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senipsenipsenip · 22 days ago

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Dipper sighed as he felt another pen crack between his molars. Great, Mabel was definitely going to make fun of him for the ink stains on his mouth when she got home. He could hear it now, Wow Dipper, I knew you were a nerd, but I didn't know if I left you alone you'd start kissing your homework.

Dipper sighed and threw the pen into the trash with the other three he'd already snapped. It wasn't fair - he spent the whole summer fighting monsters and saving the world, why did he have to learn the stupid Great Depression's effect on American Literature or whatever. He glanced at the calendar. Only a little over a month until winter break. Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford had promised to try and make it back to Gravity Falls so they could host the twins for the holidays. Sure, they had only been on the open ocean for a couple of months, but the two of them decided it would probably be best to start with a shorter trip then build up from there. After all, despite their age, they were still rookies. Besides, there was nothing on the sea that would help jog Stan's memory other than Great Uncle Ford's questioning. Being on home soil would hopefully bring back some more of Stan's forgotten past.

Dipper's phone pinged. He frowned. That shouldn't happen. He had his phone on Do Not Disturb so he could finish studying. The only alerts that would still pass through were texts from Mabel, Grunkle Stan, or Great Uncle Ford. Mabel never texted when she was out with her friends, and it's not like there was a lot of cell reception out at sea. Curiosity peaked, Dipper unlocked his phone.

It was Stan. More specifically, Stan's boots on the deck of the boat. It was a video, and before Dipper could press play, three little dots appeared indicating Stan was typing. Dipper sat back and waited. It usually took Grunkle Stan awhile to type out his messages. He always blamed the too small phone screen, saying it wasn't designed for fat fingers and cataracts.

What does this mean?

Dipper frowned at the message. Was he asking Dipper to decode a message? Why wouldn't he just ask Great Uncle Ford? Unless...oh gosh was Great Uncle Ford in danger? Did they need help? Why wouldn't he call? Dipper turned his volume up as high as he could, pressing play with a sweaty thumb.

The video started on Stan's boots, but quickly shifted as Stan started pointing his phone at something on the...oh. The wooden planks Dipper had seen Stan standing on weren't the planks of the boat deck, they were floorboards for an outdoor patio. A patio that was full of people speaking...some sort of language. Something Nordic maybe. Geez, weren't they freezing? Maybe not because...Nordic.

The camera was pointed at the door separating the bar from the patio, specifically, the top right corner where a set of speakers had been hung. Oh, Dipper realized. He's trying to record the music. Dipper held the phone to his ear. Maybe Stan was trying to figure out a secret code in the lyrics? He was pretty sure he had told Stan all about that day when they saved Wendy from Robbie's horrible music. This sounded a lot different than Robbie's music though. It was way more upbeat and -

...comin' through, that girl is youuuu...

"Oh my God," Dipper groaned, letting his head fall to his desk. Of course. Of course that's what would be playing. Of course a Nordic bar would be blasting Icelandic Pop Sensation BABBA.

Now Stan's message made sense. He had heard the song and felt "The Itching". That's what Stan had taken to calling it when he could feel himself starting to remember something, but needed a little extra help making it make sense. Stan said it was because it felt like an itching in the back of his brain. Dipper was pretty sure he called it that because if he announced he had "an itch that needs scratching" it was always a fifty-fifty toss up as to whether he needed help with a memory or literally wanted someone to help him scratch himself. Sometimes it was both. Either away, Stan got a kick out of how many times he could trick Ford.

Dipper grimaced. Maybe he could get out of this one. After all, Stan doesn't need all of his memories...right? He could forget some of the more embarrassing ones.

It's a song by BABBA. He typed. It's called "Disco Girl." There. The fact Stan's going to know that Dipper can identify the song is embarrassing enough, he doesn't need to remember The Incident.

The three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Oh. OK.

Dipper sat his phone down. There. That was that. He didn't need to feel guilty about how Stan somehow managed to sound disappointed with two words. Besides, he had homework to do. He was a busy guy. Yep, not gonna think about it.

His phone pinged.

Made me think of you.

Okay. Starting to feel guilty now. Dipper sighed. Even over text message, he could hear the tone of voice Stan would say it in. That tone where he would say something like it was just a careless aside so that you wouldn't think he was taking something seriously, so then you wouldn't take it seriously, so that he could tell himself you didn't take it seriously because you thought he wasn't taking it seriously and not because you don't take him seriously or care about him seriously or -

Dipper frowned. Maybe these English classes were doing something after all. Apparently all of that fictional character analysis made him better at analyzing his uncle.

He could picture Stan now, having already sat his phone face-down on the table, wondering why there was some memory of Dipper that Dipper didn't want to share with him. Oh man, he probably thinks Dipper's tired of helping out with his memories or something.

That's because you heard me sing it once. Dipper wrote. That should be enough to jog Stan's memory a bit.

The three dots. Heard or saw?

Dipper groaned. Maybe Stan was just messing with him. He probably remembered the whole thing and was just trying to get Dipper to regale him with the story again so he could laugh at him.

Whatever. Dipper would be the bigger man.

Both. You walked in on me after I got out of the shower. You really need to learn how to knock, man.

There. That should be enough. Hopefully Stan and Ford will get back on the boat and see a giant Kraken or something equally as awesome so Stan forgets all about this conversation.

He exited out of their message thread and opened up his thread with Great Uncle Ford. Whatever "clever" joke Stan wanted to make at his expense would probably take forever to write. Might as well take advantage of the good cell service while he knows they have it.

Hey! Are you with Grunkle Stan?

Three bubbled appeared. Dipper didn't have to wait long. Ford was a surprisingly quick texter.

Yes, we're exploring the town together. I take it you're the one he's been texting?

Yeah. He had an itch. Nothing crazy, just a song he heard this summer he couldn't remember the name of. Okay, he probably could have told Ford. Especially after learning about the whole Kiss-Bot incident, Dipper's BABBA incident definitely didn't come close. But c'mon, wasn't Dipper allowed to have at least one family member who thought he had a shred of dignity left?

He smiled. Probably not. After all, he was a Pines.

Ah, that explains his behavior then.

Dipper frowned. Behavior? Is he okay?

Oh yes, of course. My apologies if my language was alarming, Stanley says I tend to word things "dramatically". He's simply trying to ask the table next to us if there are any music stores nearby. I didn't realize children still used physical CDs.

Wait. Stan is looking for a music store? Why specifically mention children? Dipper typed slowly, wording his questions as discretely as he could.

Oh? Is Stan looking for a CD?

The bubbles appeared. Then disappeared. Dipper frowned. They reappeared.

Disregard my earlier message.

Oh they were definitely up to something. Two could play at that game. You don't live with a professional con man all summer and not learn how to get what you want out of someone.

Okay. Hey, Grunkle Stan showed me a bit of the patio. Can you send a video too? Would be interested in seeing where you are.

Of course. One moment, please.

Dipper sat his phone on his desk while he waited. Realistically, he should be working on his homework while he waits. It's not like he'll be able to focus on anything when Mabel gets home. But, it's not like he can focus on anything now, mind buzzing as much as it is.

After three minutes and fifty-three seconds, Dipper's phone pinged. He grinned and pressed play.

The video started pointing toward the other side of the patio. Made sense, Ford was probably sitting across from Stan at their table. Stan was nowhere to be seen though. He must have stood up to speak to the table next to him. Dipper could see townsfolk sat at their tables in heavy winter coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. Everyone was wrapped up in their own conversations, and while Ford panned slowly across the porch, Dipper recognized another BABBA song playing faintly in the background. The owner must have had a playlist going. There were fairy lights strung up across the porch, street lamps helping illuminate the night. Wherever they were must have been in the middle of some small town, probably no bigger than Gravity Falls.

"Ford!" Grunkle Stan's voice rang out. Dipper quickly held the phone up to his ear again. There was a loud metallic grating sound - probably Grunkle Stan pulling out his chair to sit down again.

"You're never gonna believe it!" Stan sounded excited about something.

"A moment, please, Stan," Ford murmured.

"We don't have to go to the music store! Those people didn't speak English but the guy who runs this place does a little. That internet translator did the rest."

"Google, Stanley."

"Whatever. Anyway, he said he'd sell me the CD he's playing right now when he closes up for the night."

"That's great Stan. Hold on a moment I'm just trying to film this for -"

"Dipper's gonna love this! I think. It's sort of coming back to me. I think that memory he helped me with, I think..."

Stan trailed off. Dipper pulled the phone away from his ear to see if the video had ended, but Ford was still dutifully scanning their surroundings with the camera. It looked like Ford had stood up, holding the phone high above his head to show Dipper the coastline beyond the porch railings.

"I think I told him I was proud of him that day." Stan's confession was quiet. But Stan quiet. Which meant loud enough to be picked up on Ford's camera.

Ford's movement stopped. "You did? Why?"

"Well. I sorta did. I think. He was tryna prove he was 'a man' or whatever, so I told him he was. He stood up for what was right even though no one else agreed with him. And then I think I uh...ripped my shirt off and showed him my chest hair. Maybe I should get him to fill in some of those blanks there."

Ford laughed. "I don't remember it taking much to get you to take your shirt off."

"I'm a gross, old man now, Ford. We'd all prefer if it stayed on."

Ford hummed. "So how much is the CD?"

"Eh, he wants like 500 Kroner."

"Seems overpriced."

"Well it's gonna be free."

Ford sighed. "Stanley..."

"What?" Stan cried indignantly. "He's obviously tryna scam me anyway! Besides, it's worth it. Dipper will love it! It's a CD of a band he likes from Iceland stolen from Iceland. Trust me it'll be worth the -"

All sound stopped. The video had ended. Dipper sat at his desk, a small smile on his face. He had been so worried about Stan remembering one of his more embarrassing moments but...Stan remembered it as a day that Dipper made him proud. Huh.

He exited the video and saw that Ford had sent him another message only a minute after sending the video.

Please disregard that video. Terrible audio quality, I have to retake it.

As Dipper began to type a reply, he saw three bubbles appear. He waited.

I'm going to infer that the delay in your response is because you didn't see my message in time and already viewed the video. My apologies, I forget how strong the audio quality of phone cameras are.

Three more bubbles.

Please act surprised.

Ah well. Dipper had omitted the truth a couple of times tonight. What was one more? He started to type.

Sorry, I was working on my homework while I waited for an answer. Guess I got distracted. Should I not watch the video?

Three bubbles. Ah, I see. Yes, that would be for the best. I'll take another video for you now. In the meantime, keep up the good work!

Dipper sat his phone back down on the table and picked up another pen. Might as well do a little more homework so he wasn't totally lying. But first...

He opened his message thread with Stan.

Need help with anything else?

Nope. Go to bed.

Dipper laughed. There it was. The curmudgeon was back, trying to hide the fact he was a big softie underneath.

It's earlier here you know. If anyone should be in bed, it should be you.

I'm old. I do what I want.

Okay old man. Love you!

Sap.

Dipper snorted and sat down his phone. A moment later, it pinged again. He glanced at the screen and saw it was another message from Stan. It was only two words, but they knocked together like flint and steel, lighting something warm in Dipper's chest.

You too.

AN: A continuation of this! I kind of just want to write a bunch of one shots going with this. Some ideas are brewing!

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meleeyz · 3 months ago

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┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗨𝗧𝗙𝗜𝗧𝗦 ꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ It's the first oneshot I've written here and in English, enjoy and let me know your opinion ;)

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Ekko’s workshop was always buzzing with a quiet, electric energy, a space where ideas sparked as easily as bolts from his tools. Today, though, the hum of his work seemed charged with something more, something new.

You were perched comfortably on his worktable, your gaze fixed on him as he knelt beside his half-dismantled hoverboard, hands busy replacing a cracked circuit. You’d shown up in a new outfit, something more “work-appropriate,” as Zeri had put it. She’d insisted on it, practically yanking you to her favorite underground tailor that morning, saying you needed “a proper look if you’re gonna hang around the Firelights.”

The end result, strangely enough, looked like it could’ve been handpicked from Ekko’s own wardrobe—a mix of utility and edge, sturdy but stylish enough to blend in with Zaun’s streets. Though it was obvious that Zeri had chosen the style, the whole look had an uncanny resemblance to Ekko’s own favorite fit, down to the last detail. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she’d done it on purpose.

Maybe he wasn’t as subtle about his hints as he thought he’d been.

You noticed him watching you, his brown eyes lingering a moment longer than he probably meant them to. You fought back a small smile and threw a comment his way, something light and sarcastic about the “coincidental” matching outfits, pretending not to see the faint flush that rose to his cheeks in response.

“Zeri did say it was supposed to be work-appropriate,” you said, crossing your arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “But I didn’t think she meant this close to the Firelights’ dress code. You got a hand in that, Ekko?”

He looked up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, though he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he returned to his work, tugging at a stubborn bolt and muttering something unintelligible about “stupid circuitry.” But you noticed the twitch in his lips, the way he was holding back. As he worked, you found your gaze drifting over his features. The concentrated furrow of his brow, the way his hands moved with practiced ease, the quiet intensity that settled over him whenever he was focused on a task—it was captivating in a way you hadn’t quite expected.

Ekko could feel your eyes on him, too, and the idea that you were watching him—really watching him—sent an electric thrill down his spine. He didn’t want to say anything and risk breaking the moment, but it made his hands feel almost clumsy as he tried to focus on the hoverboard.

“Enjoying the view?” he teased, raising an eyebrow without looking up. His voice was casual, but he was anything but.

Caught off guard, you huffed and rolled your eyes, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible.

“Not really. I was just wondering how long it would take you to fix a single circuit board.”

