of an outward reaction, despite the momentary stutter of her heartbeat. He was clearly a practised hand at making people shiver.

“Does that one usually work for you?”

Astarion dipped his head, his shoulders shaking slightly as he stifled a laugh.

“It does, actually,” he said, looking back up at her. “And frankly, that gets rather boring. I quite like a challenge myself, as it turns out.”

“Well, Astarion, if you’ll indulge me in mine…” she trailed off, gesturing between them in invitation.

“Of course, Maeve. So what trouble are you getting yourself into, hmm?”

“Oh, nothing special. Burglary, larceny, affray.”

Astarion nodded his head seriously. He was hearing sarcasm that wasn’t there, just as she’d hoped.

Maeve glanced up at the clock again, and stood up straight - she should have closed up about ten minutes ago.

“Alright, I should probably lock up now. Unless you’d like to finish that?” she asked, nodding towards his abandoned cup.

“No no, don’t let me monopolise your time any further,” he said, rising to his feet and letting her lead him to the entrance. “Will you be alright getting home? There are some dangerous people lurking around the Gate, especially at this time of night.” His hand came up, as if to examine the bruise on her face, but then he seemed to think better of it.

“I’ll be quite alright, thank you dear,” she said, lingering at the open door, waiting. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Goodnight Maeve.”

He started away, and she locked the door behind him. She lent back on the closed door for a moment, quickly replaying the evening in her mind.

He’d certainly lived up to the little spark of interest that ignited when she first saw him.

Maeve strode back over to the counter, throwing her apron at it and necking the leftover tea, before tidying everything away and heading upstairs to her apartment.

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