Ekko laughed under his breath, stealing a quick glance up at you.

“Good one,” he said, tightening the last bolt with a playful shake of his head. “You might look the part, but I think you still got a ways to go before you understand how delicate this stuff actually is.”

“Oh, I understand delicate,” you replied, leaning forward with a slight smirk. “I just thought you were faster than this, Little Man.”

At that, he finally set down his tools, crossing his arms as he straightened up and fixed you with a challenging gaze. “Careful with that nickname,” he warned, though his tone was light. “Only certain people get away with that.”

You raised an eyebrow, shrugging as if it were no big deal, but you couldn’t hide the amusement in your eyes.

“Good thing I’m not just ‘certain people,’ huh?”

A brief silence settled over the room, and the air thick.. Ekko glanced down at your matching outfits, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t resist saying it now.

“Guess we look pretty good together, don’t we?” he mused, looking back at you with a glint in his eye. He tilted his head, inspecting the outfit with mock seriousness. “I mean, not that I had anything to do with it or anything…”

You narrowed your eyes at him, sensing there was something he wasn’t telling you.

“Uh-huh. Right. Because I just happened to show up looking like your twin by pure chance.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault if you’ve got good taste,” he shot back, raising his hands in defense. But there was a glimmer in his eyes that gave him away, the faintest hint of guilt wrapped in a smile. He shifted under your gaze, hands back at the hoverboard, suddenly finding the bolts extremely interesting.

“Ekko,” you said, leaning forward with a grin. “Just admit it—you told Zeri, didn’t you?”

He bit his lip, trying to hide the grin that threatened to break free.

“What? No. Me? Tell her to match you with me? Why would I… I mean, I don’t need to do that, obviously. I just… maybe gave her a few hints, that’s all.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away.

You tilted your head, your expression amused but curious.

“A few hints?”

“Alright, maybe more than a few,” he admitted, his voice dropping. “I may have… strongly suggested that she’d do me a solid. Told her you needed something sturdy, something that says ‘ready for action.’”

“And something that conveniently matches your look?”

“Hey,” he said, flashing a grin, “it’s all part of team spirit, right?”

You laughed, and the sound filled the small workshop, bringing a warmth that had little to do with the stuffy, cramped room. Ekko looked at you, his face softening as he watched the way the corners of your mouth lifted, the easy way you teased him. In that moment, he felt a surge of pride mixed with something he couldn’t quite put into words.

The tension between you shifted, settling into something quieter, more comfortable. He hesitated, caught between the impulse to say more and the safety of holding back. But he found himself taking a small step closer, his eyes serious now as they met yours.

“You know,” he said softly, the bravado slipping from his voice, “I just… thought you’d look cool. Like you belonged here. Not that you need clothes for that or anything,” he added quickly, fumbling over his words, “but… it helps.”

For a brief moment, you forgot how to speak, his words catching you off guard in a way that left you momentarily stunned. When you finally found your voice, it was softer, more genuine.

“Well, I guess I should thank you, then,” you said, a gentle smile spreading across your face. “I could get used to this look. Guess I owe Zeri, too.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, but the laughter quickly faded into a thoughtful silence. He looked down, suddenly unsure of himself, as if he hadn’t just been wearing a confident smile a moment before.

“You know, I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. “I don’t say it much, but… it’s cool having someone like you around.”

The words hung in the air, raw and honest, laced with all the things he hadn’t yet dared to put into words. You felt your heart skip a beat, your usual sarcasm and wit replaced by something softer, something fragile.

Before you could respond, he tapped the board, testing its balance with a nudge.

“Alright, give me a hand with this?” he asked, a little too quickly, holding it out towards you. “The stabilizer’s acting up again.”

Grateful for the distraction, you hopped down from the table, moving to stand beside him. You watched as he leaned over the board, pointing out the issue, but you could hardly focus on the gadget. Instead, your gaze wandered, noticing the fine details in his hands, the deftness of his movements, the way his focus was so intense.

Together, you both adjusted the stabilizer, a comfortable silence settling over the workshop, punctuated only by the occasional click and buzz of Ekko’s tools. When he was satisfied, he gave the board a final spin, and it hummed to life, hovering slightly above the ground with a soft glow. He grinned, proud of your combined handiwork.

“Not bad,” he said, his voice warm with pride. He turned to you, his eyes bright. “Almost feels like I’ve got a new partner-in-crime. Think you could handle it?”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk.

“You think I can’t handle a little trouble?”

“Fair point,” he replied, a laugh bubbling out as he nudged your shoulder. He stepped back, reaching out his hand toward you with a grin. “Hop on. You can test it out, see if my handiwork holds up.”

You took his hand and he put his arm around you, playfully saying that you would fall or something, whatever, you didn't really pay attention to him but instead all your concentration was on his hand holding your waist, and with a push you both left the workshop, the tree outside was as beautiful as ever, the cool breeze hitting your face and you could swear there was a strange feeling in your stomach thanks to the height.

Yeah, it was probably the height…

After a few loops, he brought the board to a slow stop, both of you leaning on each other for balance. He stepped off first, offering his hand to help you down.

“Guess it works pretty well,” he said, giving you a satisfied nod. “Must be the matching outfits. Makes everything run smoother.”

“Must be,” you replied, smiling as you gave his hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Maybe we should make this a regular thing.”

His eyes held yours for a moment longer, his expression softening as he considered your words. “Yeah, maybe we should,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

As you climbed the stairs in the tree to re-enter the workshop, you two began to chat calmly again, pretending that everything was exactly the same as before. But now you couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of happiness. Ekko’s touch, his words, and the way he’d gone out of his way to match outfits with you—it all felt like a secret shared only between the two of you.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

#ekko x reader #arcane x reader #ekkoxfemreader

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moonlightcycle571 · 2 months ago

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Captain Marvel not understanding anything about technology yet somehow being a technopath

I think it should be established that Billy Batson knows nothing about technology. He was stuck in the time bubble for over 50 years, and even then (before during and after), he’s a street kid. Man’s still on radio and old vehicles.

Every time she leaned something slightly techie, he gets flabbergasted. Mispronounces the name of so many machines and has no idea what’s the differences between an IPod and an IPhone. He understands even less why Sam’s song is beefing with an apple???

Having said that, Captain Marvel can be terrifyingly proficient in tech at random times, and the reasoning behind it is so dumb that any tech-savie person in the vicinity are either banging their heads or foaming in jealousy.

Electrics use electricity. Cap is technically Living Lightning. And magical. All Cap needs to do is think about something for it to appear in the nearest screens.

Batman: the access to the security are heavily locked and would take to much time to enter from the outside

Marvel: I got it! *camera footage appear on the screen*

Batman: hn?

*or*

Oracle: I need to bypass multiple firewalls. The coding is so complex, but if you give me ten minutes-

Marvel: oh it’s cool *waves his hand*

Oracle: …

Oracle: did you crack the code by waving your hand…

Marvel: yeah I just swishes off the weird blocks

Oracle, inwardly: THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE

Oracle, outwardly: *noticeably restrained* cool 🙂

*Or*

Marvel: Hey Vic, do you want to get milkshakes?

Cyborg: I can’t, the father box is acting up. I’ve been glitching all day.

Marvel: oh let me help

Cyborg: you can’t just-

Marvel: *slaps Victors shoulder* there!

Cyborg: … how???

Marvel: I asked nicely! 😁

Cyborg: I’m going to die now

Bonus:

Somewhere in a dark unused part of the watchtower, many capes gathered.

Barbara Gordon: Today we will welcome a new member to our support group. Introduce yourself, tell us why you’re here and will can start the meeting.

Roy Harper: Hi, I’m Arsenal, and today Captain Marvel broke my grenade launcher. He then felt bad and made me a pocket rocket launcher. Meaning it’s a rocket launcher but when I press a button, it turns into a small box for me to carry around. I asked him why make a rocket launcher and not a grenade launcher, and he asked me what’s the difference.

*echoes of ‘oooh’ and ‘welcome to the club’*

Tim Drake: I taught him on how to set a Facebook account and helped him set his profile. I go out to get an energy drink. I come back and he’s hacking conversations of the mafia, giving me info on the trafficking ring I’ve been tracking for a month.

*sympathising nods from everyone*

Jaime Reyes: Last Thursday, my scarab got scratched and was having trouble repairing itself. Marvel came in and put a bandaid on it. The worse part is… it actually worked.

*cue groans through out the room*

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #just make him tech savvy without knowing what any of it means #Solomon is studying up on modern tech and is loving it #living lightning

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capquinn · 1 month ago

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okay i keep seeing fics and thoughts about how attentive quinn would be towards his partner and it got me thinking…

i feel like it would get to the point where he knows your body and your queues better than you know yourself. start to realize your allergies aren’t allergies? he already bought the meds you need and is making dinner. got your period? no surprise there, he has his own app for you and stocked up on snacks last week.

which brings me to this heheh.

i feel like once you have one or two babies with quinn he knows your pregnancy symptoms like the back of his hand. so much so that he tells YOU you’re pregnant again. and it would just hit him one night laying in bed (you know that man thinks himself to sleep)

I’m gone for him, enjoy my delulu land thoughts

hello????? this is so cute and so husband!quinn coded. i love this trope sm <3

Quinn moved through your world like he’d been born knowing the map of it. His care wasn’t loud or showy — it was quiet, woven into the seams of everyday life. He had a way of catching the things no one else would: the small shift in your posture when you were tired, the pause in your laugh when something was weighing on you. His hands knew the rhythm of your days, reaching for your mug before you could, adjusting the blanket without needing to ask if you were cold. It wasn’t that he studied you; it was more like you existed in a frequency he was always tuned into, effortlessly aware of every note, every shift, every unspoken word.

So, when the subtle changes began to creep in, Quinn noticed before you did.

It started with the small things — too small to put into words, but just noticeable enough for him to store away. The way you sighed a little heavier, your shoulders barely lifting before falling, as though the weight of the day had settled in deeper than usual. Or how you hesitated in doorways, pausing like you’d forgotten what you needed or where you were going, your brows knitting together in quiet thought. And then there was the tiredness, creeping in like a quiet visitor. Some afternoons, he’d find you curled up with Bug during her nap, the two of you tangled in a mess of blankets on the couch, her tiny hand resting on your chest as you dozed. It wasn’t like you, not the you he knew who thrived on filling the hours, always moving, always doing.

At first, he dismissed it. Everyone had their moments, days when energy flagged, when the world felt a little out of sync. But then the bigger, more obvious changes began to take root.

It began with the walk. You, Quinn, and Bug strolled through the neighbourhood on a crisp winter morning, the kind where the air felt fresh but not too biting. Bug was hopping along, gripping Quinn’s hand and jumping over cracks in the pavement. You paused by a lamppost, your gaze snagged on a flyer stapled to the pole. It was for a missing dog, the corners frayed from the cold. The photo — a golden retriever with the sweetest, dopey smile — stared back at you, and your throat tightened inexplicably.

You tried to hide it, quickly swiping at the tears that pricked your eyes, but Quinn noticed instantly. “You okay?” he asked, his brows knitting in concern.

You nodded too quickly, your voice unconvincing. “I’m fine. It’s just…�� You trailed off, breathing a shaky laugh as the tears spilled anyway. “The poor dog…”

Quinn stopped in his tracks, gently pulling Bug to his other side so he could wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice warm and steady. “We’ll keep an eye out. Maybe someone’s already found him,” he said softly, though his brows furrowed as he held you.

You were sentimental, yes, but crying over a lost dog poster wasn’t like you. He kissed the top of your head, the thought lingering as Bug tugged at his hand to keep moving.

A few days later, it happened again. Bug had tripped over a loose stone in the driveway. It wasn’t anything dramatic — just one of those little stumbles kids have a dozen times a day. She scraped her knee, barely even a mark, and at first, she just sat there staring at it, trying to decide if it was worth crying over. Her lips wobbled, her big eyes filling with tears, and then came the wail — not loud, not panicked, just enough to let you know she’d decided it hurt.

Quinn crouched beside her in a heartbeat, his voice gentle and steady. “Hey, Bug, you’re okay,” he murmured, brushing the tiny specks of gravel off her knees. His hand lingered there for a moment, his thumb grazing the fabric as if to check for any real damage. “It’s just a little scrape. Barely even a scratch, see?”

Bug sniffled, her tiny hands clutching at the hem of his shirt as she leaned toward him, and Quinn scooped her up without hesitation. She buried her face against his chest, her little body shuddering with the last remnants of her tears.

You stood a few steps back, frozen in place. It wasn’t the scrape that did it, not really. It was the way her small shoulders shook, the way her face had crumpled like her whole world had been upended. It was her tears — so big and overwhelming for someone so small. Watching her cry felt like something cracking open inside you, and before you could stop yourself, tears pricked at the corners of your own eyes.

Quinn looked up, catching your expression in an instant. His brows furrowed slightly, his concern shifting toward you.

“She’s okay,” he said softly, his voice meant to reassure.

But the sight of him, standing there with Bug tucked safely against his chest, his voice low and calming, only made the ache in your chest sharper. Your hand flew up to your face, brushing quickly at your cheek to catch the tear that escaped, but Quinn noticed anyway. Of course, he noticed.

“Hey,” he said, his tone even gentler now, his eyes searching yours. “What’s going on?”

You tried to smile, but it came out shaky, your voice catching as you whispered, “Nothing, I’m fine. Just—” You swallowed hard, glancing at Bug’s little face as she peeked up at you, her tears already drying. “I’m being silly.”

She blinked at you, her sniffles slowing, her tiny voice soft as she said, “I’m okay, mommy.”

The sweetness of her reassurance undid you completely. Another tear slid down your cheek, and you let out a quiet, shaky laugh, brushing it away as Quinn stepped closer. He didn’t say anything, just wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you into the circle of warmth he and Bug created.

But even as the moment passed, it stayed with him.

And then came the smell of popcorn.

Family movie night was the kind of weekly tradition that carried a quiet comfort, the kind that made the whole house feel warmer and softer. Bug had already claimed her spot on the couch, clutching her stuffed bear, her little feet kicking in excitement as Quinn rummaged in the kitchen, the air popper humming softly. The scent of fresh popcorn started wafting through the house, buttery and rich, and he could already hear Bug giggling at the first loud pop.

But something was off.

You were mid-step to the couch, arms full of blankets, when you froze. Your nose crinkled, the kind of subtle movement Quinn might’ve missed if he hadn’t glanced up right then. You turned your head slightly, as if testing the air, and then your hand shot up, waving in front of your face like you could swat the smell away.

“Can you—” you hesitated, your voice uncharacteristically small. “Can you open the windows? Please?”

Quinn, mid-pour as the popcorn spilled into a bowl, paused, confused. “It’s freezing outside,” he said lightly, not in a way meant to argue but more like a question.

“Quinn, please” you said, cutting him off, your voice sharp with desperation. Your face had scrunched up, your hand pressing against your nose as you braced yourself on the back of a chair. “The smell...”

That was all it took. Without another word, he crossed to the window, shoving it open. A gust of cold air rushed in, making him shiver, but he stayed there for a second, staring at you as you sank onto the couch. You were pale, almost a little green, pulling the blanket over you like it could shield you from the lingering scent in the air.

He settled the bowl down, watching you carefully.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft and steady, the way it always was when he was trying to gently coax the truth out of you. There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his tone, just that familiar warmth that made it impossible to brush him off completely.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, though the tight smile on your face didn’t convince him. “It’s just… the smell of melted butter. It’s so strong tonight.”

His gaze lingered, his brow furrowing. The smell? The smell of buttery popcorn? You’d practically declared it your comfort food not long ago, sneaking bites every time he made a batch before the film had even started, laughing as Bug scolded you for eating hers. He could count on one hand the number of family movie nights where you hadn’t stolen the first handful, claiming quality control. But now? Now, you looked like you couldn’t stand to be in the same room with it.

“You want me to grab you something else? Crackers? Tea?” he offered, trying to fill the silence with solutions, throwing them out suggestions like lifelines.

You shook your head, brushing him off with a small wave. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

But Quinn wasn’t convinced. He sat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as Bug wriggled into his lap, her giggles filling the room. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest, and for a while, it felt like everything was back to normal.

But it wasn’t.

As Bug chattered happily about the movie, Quinn’s mind lingered on you. On the way your face had twisted, the way you recoiled from something you once loved. It wasn’t like you. Not at all. And the longer he held you close, the more certain he became that this wasn’t just a bad reaction to popcorn. It was something more. He just didn’t know what — yet.

But the biggest changes came just a couple of days later, revealing themselves in moments that caught Quinn completely off guard.

It was early in the morning, the kind of stillness that only came before the rest of the house stirred awake. Bug was sound asleep in her room, her soft snores barely audible through the monitor, and the house seemed wrapped in a peaceful hush. The air between you and Quinn felt heavier, charged, but in the best way — soft whispers, shared breaths, and the warmth of his body pressed close.

His hands moved over your skin with practiced tenderness, his touch warm and familiar, every stroke an unspoken declaration of love. His lips followed, pressing soft, languid kisses along your collarbone, trailing a path that left your skin tingling. This was how he loved you — slowly, deeply, making you feel like you were the only person in the world.

But then his lips brushed against your breast, featherlight, as if he was testing how far he could push before the teasing turned into something more. And yet—

“Quinn,” you whimpered, a sharp intake of breath cutting through the stillness as you shifted away from him. “Be gentle.”

He froze instantly, his concern immediate as he lifted his head to look at you. “I am,” he murmured, his voice quiet but tinged with confusion. He searched your face, his hands stilling on your waist as if waiting for you to say more.

You shook your head, swallowing against the lump in your throat. “It just… hurts,” you admitted, the words coming out softer than you intended, almost like you were embarrassed by them.

Quinn’s expression softened, an apology already forming in the tilt of his brow. He leaned in, brushing a kiss to the inside of your breast as though it could somehow make up for the discomfort, but you pulled away again, wincing before his lips even made full contact.

“Quinn, that hurts,” you repeated, a little louder this time, your hand coming up to shield yourself instinctively, a clear sign for him to avoid the area altogether.

His hands dropped to your hips, retreating as he leaned back, his brows knitting together further. He watched you carefully, his gaze full of questions he didn’t ask, giving you space but not pulling away entirely.

Quinn frowned, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soothing motion. “I didn’t mean to,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet sincerity.

“I know,” you replied quickly, offering him a small smile to reassure him. “It’s just… everything feels so sensitive.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck instead, but he could feel your hesitation, the way your body tensed slightly, as if bracing for more discomfort.

But even as he moved his touch elsewhere, skimming his hands over your back, your thighs, he couldn’t stop his mind from racing. Your reaction was unusual, out of sync with how things normally were between you. He’d always been attuned to your body, your needs, and this? This was different.

Still, when you pulled him closer, guiding him to where you wanted him, he let it go for now.

And it's later that night when everything makes perfect sense.

Quinn crawls into bed and the first thing he notices isn’t the movie playing on Netflix or the cosy way you’re propped up against the pillows. No, his attention zeroes in on the plate balanced on your lap — a plate of pickles, shiny and brined, with a big dollop of peanut butter right in the middle. His movements falter, half under the covers, as his eyes flick between you and the plate, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

You don’t even notice him staring, too distracted by scrolling through movie options. “What?” you ask, glancing over briefly before returning your attention to the TV.

“Who’s that for?” he asks, his voice slow, deliberate, like he’s waiting for the punchline.

“Me,” you reply without missing a beat, your tone distracted. “Why, you want some?”

He’s fully under the covers now, leaning back against the headboard, one brow raised as he studies you. “You hate pickles,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s holding back a smile.

You pause mid-bite, glancing over at him with a small frown. “I don’t hate them,” you argue, tone light but defensive, gesturing to the plate like it proves your point. “They’re just not my go-to snack. But they’re fine.”

His brow furrows deeper, his gaze flicking between you and the plate. “Since when?”

“Since now, I guess,” you shrug, as if it’s not worth discussing. Without missing a beat, you swipe another pickle through the peanut butter and take a bite, chewing like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Quinn doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you. The corner of his mouth twitches again, but this time it’s not amusement — it’s something closer to realisation. Something is clicking into place, and as he leans his head back against the pillows, his gaze softens, filled with something you can’t quite place.

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him as you catch the look on his face. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

He leans back against the pillows, shifting as if to settle in, and shrugs, his tone casual — too casual. “No reason,” he says, his voice smooth, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him.

You squint at him, suspicious. “Quinn…”

He shakes his head, lifting the blanket higher around his chest like it’s a shield, his eyes now glued to the TV. “Seriously,” he murmurs, his voice low, distracted. “It’s nothing.”

But you can see the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes, the way his lips press together like he’s holding back a grin. You open your mouth to press him further, but he shifts again, leaning into your side under the blanket as if that’s the end of the conversation.

Later, when the movie ends with a soft hum and the credits roll, the light from the screen flickers faint shadows across the room before everything dims into darkness. The lamp on the nightstand clicks off with a quiet snap, leaving the room bathed in a cosy stillness. The only sound now is Bug’s tiny snores filtering through the baby monitor, soft and steady, her little sighs rising and falling in a rhythm so gentle it could lull anyone to sleep.

You’re curled against Quinn’s side, warm and relaxed, your head resting on his chest, his arm draped around you as his fingers trace absentminded patterns over your back. The weight of the day lingers faintly in the air, softened by the quiet and the comfort of each other’s presence, and it should feel serene, the kind of moment Quinn would normally soak in without question, but not tonight.

His eyes are open, fixed on the ceiling though he isn’t really seeing it. His body is still, though his mind is anything but. It’s racing, piecing together a puzzle he didn’t even realise he was solving until tonight. The pickles and peanut butter. The popcorn. The tears over Bug’s scraped knee. The extra naps curled up on the couch. Each moment replays in his head, flashing brighter with every pass until there’s no way he can chalk it up to coincidence.

Bug’s little snore drifts through the monitor again, and he glances down at you, still nestled against him, your face soft and relaxed. He’s usually content to let moments like this pass unspoken, holding them close without the need to fill the silence. But tonight, the weight of what he’s realised feels too big to ignore.

It’s not nothing. Not even close.

“Baby?” he murmurs, his voice soft, careful not to break the quiet too harshly, trying not to startle you.

You hum softly against him, your head shifting slightly to nuzzle closer against him, your body too close to sleep to fully respond.

His hand stills on your back, and he swallows, the weight of what he’s about to say heavy in the stillness. “I think…” He draws in a breath, steeling himself for how to say it. “I think you’re pregnant.”

Slowly, you lift your head, your eyes meeting his in the dim light filtering through the blinds, your expression a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“What?” you whisper, your voice rough with sleep, your tone teetering between shock and amusement. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Quinn tilts his head down to meet your eyes, his own full of something soft and sure. There’s the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, as though he’s both amused and completely serious all at once. Like he knows how absurd this might sound but believes it wholeheartedly.

“The pickles and peanut butter,” he says simply, his voice calm. “That’s not normal.”

You sit up a little, propping yourself on one elbow, your brow furrowing. “It’s not that weird,” you try to argue, though your voice wavers, betraying your uncertainty. “People eat stuff like that all the time.”

“Not you,” he counters immediately, insistent. His hand moves to rest on your waist, grounding. “You hate pickles. Always have. The only time you’ve ever eaten them was when you were pregnant.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. His statement hangs in the air between you, heavy with meaning, his certainty pressing against your rising disbelief.

“I mean… that’s not…” you start, your voice trailing off as the pieces begin to fall into place in your mind. “That doesn’t mean I’m pregnant,” you insist, but even as you say it, doubt creeps in. Your free hand drifts unconsciously to your stomach, resting there like it might offer some kind of confirmation.

Quinn’s thumb brushes against your side, the touch grounding but gentle, as if he doesn’t want to push you too far, too fast. “Maybe,” he says, his voice soft, like he’s offering you the space to deny it if you want. “But you’ve been tired, more emotional… and now this?” His lips twitch again, the faintest smile playing there, but his eyes stay steady on yours, filled with a quiet conviction.

You blink at him, a laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep in your chest — not from amusement, but disbelief. “Quinn, people eat weird food combos all the time. This doesn’t mean—”

“You really think it’s just a coincidence?” he interrupts gently, his tone more curious than challenging. “Pickles and peanut butter, of all things? That was your thing, baby. With Bug.”

The reminder makes you pause, your brow furrowing deeper as you glance down at where his hand rests on your waist. “That was… different,” you mutter, though the protest sounds weak even to your own ears.

Quinn leans in slightly, his forehead almost brushing yours, the closeness pulling your gaze back to his. His eyes are soft but insistent, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. His face is so steady, so full of quiet certainty, and it makes something flicker in your chest — a suspicion, a possibility, something you hadn’t let yourself consider until now.

“You’re serious,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, the words more of an observation than a question, as if it’s just dawning on you that he isn’t joking. He genuinely believes it.

His hand comes up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “I know you,” he murmurs, his tone as gentle s his touch. “And I’m telling you… you’re pregnant.”

You blink at him, your lips parting slightly, but no real words come out at first. Then, with a quiet laugh that’s half disbelief, half affection, you shake your head and murmur, “how do you always figure me out before I do?”

Quinn’s lips curve into a soft, lopsided smile, the kind that makes your chest ache with how much love it holds. “I pay attention,” he says simply, his hand still cradling your cheek, thumb brushing just under your eye.

You lean into his touch, your own hand coming up to rest lightly over his wrist. "And what if you're wrong?"

His chuckle rumbles low and easy in his chest as he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there like he’s trying to pass some of his certainty onto you. "I don’t think I am," he says, his voice gentle, but the confidence behind it makes your pulse hum.

You don’t argue. Instead, you let the quiet between you stretch, the weight of his words settling softly over you. It’s fragile and insistent, nudging at the edges of your disbelief, coaxing you to consider it.

The idea blooms slowly, like a dawning realisation, soft and tentative, but impossible to ignore. It unfolds in layers — the thought of two children filling your home with laughter and chaos, the sight of Bug as a big sister, her tiny hands guiding even tinier ones, her voice full of pride and importance. You can almost hear the way she’d say it, proclaiming herself the helper, the protector, the best big sister in the world. The idea of another little person, someone with Quinn’s soft eyes and quiet strength, someone who might scrunch their nose when they smile, just like he does. Another piece of him, and of you, wrapped up into someone entirely their own. The thought is overwhelming in its sweetness, in the weight of its possibility.

You press closer against Quinn’s chest, your head resting over his heart as his fingers trace those lazy, familiar patterns on your back. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat thrums beneath your ear, grounding you in the moment, as if reminding you that you don’t have to figure it all out right now. And as the quiet fills the room, pierced only by Bug’s little sighs through the monitor, you let yourself imagine it more fully, the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips.

Maybe — just maybe — he’s right.

#the second that pregnancy test turns positive he's gonna be so smug about it #all soft smiles and 'told you so' while trying not to look entirely too pleased with himself <3 #dad!quinn #capquinn's writing #capquinn’s requests #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes

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lila-lou · 1 month ago

Text

✨Classic✨

Summary: Ben is cocky, relentless, and completely fixated on you, especially the curves he can’t stop staring at. His teasing turns shameless, his comments indecent, and his obsession with your boobs impossible to ignore.

-Requested-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 11512

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The bell above the diner door jingled, and you didn’t look up right away. It was just another busy Saturday shift at Carter’s Diner, and you were already juggling too much—balancing college classes during the week and working here on weekends to make ends meet. But a nudge at your side broke your focus, and you glanced over to see your boss, Lindsay, standing next to you, wide-eyed and biting her lip like a schoolgirl with a crush.

"He’s here", she whispered, leaning in conspiratorially.

You frowned. "Who?", you asked, finishing the note for table five’s bacon-and-eggs special.

Lindsay didn’t answer right away. Instead, she nodded toward the booth at the far end of the diner. Your gaze followed hers, landing on a man sliding into the cracked leather seat like he owned the place. His supe suit was unmistakable—green and gold, hugging his broad shoulders and chest. He wore it like armor, and the confidence radiating off him made it clear he knew everyone in the room was watching.

"That’s Soldier Boy?", you asked in disbelief, keeping your voice low.

Lindsay nodded, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "He’s been coming here for months. Loves the chili and fries. Looks even better in person, doesn’t he?", she said, nudging you again with an elbow.

You wrinkled your nose and shook your head. "Ugh, I don’t like supes", you muttered under your breath. "And him even less. I’ve only heard bad things about that guy".

Lindsay gasped, pretending to be scandalized. "Oh, come on, you don’t know him. And he’s got that old-school charm. They don’t make men like that anymore".

"Yeah, because that’s probably for the best", you replied, grabbing the coffee pot. Lindsay was still watching you expectantly, her grin almost infectious.

"Be nice", she called after you as you made your way toward the booth. "You know, he tips well!".

You didn’t bother answering her. Instead, you tightened your grip on the coffee pot and walked toward the booth, your heart beating faster with every step.

Ben had been coming to Carter’s Diner for months now. It was the only place in the city that felt like a time capsule—the cracked tiles, the faded wallpaper, and the smell of cheap coffee and sizzling grease. Nothing here had changed since the ’80s, and for him, that was the point. The world outside had moved on in ways he didn’t quite understand, and this place was his escape from it.

As you walked up to his booth, coffee pot in hand, he didn’t look up at first. His gaze was fixed on the laminated menu, though he didn’t really need it. The same chili-and-fries combo was always his order. But then you spoke.

“Coffee?”, Your voice was soft but confident, with a natural warmth that cut through the background hum of the diner.

Ben’s eyes flicked up, and for a moment, he just stared.

Damn.

He hadn’t noticed you before—must’ve been new. But now, seeing your face, he couldn’t look away. There was something about you, something fresh and untouched by the world’s grime. His gaze lingered a second too long, taking in your bright eyes and the slight curl of your lips. He felt a twinge deep in his chest, a strange mix of curiosity and desire, like a spark catching fire.

And then his eyes dropped lower.

The tight uniform you wore did little to hide the curve of your chest. Those big, perfect tits stretched the fabric just enough to make it clear that whoever designed the diner’s dress code hadn’t thought about women like you. Ben shifted in his seat, his jaw tightening as a familiar heat stirred in him. The slight twitch in his pants was unmistakable, and he shifted his legs, adjusting to keep himself in check.

He leaned back in the booth, his lips curving into a sly, knowing grin. “You new, sweetheart?”, he asked, his voice a low rumble that was equal parts charming and cocky.

“Just here on the weekends”, you replied, your tone polite but clipped. “College bills don’t pay themselves”.

Ben arched a brow, his grin widening as he tilted his head, studying you like you were the most interesting thing he’d seen in years. “College, huh?”, he said, the rich timbre of his voice drawing more attention than you’d have liked. “Smart girl. What are you studying?”.

You sighed, already regretting answering his question. “Literature”, you replied curtly, tapping your pen against the edge of your notepad. “Anything else you’d like to know, or should I just take your order?”.

Ben didn’t answer right away. His gaze had drifted, dropping shamelessly to your chest again, where the snug diner uniform strained over your curves. His smirk grew, slow and wicked, as if he didn’t care one bit about being caught.

"Literature", he said finally, his voice laced with amusement. His eyes flicked back up to meet yours, the intensity in them making you stand a little straighter. "Didn’t peg you for a bookworm, sweetheart. But I guess I shouldn’t judge a book by its…cover". His eyes dipped again, lingering for just a second too long, making the double meaning of his words painfully obvious.

Your jaw tightened, and you resisted the urge to dump the coffee pot in his lap. Instead, you gave him a tight smile, your pen scratching furiously against the notepad as you scribbled down his order. "Chili and fries, right? Got it. I’ll put it in".

Before you could turn away, his hand shot out, gently brushing your wrist. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. "Hey, take it easy", he said, his voice softer now but still laced with that maddening confidence. "Didn’t mean to piss you off. Just…appreciating the view".

Your eyes snapped to his, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. He looked at you like he was daring you to respond, his smirk still firmly in place. It was infuriating—he was infuriating—but there was something disarming about the way he held your gaze, like he wasn’t used to people calling him out and maybe even liked it when they did.

"Well, maybe next time you can ‘appreciate the view’ without making it so obvious", you shot back, pulling your wrist free and stepping back. "Enjoy your coffee, Soldier Boy".

Ben chuckled as you walked away, the deep, rumbling sound following you all the way back to the counter. You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you didn’t look back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

"Well, that was something", Lindsay teased, leaning against the counter as you slapped the order slip down. "You might be the first woman to ever give him a hard time. Most girls would’ve melted into a puddle by now".

"Yeah, well, I’m not most girls", you muttered, reaching for the coffee pot again, trying to ignore the way your heart was still pounding.

Lindsay grinned, watching as you busied yourself with anything to avoid glancing back at the booth. "No, you’re not", she said knowingly. "And that’s exactly why he’s gonna keep coming back".

You didn’t respond, but deep down, you had a feeling she might be right.

The next week, like clockwork, the bell above the diner door jingled at the same time it had the week before. You were wiping down the counter, trying to get through another weekend shift without running yourself ragged, when you glanced up and froze.

There he was. Soldier Boy—Ben—strolling in. The grin on his face was unmistakable, and the moment his eyes landed on you, it only widened. You cursed under your breath. Of course, he’d come back.

“Guess who’s here”, Lindsay whispered, nudging your side as she passed with a tray of plates. Her smirk was infuriating, but you ignored it, grabbing the coffee pot like it was a shield.

He walked straight to his usual booth, sliding in like he hadn’t thought twice about it. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, but you kept your head down, busying yourself with meaningless tasks to delay the inevitable. Finally, though, there was no excuse left. You straightened your apron, took a deep breath, and walked over to him.

“Coffee?”, you asked, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

Ben’s grin widened the moment you reached his booth, and he leaned back against the cracked leather like he didn’t have a care in the world. "Sweetheart, you already know the answer to that", he said, his voice dripping with playful arrogance. "Keep it coming. Best damn coffee in the city".

You rolled your eyes, pouring the coffee without a word. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a second, his gaze heavy and lingering, making you hyperaware of every move you made. As the coffee filled his cup, you caught his smirk out of the corner of your eye, and it made your stomach twist—not from nerves, but from irritation. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

"Chili and fries again?", you asked, pulling out your notepad and pen, eager to cut the interaction short.

"Of course", Ben said, his tone smug. "A classic, just like me".

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. "Sure", you replied dryly, scribbling the order down. "Anything else? Or are you sticking with ‘just like you?’”.

Ben laughed, the sound rich and deep, like he found you genuinely amusing. It annoyed you that it was… a little charming. "Oh, feisty today, huh?", he said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. His grin didn’t waver. "Gotta say, I like that. A little spark keeps things interesting".

"Glad I could keep you entertained", you muttered, stuffing the notepad back into your apron.

Ben wasn’t done, though—not even close. "You know", he began, his tone slower now, like he was letting you in on a secret, "most girls would be falling all over themselves to get a chance to talk to me. But you? Nah, you’re all business. It’s… refreshing. Kinda cute, even".

Your jaw tightened, and you shot him a pointed look. "And yet, here you are. Same booth, same order. I guess I must be doing something right".

His eyes lit up at that, and he let out another laugh, his head tilting back slightly. "Oh, you’re good. Real good", he said, pointing at you as if you’d just told the punchline to the best joke he’d ever heard. "I like you, Y/N. You’re sharp. Makes me wanna stick around and see what else you’ve got".

"Thrilled to hear it", you replied flatly, turning on your heel. "Your food will be out in a few".

As you walked away, you could feel his gaze on you, practically burning a hole through your back. You set the order slip on the kitchen counter with more force than necessary, muttering under your breath. Lindsay caught your expression and sidled up beside you, smirking.

"He’s got you riled up, doesn’t he?", she teased, crossing her arms. "I don’t blame you, though. Guy’s a piece of work—but he’s hot".

"Yeah, well, he’s also full of himself", you muttered, refusing to look back at the booth. "Bet he thinks the whole world revolves around him".

"Doesn’t it?", Lindsay quipped, winking.

You sighed, trying to shake off the irritation. But when you snuck a glance toward Ben’s booth, you caught him looking straight at you, his grin still firmly in place. He raised his coffee cup in a mock toast, like he knew exactly how much he was getting under your skin.

Damn him.

Four weeks had passed, and like clockwork, Ben showed up every Saturday. Same time, same booth, same order. But something had shifted. By now, you couldn’t help but notice how his flirtation had gotten bolder with each visit, his comments dirtier, his gaze lingering longer than was polite. He made no effort to hide the way he looked at you, especially when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

And while you hated to admit it—even to yourself—you found yourself looking forward to it.

Still, there was a growing frustration simmering beneath the surface. For all his swagger, all his cocky charm, Ben hadn’t actually made a move. Not a real one, anyway. Sure, he called you “sweetheart” and let his eyes wander far too much, but he hadn’t asked you out. And while you’d never admit it out loud, it bothered you. Part of you had started expecting it, even wanting it.

Today, however, things were different. You’d been called into work earlier than usual, and with your shift almost over, you were trying to juggle your plans for the evening. There was a book you desperately needed for Monday’s class, and the bookstore was closing in twenty minutes. You didn’t have time to change before leaving, so you’d come to work in the clothes you planned to wear out: a tight, ridiculously tight, fitted top that clung to every curve and accentuated your chest more than you’d usually allow.

Ben noticed the second you walked back out onto the diner floor. His gaze locked onto you like a missile, and for the first time in weeks, he seemed genuinely thrown off. He didn’t even bother hiding it; his eyes dropped to your chest and stayed there, his jaw tightening slightly.

“Fuck me”, he said, his voice lower and slower than usual as you approached his booth with his bill. “Is that what you’ve been hiding under that little uniform all this time?”.

You rolled your eyes, but you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “Don’t start”, you warned, trying to sound unaffected, though his reaction was already flustering you.

Ben grinned, leaning back in the booth as his eyes roamed over you, lingering far too long on your chest. “No, seriously. I think I deserve a little heads-up before you walk in here looking like… that”.

“Like what?”, you asked, setting his bill down on the table.

“Like that”, he repeated, gesturing to your top with a wave of his hand. His eyes gleamed with mischief, but there was something darker in them too, something raw. “I mean, fuck, sweetheart. You trying to kill me or what?”.

You crossed your arms over your chest—mostly to shield yourself from his gaze—but that only made his grin grow wider.

“Can you hurry? Please?”, you said, forcing your voice to stay even. “I’ve got somewhere to be“.

“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”, he asked, sitting up straighter, suddenly interested.

“Bookstore”, you replied, already turning to leave. “Closes in twenty minutes, and I’ve got to grab something for class”.

Ben was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced back, his gaze was still firmly fixed on you, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

“You’re not walking there dressed like that, are you?”, he asked, his voice laced with something between amusement and possessiveness.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”.

Ben shrugged, sliding out of the booth and standing up, towering over you with that cocky grin still plastered on his face. “I mean, a girl like you, dressed like that? You’re gonna turn heads. Might need someone to keep the vultures at bay”.

“Let me guess”, you said dryly, crossing your arms once more. “You’re volunteering?”.

Ben tilted his head, his grin softening into something a little more genuine. “Damn right, I am”.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the clock above the counter. The bookstore was closing in less than twenty minutes, and you knew there was no way you’d make it on foot. You didn’t own a car, and even if you bolted out the door right now, you’d still be too late. Frustration bubbled up, and you let out a small sigh before turning back to Ben, who was now watching you with an annoyingly amused expression.

“Do you even have a car?”, you asked bluntly, crossing your arms as you fixed him with a questioning look.

Ben arched a brow, clearly enjoying your sudden shift in tone. “Sweetheart, do you really think someone like me walks everywhere?”, he replied, his grin widening. “Yeah, I’ve got a car. Why, you need a ride?”.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny the obvious. “The bookstore closes in twenty minutes, and there’s no way I’m making it in time on foot”.

Without hesitation, he was pulling a few crumpled bills from his pocket and tossing them onto the table. The motion was casual, like money meant nothing to him—which, you figured, it probably didn’t. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he extended a hand toward you.

“After you”, he said, his voice dropping into that rich, teasing tone that made your stomach twist in ways you refused to acknowledge. Then he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “Big, bad Soldier Boy is saving the day”, he murmured, his voice low and deep, sending an uninvited shiver down your spine.

You stiffened, refusing to let him see how much his proximity affected you. Shooting him a sharp look, you brushed past his outstretched hand, deciding to ignore the theatrics entirely. “Let’s just get this over with”, you muttered, heading for the door.

Behind you, Ben chuckled, the sound rich and amused, and you could feel his gaze following you all the way out to the parking lot. As you reached the sidewalk, you heard the unmistakable growl of an engine starting up. Turning, you saw him pulling up in a sleek, black muscle car that looked like it had been pulled straight from a vintage car show. He rolled down the passenger window, leaning an arm casually against the frame as he looked up at you.

“Get in, sweetheart”, he said, his grin widening. “Clock’s ticking, remember?”.

You hesitated for half a second, contemplating the wisdom of climbing into a car with Ben of all people. But the clock was ticking, and your options were limited. With a resigned sigh, you opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, the scent of leather and faint aftershave filling your senses.

The door shut with a satisfying thunk, and Ben shifted into gear, the car roaring to life beneath you. He glanced over, clearly pleased with himself. “Now, hang on. This baby’s got a little kick”.

“Just drive”, you said, ignoring his grin as you buckled your seatbelt.

Ben smirked, gunning the engine as the car peeled out onto the street, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement. “Yes, ma’am”, he said, throwing you a quick wink.

You sat back, gripping the edge of your seat as the world blurred past the window. Ben handled the car with practiced ease, weaving through traffic like he owned the road. You hated to admit it, but there was something thrilling about the way he drove—something confident and controlled, yet just on the edge of reckless.

“So, what’s the rush?”, he asked after a moment, his tone teasing. “Don’t tell me you’re actually this dedicated to your homework”.

“It’s not homework”, you replied, shooting him a glance. “I told you. It’s a book I need for class. And if you’d quit talking and drive faster, I might actually get it before they close”.

Ben’s grin widened, and he pressed down harder on the gas. “Your wish is my command”, he said smoothly.

You turned back to the window, hoping the rush of the ride would drown out the way his voice lingered in your mind. The bookstore came into view just as the minutes ticked down, and Ben pulled up to the curb with a flair that was entirely unnecessary but undeniably his style.

“Made it”, he said, throwing the car into park and turning to you with a satisfied grin. “Told you I’d save the day”.

You rolled your eyes, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Don’t expect a medal”, you shot back, opening the door and stepping out.

Ben leaned across the console, calling after you. “Come on, Y/N. Admit it—you’re impressed”.

You turned, giving him a look that was half-annoyed, half-amused. “Stay here. I’ll be right back”.

When you came back to the car, clutching the book you’d rushed to get, Ben was still lounging in the driver’s seat, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel. The headlights illuminated the quiet street, casting long shadows, and the faint hum of the engine added a low, steady background noise. As you climbed back into the passenger seat, he raised an eyebrow at you, an expression somewhere between amused and incredulous.

“So”, he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness, “you just assumed I’d wait around to drive you back, huh? Didn’t even bother asking. Gotta admit, sweetheart, you’ve got some nerve”.

You shot him a sidelong glance, unfazed by his teasing. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”, you replied, setting the book down on your lap and clicking your seatbelt into place. “Figured that meant you didn’t have anywhere better to be”.

Ben smirked, leaning back and studying you with those sharp green eyes that always seemed to see a little too much. “Fair enough”, he said, his tone slow and easy. “But what makes you think the Soldier Boy’s personal chauffeur service is free?”.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, come on. What do you want? Gas money? A thank-you? Fine. Thanks for the ride. Happy?”.

Ben laughed, the sound low and genuine, and he shook his head as he shifted the car into drive. “Nah”, he said, glancing over at you with that cocky grin. “I think I’ll just take the pleasure of your company as payment. Call it even”.

You tried not to let the comment rattle you, but the way his voice dipped on the word pleasure sent a flicker of heat through your chest. Clearing your throat, you turned your gaze out the window, watching as the city lights flickered past.

The car ride to your apartment, not back to the diner, was quieter than you’d expected, but not uncomfortable. Every now and then, Ben would make a comment—a sly remark about your book or a teasing question about your weekend plans—and you’d give him a sharp but good-natured reply. It was a strange kind of rhythm you’d fallen into, like sparring partners who secretly enjoyed the match.

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he put the car in park but didn’t move to turn off the engine. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, watching you expectantly. “Well?”, he said, tilting his head. “Aren’t you gonna invite me up for a drink? Or at least offer me a cookie or something for my trouble?”.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “You expect me to reward you for doing the bare minimum?”.

He chuckled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Not a reward, sweetheart. Just… hospitality. I did just save your ass, remember?”.

You sighed, debating for a moment. Part of you wanted to tell him off, to end the the afternoon here and shut the door on his relentless teasing. But another part of you—the part you were trying very hard to ignore—didn’t entirely hate the idea of spending a little more time with him.

“Fine”, you said finally, opening the door and stepping out. “But don’t get comfortable. One drink. That’s it”.

Ben grinned, killing the engine and climbing out of the car. “One drink”, he echoed, his voice laced with amusement. “Scout’s honor”.

As you led the way up to your apartment, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly you were getting yourself into.

You unlocked your apartment door and pushed it open, flicking on the lights and stepping inside. Ben followed close behind, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. You glanced back at him, already regretting your decision.

“Make yourself at home”, you muttered sarcastically, setting your book down on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, don’t worry”, Ben said with a grin, already looking around the room shamelessly. “I planned on it”.

He didn’t wait for an invitation to explore, his sharp green eyes scanning every corner of your apartment. His casual arrogance was impossible to ignore, the way he carried himself like nothing and no one could challenge him. You busied yourself grabbing a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine, figuring it was the easiest option for “one drink”. But when you turned back, you caught him standing by the laundry basket in the corner, something lacy dangling from his fingers.

It was a bra. Your bra.

“Seriously?”, you snapped, setting the glasses down with a clink. “Put that down”.

Ben didn’t listen, of course. He held the bra up, inspecting it with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk that made your blood boil. “This yours?”, he asked, his tone mock-innocent. “Didn’t peg you for the lacy type, sweetheart. Looks… sturdy. But then again—”, his gaze dropped deliberately to your chest, lingering in a way that was anything but subtle. “—guess it’d have to be, huh?”.

Your cheeks burned, and you crossed the room in a few quick strides, snatching the bra out of his hands. “You’re unbelievable”, you hissed, shoving it into the laundry basket where it belonged. “What is wrong with you?”.

Ben laughed, completely unbothered by your anger. “What? I’m just making an observation. Don’t get so bent out of shape, sweetheart”.

You glared at him, fists clenched at your sides, but his smug grin only deepened. He leaned against the edge of your couch, arms crossed over his chest, watching you like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Relax”, he drawled, his voice dipping into that lazy, cocky tone that drove you insane. “You’re the one who invited me up here. You should’ve known what you were getting into”.

You opened your mouth to retort but couldn’t find the words. He was infuriating. Absolutely, undeniably infuriating. And yet, the way he looked at you—bold and unapologetic, like he couldn’t get enough of you—made your heart race in a way you didn’t want to admit.

“I’ll pour the wine”, you said finally, spinning on your heel and heading back to the kitchen before you could say something you’d regret.

As you reached for the bottle of wine, you heard Ben's voice cut through the air, dripping with disdain.

“Wine?”, he asked, his tone laced with mockery. “Do I look like a fucking pussy to you?”.

You froze, bottle in hand, and turned to see him, still leaning against the edge of your couch, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. He looked genuinely offended, like you’d just suggested he trade his supe suit for a tutu. The cocky smirk was still there, but now it was edged with that signature Soldier Boy arrogance.

“What’s wrong with wine?”, you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “It’s easy, it’s quick, and I’m pretty sure it won’t kill you”.

Ben scoffed, pushing off the couch and striding toward you. “Sweetheart, I don’t do wine”, he said, his voice low and rough as he leaned on the counter, his eyes locking with yours. “I’m a whiskey man. Always have been, always will be”.

“Of course, you are”, you muttered under your breath, setting the wine bottle down with a bit more force than necessary. You crossed your arms and stared up at him, trying to ignore how close he’d gotten. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but I don’t keep whiskey stocked for uninvited guests”.

Ben tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Uninvited? Funny, didn’t feel like that when you practically begged me to give you a ride home”.

Your jaw dropped. “Begged?”, you repeated, your voice rising. “I asked. There’s a difference”.

“Sure, sweetheart”, he said, clearly not buying it. “Whatever helps you sleep at night”.

You glared at him, and he just chuckled, reaching out to pluck the wine glasses off the counter. “Guess we’re slumming it tonight”, he said, holding them up with a theatrical sigh. “Pour it, then. Let’s see what all the fuss is about”.

You stared at him for a moment, torn between kicking him out of your apartment and pouring the wine just to shut him up. Finally, you grabbed the bottle and poured, slapping the glass into his hand with a little more force than was probably necessary.

“There”, you said, your tone sharp. “Enjoy”.

Ben raised the glass, swirling the wine with an exaggerated flourish. “Cheers, sweetheart”, he said, his grin widening. “To my first and last glass of this shit”.

He took a sip, his expression immediately souring. “Yep”, he said, setting the glass down on the counter with a clink. “Tastes like regret. You actually drink this crap, or is this just for decoration?”.

You couldn’t help it—a laugh escaped, despite yourself. “It’s not that bad”, you said, smirking at the way he was glaring at the glass like it had personally insulted him.

“Not that bad?”, Ben repeated, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, life’s too short to drink wine. Let me guess—you don’t even have a bottle of Jack around here, do you?”.

“Nope”, you said, crossing your arms again. “Like I said, I don’t keep whiskey for uninvited guests”.

Ben grinned, leaning in closer. “Guess I’ll have to bring my own next time”.

The implication hung in the air, bold and deliberate, and you felt your cheeks flush. “Who says there’s gonna be a next time?”, you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Ben just smirked, his green eyes glittering with mischief. “Oh, there’ll be a next time”, he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Trust me”.

And damn it, the worst part was that some small, traitorous part of you wanted to believe him.

Ben leaned in closer, his towering frame dominating the small space of your kitchen. His voice dropped to a low whisper, smooth and teasing, as his gaze shamelessly dropped to your chest, lingering in a way that was anything but subtle.

"So tell me", he murmured, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk as his eyes flicked back up to meet yours. "How do you handle these?".

He licked his lips slowly, like he was savoring the thought, and you felt your breath hitch despite yourself. The heat of his gaze was tangible, burning through the fabric of your too-tight top, and you could feel the tension crackling in the air like static electricity.

Your cheeks flared hot with indignation, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. "Excuse me?", you said sharply, crossing your arms over your chest once more, as if that might block his view.

Ben chuckled, unbothered by your tone—or by anything, it seemed. He leaned one elbow on the counter, his posture casual, but his grin was wolfish. "Come on, sweetheart", he drawled. "You walk around with those—", he gestured vaguely toward your cleavage, "—and you’re telling me you don’t notice the way every guy looks at you? Hell, I can’t even blame them. They’re… impressive".

Your jaw tightened, and you glared at him, trying to channel all the irritation you felt into your voice. "You’re unbelievable", you snapped. "Do you seriously talk to every woman like this, or am I just lucky?".

Ben shrugged, the motion impossibly smug. "Only the ones who can handle it", he said, his grin widening. "And you, sweetheart, you’ve got fire. Makes me wanna push a little, see how far you’ll go".

You were seething now, but his words sparked something else beneath the surface—something you didn’t want to acknowledge. You’d dealt with his cocky comments before, but the way he looked at you now, like he was imagining exactly what he’d do if you let him, sent a shiver down your spine.

"Push all you want", you shot back, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. "You’ll find out real quick I’m not like those other women who swoon every time you flash that stupid grin".

Ben’s smirk softened into something darker, more deliberate, and his voice dropped even lower. "Oh, sweetheart", he said, his eyes locked onto yours. "I already know you’re not like the others. That’s why you’re so damn fun".

The air between you felt impossibly thick, the tension humming like a live wire. He was standing so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent filling your senses.

"Tell you what", he said, his voice smooth as honey but laced with that familiar edge of cockiness. "You pour me another glass of that fucking awful wine, and I’ll stop staring at your tits". He paused, his smirk turning downright wicked. "For at least five minutes".

You wanted to yell at him, to throw him out of your apartment and slam the door in his face. But instead, you grabbed the wine bottle and poured, your hand steady despite the fire simmering in your chest.

"Five minutes", you said, sliding the glass across the counter toward him. "That’s all you’re getting".

Ben chuckled, lifting the glass in a mock toast. "Deal", he said, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. "But don’t blame me if I break it".

The five minutes turned into ten, then twenty, and before you knew it, you were pouring from a second bottle of wine. The two of you hadn’t even left the kitchen. Ben leaned against the counter like he belonged there, his grin widening with every teasing jab and witty comment you threw his way. To your surprise—and mild annoyance—you were actually enjoying yourself. The tension that had been crackling between you all evening hadn’t disappeared; if anything, it had grown thicker, heavier, like a storm waiting to break.

“You know”, Ben said, swirling the wine in his glass like it was whiskey, his voice low and drawling, “you’re a lot more fun than you let on, sweetheart. All that fire, all those little comebacks… you’ve got a hell of a bite”.

You smirked, taking another sip of your wine. The alcohol had loosened your tongue, making you bolder. “And here I thought a big bad supe like you couldn’t handle a girl with a backbone”.

Ben barked out a laugh, setting his glass down on the counter. “Handle? Sweetheart, I live for it. Most people don’t have the guts to talk back to me. You, though…”. His eyes raked over you, lingering for just a second too long. “You’re something else”.

You rolled your eyes, pretending his words didn’t send a jolt of heat through you. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”, you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m not impressed”.

Ben’s grin turned downright wicked, and he stepped closer, invading your space with an ease that made your heart race. “Oh, I think you’re a little impressed”, he said, his voice dipping lower. “I mean, look at you—two bottles in, still here with me. If you really hated me that much, you’d have kicked me out by now”.

Your jaw tightened, but before you could fire back, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against the hem of your top. The move was casual, almost absentminded, but his fingers lingered, teasing the fabric like he was testing your reaction.

“Speaking of backbone”, he said, his tone shifting to something darker, more deliberate. “This little thing can’t be doing much to support these”. His eyes flicked down to your chest, and then back up, locking onto yours with a gaze that was equal parts cocky and predatory.

Your breath caught, and your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he could go any further. “Ben”, you warned, your voice low but unsteady.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his lips curling into a slow smirk. “What?”, he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Am I wrong?”.

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, the wine-fueled heat bubbling inside you erupted. “You’re impossible”, you muttered, and the next thing you knew, you were shoving him—not hard, but enough to make a point.

Ben laughed, catching himself against the counter, but instead of backing off, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward him with a surprising amount of force. His other hand went straight to the hem of your top, and in one swift, fluid motion, he tugged it over your head, leaving you standing there in your bra.

“Ben!”, you gasped, your cheeks flaming.

"You’ve been teasing me all day, sweetheart. Figured it was time I got a better look”, he grinned, completely unrepentant, his eyes dropping shamelessly to your chest.

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him, but he just leaned back, his gaze burning into you. “Damn”, he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Even better than I thought”.

The tension between you was unbearable now, thick and electric, and you weren’t sure whether you wanted to slap him or—well, do something else entirely. Ben seemed to sense it too, his grin softening just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“So”, he said, his voice dropping into a whisper as he stepped closer again, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “You gonna kick me out now? Or are we finally gonna stop pretending we don’t want the same thing?”.

The air between you felt hotter, heavier, and his gaze dipped again to your chest, lingering there shamelessly.

Your breath hitched as his hand moved to hover just near the edge of your bra strap. His fingers didn’t touch it yet, but the heat of them against your skin was enough to make your pulse quicken. You tried to steel yourself, to glare at him like you always did, but his words, his tone—it was all so… intense.

“Ben”, you said, your voice shaky but firm. “Back off. Now”.

But Ben didn’t move away. If anything, he stepped even closer, his broad frame towering over you, his green eyes dark with something primal. “Back off?”, he echoed, his lips twitching into a wicked grin. “You sure about that, sweetheart? Because you’ve been making this real hard for me all night—literally”.

Your eyes flicked down instinctively—his words leaving little to the imagination—and he laughed, low and deep. “Yeah, that’s what I thought”, he said, his confidence only growing. His hand lifted, his knuckles brushing lightly, teasingly, against the curve of your cleavage.

“Fucking shit”, he muttered, almost to himself. “These… I mean, I knew they’d be good, but seeing them up close? Sweetheart, they’re fucking perfect”.

Your face burned, and your hand shot up to shove him away, but he caught your wrist easily, his grip firm but not painful. “Oh, no”, he said, his voice dropping an octave. “You don’t get to hide now. Not after teasing me like this. You think I didn’t notice the way that little uniform clung to you every time I walked into the diner? Or how you cross your arms just high enough to—”. His thumb brushed lightly against the swell of your breast, and you inhaled sharply. “Yeah. Exactly”.

“Ben”, you said again, this time quieter, though you weren’t sure if it was a warning or something else entirely.

His smirk softened slightly, but his eyes never left yours. “Relax, sweetheart”, he said, his voice low and soothing, though the hunger in his gaze hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. “These—”, his hand finally settled just under the edge of your bra, the pads of his fingers brushing against the soft fabric, “—are driving me fucking insane. You know, I like them big".

The admission was so brazen, so shameless, it left you speechless. He chuckled at your stunned expression, his other hand sliding along your waist, his fingers curling just slightly against your skin. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard, torn between fury and something you didn’t want to name. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle just above the fabric of your bra, his touch featherlight but maddeningly deliberate. He was testing you, pushing you, and the worst part was that you weren’t stopping him.

“Just say the word”m he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t…”. He let the sentence hang, his fingers inching just a little higher, grazing the edge of the fabric.

Your heart was pounding, and every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire. He was insufferable, arrogant, and completely out of line. But the way he looked at you, the way he touched you—it was consuming, overwhelming, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to stop him.

And Ben, always the bold one, seemed to know exactly how much power he had in this moment. "So", he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, "what's it gonna be, sweetheart?".

Ben's grin widened when you didn’t pull away or tell him to stop. The heat in his gaze turned molten as if your silence was all the confirmation he needed. Without hesitation, his large, rough hand caught yours, holding it firmly but not unkindly. His other hand moved to his belt, undoing the thick, gold clasp of his supe suit with practiced ease, the sound of metal clinking filling the tension-filled air.

Before you could even process what was happening, he pushed your hand inside the waistband of his pants, guiding your palm to lay flat against the heated, throbbing length of him. Your breath hitched sharply, and your fingers instinctively flexed, brushing against him. He hissed through his teeth at the contact, his grip tightening on your hand as if to keep you there.

“Fuck”, he growled low in his throat, his voice rough with need. “You feel that, sweetheart? That’s what you do to me”. His hips shifted just slightly, pressing himself harder against your palm. The sheer size and heat of him were overwhelming, and despite yourself, your hand twitched again, drawing another guttural sound from him.

His other hand didn’t stay idle. It slid up your back, deftly finding the clasp of your bra. The snap of it coming undone was almost deafening in the charged silence of the room. He pulled the straps from your shoulders with deliberate slowness, his calloused fingers brushing against your bare skin and sending shivers down your spine.

“Shit”, he murmured, his voice thick with admiration as he let the bra fall to the floor. His hand moved to cup your now-exposed breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. “Even better than I imagined”, he muttered, his green eyes dark and heavy-lidded as they drank in the sight of you. “Fucking perfect”.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat when his thumb circled your nipple, sending a jolt of sensation straight through you. His grin grew, cocky and triumphant, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “That little gasp?”, he murmured. “Music to my fucking ears”.

Still holding your hand firmly against him, he began to move it, guiding your touch along the length of him, slow and deliberate. “You feel how hard I am for you?”, he asked, his voice husky, tinged with raw desire. “That’s all you, sweetheart”.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His words, his touch, the sheer presence of him—it was all too much, and yet not enough. Every nerve in your body was on fire, every ounce of your self-control teetering on the edge.

“Tell me to stop”, he said again, his voice low but firm, his hand still guiding yours as his thumb teased your nipple. “Say the word, sweetheart, and I’ll back off. But if you don’t…". His lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re mine tonight”.

Your hesitation didn’t go unnoticed, but it wasn’t long before your fingers started to move—tentative, unsure at first, but enough to draw a sharp, satisfied hiss from Ben. His hand flexed around yours briefly before letting go, allowing you to stroke him at your own pace.

His fingers pinched your nipple, rolling the sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger with a roughness that made your breath hitch. “That’s it”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating with approval. “Good girl. Just like that”.

Before you could fully process his words—or the way they made your stomach twist with something both infuriating and exhilarating—his hands were on your hips, lifting you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. The cool surface pressed against the backs of your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off him as he stepped between your legs.

Ben didn’t waste any time. His hands moved to your chest, cupping both of your breasts with an almost reverent hunger. His thumbs dragged across your nipples, teasing the already sensitive peaks as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin.

“Damn it", he muttered, his eyes fixed on your chest as though it was the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. “These… Fuck sweetheart. You’ve been hiding these from me all this time?”. He let out a low, almost feral groan, his hands squeezing your breasts gently before his mouth descended on one of your nipples.

The moment his lips wrapped around the sensitive peak, sucking firmly, you felt a sharp jolt of pleasure that made you gasp. His tongue flicked against you, slow and deliberate, sending waves of sensation coursing through your body. He groaned deeply, the vibration of it against your skin making you squirm, and his hands tightened on your breasts, kneading them as though he couldn’t get enough.

“Perfect”, he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled but laced with raw need. “Fucking perfect”. He switched to your other nipple, giving it the same attention, his teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. His groans deepened as he sucked harder, his hands squeezing and molding your breasts as though they were made for him.

“This”, he said between licks and sucks, his voice breathless and rough. “This right here? This is what drives me crazy. Big, soft, perfect tits. Fuck. And yours…” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and filled with something primal. “Yours are fucking unreal”.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. His mouth on you, his hands kneading and teasing—it was overwhelming in the best way. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and the way he worshipped your chest with his hands and mouth sent your mind spinning.

Ben pulled back for just a moment, his lips glistening as he smirked up at you. “I could stay right here all night”, he murmured, his hands still massaging your breasts, his thumbs brushing your nipples. “Sucking these perfect tits of yours, hearing you moan like that. You like it, don’t you, sweetheart? You like how much I’m into these”.

You didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. Instead, you reached for him, pulling him closer, and the cocky grin on his face turned triumphant as he lowered his head again, his mouth latching onto you with renewed intensity.

Ben's mouth was relentless, his lips and tongue working over your sensitive nipple as though he were starved for the taste of you. The low, guttural groans he let out against your skin sent vibrations rippling through your body, making you arch into him. His hands, however, weren’t content to stay idle.

While his mouth stayed latched to your chest, one hand moved with deliberate purpose, sliding down to the waistband of your jeans. You gasped as his fingers deftly unbuttoned them, the sharp pop of the button lost in the haze of heat and sensation. His hand tugged at the fabric, pulling your jeans down over your hips in one smooth, impatient motion, taking your panties along with them.

You squirmed on the counter, trying to adjust to the sudden exposure, but Ben wasn’t giving you a moment to collect yourself. His mouth was still firmly on your nipple, his teeth grazing it lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. The combination of pleasure and roughness made your breath hitch audibly, and he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his lips curling into a wicked grin.

“Sensitive, huh?”, he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, thick with desire. “I like that”.

Before you could respond, his free hand moved between your legs, cupping you possessively. The roughness of his palm against your bare pussy made you gasp, and his grin widened at your reaction. He didn’t move his hand yet, just held it there, his fingers brushing lightly against you as his thumb circled idly along your inner thigh.

“You’re already so fucking wet”, he murmured, his tone somewhere between teasing and awe. His lips returned to your other nipple, sucking firmly as his fingers began to explore, slow and deliberate, teasing just enough to drive you mad. “All this from a little attention to these perfect tits, huh? Sweetheart, you’re too fucking good to be true”.

His words, his tone, his touch—it was all too much. His fingers slid against you, finding your most sensitive spot with infuriating precision, and he chuckled darkly as your body jerked in response.

“Fuck”, he muttered against your skin, his lips still working over your nipple. “You feel so good, sweetheart. So soft, so warm. Bet you’d feel even better clenching around me”.

His grin was pure arrogance, but the way his fingers teased you left no doubt—he was going to make good on every filthy promise in his eyes.

Ben didn’t give you time to answer. His mouth found your nipple again, sucking hard enough to draw a moan from your lips while his fingers worked you with a skill that had your head spinning. He wasn’t just teasing anymore; he was taking his time exploring every reaction he could pull from you, his rough, calloused touch a sharp contrast to the way his tongue rolled over the sensitive peak of your breast.

“God, you’re so responsive”, he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “It’s like your body was made for me”.

His hand between your legs pressed more firmly, his fingers sliding through your wetness with a groan that sounded almost guttural. “Look at you”, he muttered, pulling back just long enough to meet your gaze, his smirk replaced with something more primal. “So wet for me. Fuck, sweetheart, you’ve been driving me crazy for weeks, and now… now I’ve got you exactly where I want you”.

He slid a finger inside you, slow but deliberate, and you couldn’t help the sharp gasp that escaped your lips. His mouth returned to your chest, sucking and nipping at your nipple as his finger moved, curling slightly to find the perfect spot. He chuckled against your skin as your hips bucked against his hand, your body reacting on instinct.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Let me feel you. Show me how much you like it”.

He added a second finger, thrusting into you slowly at first, then with more confidence as he felt your body respond. His thumb found your most sensitive spot, circling it with just enough pressure to make your legs tremble.

“All this”, he said, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, “just from my hands. Can you imagine what it’s gonna feel like when I finally give you all of me?”.

You didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. Your breath came in short gasps, your mind clouded by the overwhelming sensations he was pulling from you.

“You’re mine tonight, sweetheart”, he whispered, his voice a low growl. “And I’m gonna make damn sure you don’t forget it”.

With a single, decisive movement, Ben’s large hand pressed against your stomach, guiding you back onto the kitchen island. The cool surface sent a shiver up your spine as it met your overheated skin, and your legs dangled helplessly off the edge, his sheer strength keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

He towered over you, his cocky grin sharper now, a predatory gleam in his green eyes as he admired the view in front of him. “Look at you”, he muttered, his voice low and rough, filled with unfiltered hunger. “Spread out for me like you were made for this”.

Before you could gather your wits to respond, Ben moved with swift precision, his hands going to his pants. He shoved them down without hesitation, the material of his supe suit pooling at his thighs. When he finally freed himself, your breath caught in your throat.

He was big—thicker and longer than you’d expected, his cock hard and already flushed with arousal. It stood proud, twitching slightly as if straining for you, and the sight alone was enough to make your heart race. He caught your expression, his grin widening into something shamelessly smug.

He stepped closer, the heat of his body overwhelming as he loomed over you, his free hand sliding down to your thigh. His grip was firm, rough, as he spread your legs wider, making room for himself between them. He didn’t rush—he wanted you to see everything, to feel every second of anticipation building like a firestorm inside you.

Ben dragged the tip of his cock against you, groaning deeply at the contact. “Fuck”, he muttered, his eyes darkening as he watched the way your body reacted to him. “So wet, so ready. You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”.

You opened your mouth to retort, but any words you might have had were stolen the moment he pushed forward, pressing just the tip of himself inside you. The stretch was immediate, intense, his size forcing you to take a deep breath as your body adjusted. He growled low in his throat, his fingers gripping your thighs tightly as he held himself there for a moment.

“Feel that?”, he rasped, his voice thick with desire. “That’s just the start, sweetheart. You’re gonna feel every inch of me, and you’re gonna take it like the good girl I know you are”.

Without waiting for a response, Ben pushed further, sinking into you inch by inch with a roughness that had your back arching off the counter. His hands held you firmly in place, his strength undeniable as he buried himself inside you, groaning deeply when he finally bottomed out.

“Fuck”, he growled, his head dropping for a moment as he fought to regain control. “So tight, so perfect. You’re squeezing me like you don’t want me to leave".

Ben’s groan deepened as he thrust fully into you, his hips flush against yours. His large hand splayed across your stomach, his palm pressing firmly against the soft skin just above your belly button. His eyes darkened as he stilled for a moment, letting the intensity of the moment settle between you.

“Fuck”, he muttered, almost to himself, his voice low and thick with awe. His hand flexed slightly, pressing into your stomach, and his cock twitched inside you, buried to the hilt.

His hips moved again, drawing back just enough to thrust forward, slow but deliberate. His eyes never left yours, and his hand stayed firmly in place, feeling every inch of himself as he filled you. The way his cock moved inside you, the way his hand pressed against your stomach to feel his own movements, was overwhelming—intimate in a way that sent heat coursing through your entire body.

“Do you feel that?”, he rasped, his voice rough and breathless. His hand pressed down again, emphasizing the sensation. “That’s all me, sweetheart. Deep inside you, stretching you, filling you. You’re taking all of me”.

His hand stayed on your stomach, his palm rough and unyielding as he pressed harder, clearly enthralled by the sensation of his cock moving inside you. His thrusts were slow but deliberate, each one forcing you to take him fully, and the slight wince that escaped your lips only seemed to spur him on.

“Too much for you?”, he asked, though the smirk on his face said he already knew the answer. “Yeah, you’re feeling all of me now, aren’t you? My dick’s got you squirming, huh?”.

You tried to glare at him, but your breath hitched again as he thrust even deeper, the strength behind each movement a stark reminder of just how powerful he was. Your body arched beneath him, your legs trembling as he set a relentless pace, his cock pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Ben’s attention shifted to your chest, his free hand sliding up to cup one of your bouncing breasts. “Look at these”, he muttered, his thumb brushing over your nipple as it peaked from the movement. “Fucking perfect. Watching them bounce while I fuck you—fuck, sweetheart, it’s like you’re made for me”.

His hips snapped harder, making the counter beneath you creak slightly, and you let out a sharp gasp, your hands gripping the edges of the kitchen island for stability. The combination of his hand pressing against your stomach and the sight of his cock disappearing into you with every thrust was overwhelming, a heady mixture of pleasure and the faintest edge of pain from the sheer force of him.

Ben's focus honed in on your chest again, his green eyes dark and filled with raw hunger.

He leaned down, his mouth finding your nipple again, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. His teeth grazed the sensitive peak before his tongue flicked over it. The dual sensations—the roughness of his mouth and the deep, relentless thrusts of his hips—sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your back arching off the cool surface of the counter.

"You’re close, aren’t you?", he murmured against your skin, his lips moving to your other breast. His thumb slid down, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, adding another layer of sensation that made your thighs tremble. "I can feel it, the way you’re clenching around me. You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you? Gonna let me feel it".

You whimpered, your nails digging into the edge of the counter as the tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter. Ben growled against your skin, his lips wrapping around your nipple again as his fingers worked you, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, hitting just the right spot with a precision that left you breathless.

"Come on", he muttered, his voice rough and commanding. "Let me feel it, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart while I’m buried inside you".

His words, his touch, the relentless way he worshipped your chest—it all pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His teeth grazed your nipple again, and the sharp, pleasurable sting was the final push you needed. Your body tensed, your head falling back as the orgasm tore through you, every nerve in your body lighting up with overwhelming sensation.

Ben groaned deeply, feeling the way your body clenched and pulsed around him. His hand pressed harder against your stomach, emphasizing the intensity of it, and his hips slowed slightly, grinding against you to draw it out as long as possible.

"Fuck", he muttered, his voice filled with awe as he pulled back just enough to watch your face. His hand still kneaded your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple as you trembled beneath him. "That’s it, sweetheart. So fucking beautiful when you come".

Ben’s breathing was ragged, his thrusts slowing but no less deliberate as he pushed you to the brink of overstimulation, but then he suddenly pulled back, his cock slipping out of you. You barely had a moment to react before his strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter.

"Stay right there", he growled, his voice low and commanding, as he adjusted your position. Before you could protest—or catch your breath—he hooked an arm under your waist, lifting you effortlessly, leaving your legs dangling off the counter while your back pressed against the cool surface.

With one hand firmly supporting you, his other hand dropped to himself, stroking his thick, throbbing cock with a rough, practiced motion. The sight of him, his broad chest heaving, his jaw tight with restraint, and his green eyes blazing as he looked down at you, left you utterly breathless.

“Fuck”, he groaned, his grip tightening as his strokes became faster. “You’re a fucking dream, sweetheart".

You tried to steady your breathing, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your body still trembled from your orgasm. But Ben wasn’t done. His hand shifted its grip on your waist, pulling you just a little higher so that your chest was perfectly positioned in front of him. His gaze was fixed there, dark and hungry, as he stroked himself harder, his hips bucking slightly into his own hand.

With a low, guttural groan, he finally tipped over the edge. His hand tightened around himself as he came, thick, hot ropes spilling out, painting your chest in a way that made his breath hitch. His groan turned into a growl, his grip on your waist tightening as he held you steady, his other hand pumping himself through every last pulse.

"Fuck, sweetheart"m he rasped, his eyes fixed on the mess he’d made of you, your tits glistening as you lay sprawled out on the counter. “That’s a fucking sight”.

You blinked up at him, still catching your breath, your body limp against his hold. His chest was heaving as he slowly released his grip on himself, his hand sliding back to your waist to hold you securely. His thumb brushed against your skin, a small, almost tender gesture that contrasted with the intensity of what had just happened.

Ben pulled back, his smirk widening as he watched you struggle to regain your composure. Gently but firmly, he set you on your feet, his large hands gripping your waist to steady you. The moment your feet touched the ground, your knees buckled, unable to support you after the intensity of what had just happened.

He caught you instantly, one arm slipping around your waist, holding you up effortlessly. His cocky grin didn’t falter for a second as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Careful there, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t mean to wear you out that much”.

You couldn’t respond—your breath was still coming in short gasps, your body trembling in his grasp. Your legs felt like jelly, and your mind was a haze of pleasure, heat, and disbelief. You barely registered his hand moving to your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

Ben’s smirk grew wider as he took in your disheveled state—your chest still glistening from him, your legs trembling, your face flushed with heat. He kept his arm firmly around your waist, holding you steady, but his free hand drifted down to brush lightly against the mess he’d made on your chest.

“You might wanna clean this up”, he murmured, his tone dripping with teasing arrogance, his thumb smearing a line across your skin. His eyes followed the motion, dark and hungry, like he was admiring his own handiwork. “Can’t have you walking around like this, sweetheart".

Your breath hitched, and your cheeks flared with fresh embarrassment. “You’re unbelievable”, you managed to mutter, your voice still shaky but laced with irritation. You swatted his hand away, but the smug look on his face didn’t waver for a second.

“What?”, he asked innocently, his grin turning downright wicked. “Just stating the obvious. Though…”. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Part of me likes the idea of you keeping it. Little reminder of who you belong to now”.

Your stomach flipped at his words, and you clenched your jaw, refusing to let him see how much he was getting under your skin. “You’re a real piece of work”, you shot back, your voice gaining a little more strength.

Ben chuckled low, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he watched you with that insufferable smirk plastered across his face. His hand moved lower, sliding down your back with deliberate slowness until it reached the curve of your ass. Without warning, he gave it a firm pinch, making you yelp and swat at his hand.

"Hey!", you snapped, spinning around to glare at him, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Thought you might need a little reminder to be more grateful”, he said, feigning innocence, his hand lingering dangerously close to where it had just been.

You rolled your eyes. “Grateful? For what, exactly?”.

He leaned in again, that cocky grin widening as his lips brushed against your ear. “For me”, he murmured, his voice dripping with arrogance. “For the ride, the fun, and that little gift on your chest. Figured I’d at least get a ‘thank you’, but no. Instead, I get sass”.

You huffed, trying to pull yourself together despite the way your body still trembled from him. “You don’t deserve a thank you for that”, you shot back, though your voice wasn’t nearly as steady as you’d hoped.

Ben’s hand slid back up to your waist, pulling you closer so your bodies were pressed together. The heat of him was overwhelming, and the mischievous glint in his eyes made your stomach flip. “Oh, I think I do, sweetheart”, he said, his grin turning wicked. “I think I deserve a lot more than a thank you, after the way I just made you scream”.

Your cheeks burned hotter, and you shoved lightly at his chest, trying to put some space between you. “You’re insufferable”, you muttered, but he didn’t budge.

Ben chuckled again, his hands tightening on your hips as he leaned down to look you square in the eye. “And you fucking enjoying it”, he said simply, his confidence unshakable. His thumb brushed over your hip, sending a shiver through you despite your best efforts to stay composed. “Now, come on, sweetheart. Be a good girl and say it”.

You glared at him, lips pressed into a thin line, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Still nothing?”, he teased, tilting his head. His grin widened, and his hand slid lower again, giving your ass another playful squeeze. “Guess I’ll just have to try harder to earn it then”.

Your breath caught, and his laughter followed you as you tried to pull yourself together. But the heat of his touch and the intensity of his gaze made it clear: Ben wasn’t done with you yet.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys soldier boy

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strwbryien · 5 months ago

Text

CAMERA FLIP, HEART LEAP .ᐟ

a scaramouche x fem!reader streamer au

SYNOPSIS

IN WHICH—you, although faceless, are a very famous streamer known as KUMI. you were streaming as usual, playing games and interacting with fans. but when you're about to exit the stream, you accidentally pressed the wrong button that led to you opening your cam and showing your whole face to your audience. this wasn't supposed to happen, no ! so you panicked and quickly ended the stream. numerous screenshots circulated on twitter, which broke both the fans and the internet. this reached a certain someone, SCARAMOUCHE, your rival in streaming. when the said boy saw the trending photo, he almost fell off his gaming chair. because—lo and behold! KUMI was actually [name]?! now who is this [name] in his life, if you may ask? she's the girl that scaramouche has been admiring from afar in real life! quite shocking, right? have i told you that he’s also been sending you anonymous love letters? oh well...

WARNINGS mature language, inconsistent timestamps, some grammatical errors here and there (english is not my first language and i don't want it to be iykyk)

GENRE enemies to lovers, social media au, college au

STATUS on-going

PROFILES:

S4NRYIO | 5WIRL

ENTRIES:

｢ ᝰ.ᐟ entry 01: DON'T JINX URSELF ⭑.ᐟ ｣

｢ ᝰ.ᐟ entry 02: ARE YOU ALRIGHT? ⭑.ᐟ ｣

｢ ᝰ.ᐟ entry 03: ADDRESSING THE SITUATION⭑.ᐟ ｣

｢ ᝰ.ᐟ entry 04: CRACKED THE CODE? ⭑.ᐟ ｣

｢ ᝰ.ᐟ entry 05: ARE YOU BLUSHING?⭑.ᐟ ｣

｢ ᝰ.ᐟ entry 06: ANNOYED OR JUST SHY?⭑.ᐟ ｣

｢ ᝰ.ᐟ entry 07: COLLAB STREAM ⭑.ᐟ ｣

tba...

notes ᝰ.ᐟ yo! this is actually my first time writing, so it might not be that good, but i hope you guys still have fun reading! enjoy <3

#CAMERA FLIP HEART LEAP .ᐟ #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smau #genshin smau #genshin impact au #genshin au #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smau #scaramouche au #kunikuzushi x reader

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shawtuzi · 5 months ago

Note

omg i remember your peaches and coconut fics hows my fav couple especially daddy eren i hope as freaky as ever 🤗☺️☺️

they’re doing soooo good!! you remember that fat rock and big house he promised you?? well he was able to get them for you and much more. take a walk with me real quick babe—

this is 18+ so mdni thank yewww!!! cw include: black coded reader, eren being a dad, some talk about church stuff (not rlly), mentions of sexcapades w jean hehe (literally a whole ass flashback of reader giving them both head), oral m and f receiving, eren eating it over her panties, shoe humping, mentions of a lactation kink, unprotected sex, kinda public sex?? they fuck in a bathroom, creampie bc would it rlly be a fic by me if no one was getting nutted in? NOT PROOFREAD SAWRY </3

“ren? rennyyy,” eren’s eyes cracked open at the sound of your soft voice, quickly connecting with yours. you were sitting on his stomach, hands resting on his chest while your cute lil cross necklace dangled in his face. he shifted his head the tiniest bit to read the alarm clock—

6:37 A.M.

why were you waking him up so early?? it couldn’t be for sex…no…he fucked you back to sleep around two, he couldn’t hear any noise coming from your daughters’ baby monitor, he didn’t see your eldest daughter curled up next to him so what could it be??

“it’s sunday eren.”

fuckkkkk. “oh…right,” eren let out a deep sigh, shutting his eyes once more. it was sunday— which means church, which means seeing his father, which means making pointless small talk with your parents, which means hearing your daughters whine and cry about how tired they are and how they don’t wanna go to the church daycare.

“why don’t we just stay in this sunday hm?” eren said, voice laced with tiredness. he brought his hands to your hips, squeezing the soft flesh tenderly. you giggled, burying your face in his neck that still smelled of his body wash.

“very veryyyy tempting but i promised my mom we’d be there this week, plus we haven’t been in a couple weeks anyway,” you kissed at his neck, making him squeeze your hips harder.

unlike both your guys’ parents you and eren do not attend church every weekend and aren’t quite as religious, especially eren. the only reason he attends is because it’s what you want, and he’s not one to object anything his wife wants so he just sucks it up and goes.

“c’mere,” eren muttered, bringing his hands from your hips to your silky smooth thighs. you leant down and he was quick to capture your lips in a kiss, humming in content when you kissed him back. eren bit down unexpectedly on your bottom lip making you gasp, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth.

you laced your fingers in his soft, brown locks before giving them a harsh tug, breaking the heated kiss. “get ready we leave in an hour….and you may need to take a cold shower,” you giggled, giving his pouting lips one more kiss before making your way to your daughters’ room to wake them. eren glanced down at his semi and threw his head back in annoyance. a cold shower was indeed needed.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“but i don’t wanna go!” your eldest daughter stomped her foot in protest, her big brown eyes welling up with tears. eren sighed, kneeling down to be eye level with her, “it’s just for an hour, see that clock up there? once the little hand is on the 9 mommy and i will get you and we’ll get something special for lunch! how does that sound sweet thing?”

she sniffled and slowly nodded, reaching her arms out to get one last hug from him before you left her with the church daycare. “that’s my girl. mommy, sissy, and i will see you in a bit okay?” he gave her chubby cheek a fat kiss, and wiped her tears before handing her off to the caretaker.

“you’re such a good daddy,” you whispered in eren’s ear, giving the spot below his ear a soft kiss. eren cleared his throat, uttering out a small ‘thank you’. god you were going to be the death of him.

“let me carry this for you,” he didn’t wait for your response, taking the carrier that was holding your youngest. she was fast asleep and by the grace of god hopefully it would stay that way.

you and eren walked hand in hand into the chapel, immediately being greeted by people you’ve known since you were teenagers. you did most of the talking which eren was thankful for, oh how lucky he was to have married a certified yapper.

“y/n?”

you whipped your head around, your mouth dropping slightly in shock. “jean? oh my goodness how are you?” you giggled, bringing him in for a bone crushing hug. eren kissed his teeth, choosing to skip the reunion and instead find your parents to sit with them. you rolled your eyes at him, giggling once more. six years of dating and four years of being married and he still was so possessive. you wouldn’t change a thing about it though.

“he hasn’t changed i see,” jean chuckled, scratching at the scuff on his jaw. you glanced at eren once more, just to find him already looking at the both of you, brows furrowed. “nope…still the same eren we all know and love.” love was an understatement to you though—eren was your moon and stars, your reason for breathing, he was everything to you. he had once told you before—while he was balls deep inside you that he wanted to claim you mind, body, and soul and you would say he definitely succeeded.

you and jean talked for a few more minutes before going your separate ways to find your seats before service started. the second you sat down eren wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. he nuzzled his nose in your hair, internally melting at the smell of peaches and coconut. after all these years it was still your signature scent, and never failed to make his heart beat faster and his dick jump.

“jean sounds like he’s doing pretty good….said he’s been doing a lot of traveling,” you spoke softly, resting your hand on eren’s thigh, leaning into his side. eren hummed, suddenly finding more interest in your sleeping daughter. she was the spitting image of you—absolutely perfect in every way.

eren tensed when he felt you squeeze his thigh, “you alright my love? you’re awfully quiet, you aren’t upset with me for making you come here are you?” you looked at him with those doe eyes and he immediately felt like the biggest asshole in the world.

“of course not baby i never mind coming here with you, you know that. it’s just that i wasn’t expecting him to be here. we haven’t seen him since…you know,” he trailed off, giving your hand a loving squeeze.

it was true—you both hadn’t seen jean since high school which was when your sexcapdes with him were at an all time high. since then eren has never let another man lay a hand on you sexually. you belonged to him and no one else and he belonged to you just as much.

you felt your cheeks get hot at the memories of the three of you messing around, bringing an amused smirk to eren’s face. as much as he was annoyed to see that man it definitely gave him an incentive to tease you a little about it.

eren glanced over at your parents and his mother who were immersed in their own conversation before leaning in close to you. “remember when you sucked us both off at the same time? you looked so pretty, especially with both our nut on your face. remember that baby?” you gasped at his language, elbowing him in the side making him laugh.

before he could say anything else the service finally started. about fifteen minutes into eren’s dad speaking you felt eren’s thumb begin to rub soft circles on your hip, giving it a firm squeeze every now and again. why oh why did he have to bring up those memories of you with him and jean—now it was all your mind could think about.

*flashback*

“a-ah shit! just like that baby,” eren growled at the way you choked around his dick, spit dripping from your chin and onto the new floral printed dress he’d bought for you. while you were using your mouth on eren your free hand was occupied with jean, stroking his dick in the best way possible.

every time you’d gag harshly around eren your hands would accidentally squeeze his tip a little too hard, causing a symphony of moans to slip past his lips—which also happened to have your cherry flavored lip gloss smeared across them. “sucking us so good baby mmh fuck—thank you. say thank you dickhead,” eren growled elbowing jean in the side. your pulled eren out of your mouth with a pop! quickly engulfing jean’s dick in your warm mouth.

jean’s head fell back against the wall, his adams apple bobbing. “t-thank you y/n, thank you so much,” his voice sounding whiny and breathy, and he might’ve cared sounding like that in front of eren if you weren’t making him feel so sooo good. you hummed around his dick, your tongue licking the underside of him to bring him closer to his orgasm.

your jaw was aching and the whole lower side of your face was covered with spit and their pre but you were as content as could be. the way you squeezed your thighs together didn’t go unnoticed by eren, so him being the sweet boyfriend he was gently nudged your thighs apart before pressing his shoe against your pussy. you wasted no time humping his shoe, your little mewls and moans making shivers crawl up jean’s spine.

eren nudged jean, a devilish smirk on his kiss swollen lips. “see the way she’s humping my shoe like a little slut? you fucking wish huh?” he chuckled, his head tilting back in pleasure when you began to play with his balls. jean’s nostrils flared as he took in the way you desperately ground your pussy against eren’s shoe.

“she’s so wet—fuck how is she so wet just from this?” eren let out a breathy laugh because jean did sound genuinely astonished at how soaked you were. “see the way her panties are sticking to her pussy? she’s soaked,” eren pressed his shoe harder against your pussy, snickering at the way your hips stuttered.

it was too much for jean. the way your plump lips suckled on his tip, the way your hand squeezed his base just right, and worst of all—the lewd wet noises coming from your pussy just from humping on eren. “i’m not g’nna last s-she’s gonna make me cum, you’re gonna make me cum y/n—”

“not in her fucking mouth you aren’t, how ‘bout we finish on her face? would you like that baby?” eren gripped onto your hair, pulling your off jean’s dick with the tiniest bit of force. your chest heaved up and down as you licked a your swollen lips. the way you looked at him—oh he could’ve taken you right there jean watching or not.

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and nodded, the sweetest smile now gracing your lips. “yes—please finish on my face,” your hands began to stroke both of their dicks once again, your pussy throbbing at the way they both twitched and throbbed in your hands.

jean was the first to let go of course once he saw you open your mouth, tongue sticking out of course. eren was quick to follow, both of their cum landing on your face in quick spurts. “what a fucking sight this is” eren bit his lip, running his dick over your lips, a chill running down his spine when he felt you suckle on it.

*flashback over*

you felt a particularly harsh squeeze on your side breaking you out of your thoughts. “you’re awfully quiet, i bet you were thinking about it huh? dirty little thing,” eren let out a low chuckle, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. “didn’t we fuck you at the same time that day too? poor thing you were so sore afterwards having two dicks in that little pussy—”

you gasped at his foul language, catching the attention of your parents. “you alright y/n?” your mother asked making you even more flustered. you looked up at eren, then to your mother before standing up. eren’s brows furrowed in confusion when you reached your hand out to him, but he gladly took it anyway.

“my chest is feeling a little sore….i think i just need to go pump or something. do you guys minding watching her for a minute? we’ll be super quick thank you!” you didn’t give them much time to respond before you were dragging eren out of the chapel.

eren pulled you back, stopping you in your tracks, “do you really need to pump? i don’t think i brought the machine with me but i don’t mind leaving to g—” eren was cut off by your lips crashing against his, your hands clutching onto his dress shirt for dear life.

“m’fine ren *kiss* jus’ need you *kiss kiss* really bad” you words were muffled due to your lips never leaving eren’s, but he understood you just fine.

eren grabbed your trembling hand and led you to the nearest bathroom, ushering you into the closest stall the second you entered. “when’s the last time i fucked you here?” eren asked quietly, pushing your front against the stall door. you whined at the sloppy kisses he began to leave on your shoulders and neck, your backside pushing against his growing erection.

“u-um i think it was years ago when—hah! w-we were teenagers,” you let out a breathless laugh at the memory of you both crammed in this same stall, your legs thrown over both his shoulders while he devoured your pussy. eren began to kiss down your neck, then your back until he was kneeling down, face to face with your dress covered backside.

he slowly lifted up your dress, his big hands roaming all around your ass and the fat of your thighs. “m’glad you remember, that’s one of my favorite memories of us. the number one being the day i married you of course,” he chuckled, spreading your ass cheeks to get a glimpse of your already soaked pussy. he licked his lips before taking a long, fat lick up your center, chuckling when he heard you gasp.

even though you were still wearing your panties he could still taste the sweet, yet tangy taste that was you—his beautiful oh so sweet wife. you both stayed like that for a few moments before eren got impatient and yanked your panties to the side, his lips finding your swollen clit with ease.

“r-renny, not so loudddd” you sniffled, reaching your hand back to pull at his hair, running his perfectly styled bun but he didn’t mind in the slightest. your pleas for him to quiet down went in one ear and out the other because if anything it sounded like he was slurping on your pussy even louder than beforehand.

it didn’t take long before you were cumming all over eren’s tongue, your knees nearly buckling at the way he continued to suck on your sensitive clit. “fuck i’ll never get sick of eating this pussy,” eren ran his tongue over his lips and chin, fighting the urge to dive back in just so you could squirt on his tongue.

“gotta make this quick honey, don’t wanna keep everyone waiting too long yeah?” eren kept you facing forward, your back now arched, glistening pussy on display waiting for him to finally fuck you. he ran his tip between your folds, shuddering at how warm you felt.

without warning eren rammed his hips forward, forcing a broken moan to leave your lips. eren was quick to cover your mouth with his hand, hissing when he felt you bite down on the skin. “sorry baby m’sorry,” eren cooed, coating your neck in wet kisses while his free hand wasted no time toying with your clit. his pace was quick and brutal, the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout the bathroom.

“mmph—renny,” he heard your muffled voice and removed his hand, gripping your chin to force you to look at him. “what is it baby? what do you need from daddy hm? i’m fucking you good ain’t i?” eren looked down and cracked the smallest smile at the way your pussy was sucking him in, a white sheen of your cream coating his base.

you didn’t say anything, instead you stuck out your tongue waiting for eren to do what he did best—give you the sloppiest fucking kiss you’ve received, each time nastier than the last. eren chuckled and wasted no time sucking your tongue into his mouth, moaning into the kiss. you eyes rolled into the back of your head, your pussy clenching onto eren’s dick like a vice. oh how you lived for his kisses.

eren changed his strokes to deep and slow, trying in any way to contain the loud squelching noise from your cunt. “ah ah ah! o-oh m-my,” you bit down harshly on your bottom lip making eren tisk.

“c’mon baby say what you were gonna say he’s listening,” eren growled, pinching your clit between his fingers. if it weren’t for eren holding you up you surely would’ve collapsed.

“oh my god! e-rennnn,” your thighs tensed as eren fucked you through your orgasm, droplets of your cum dripping to the floor. “fuck yeah that’s it baby, scream for your god let ‘em know who’s fucking this pussy,” eren rolled his hips in a way that had your eyes crossing, the feeling of another orgasm already approaching.

eren released his grip on your chin, his hands now finding purchase on your hips, ramming into you with everything he had. “s’good,” he hummed, giving your ass three quick swats.

“so *thrust* fucking *harder thrust* good *really hard thrust*”

your hands scrambled to find something—anything to grab onto, your legs felt like jelly, you body slowly sliding down which each brutal thrust. “nope get up—stand up straight like a good girl,” eren growled, lifting your body up once more. you were practically on your tippy toes, tongue lolled out, and eyes crossed as eren treated you like his own personal fuck toy.

he’s so damn strong. you could feel his muscles bulging through his dress shirt, his abs that he’s maintained all these years making the most delicious clapping sounds against your ass.

“s-shit m’gonna cum, where you want it honey,” eren let out a shaky breath, balls tightening when he felt you squeeze around him for the umpteenth time. your brain was scrambled, the only form of communication you were able to give him is a whine, your mouth slowly dropping open.

“mmph alright baby i’ll give it to you,” eren gave you three more toe curling thrusts before you came with a squeal, white dots taking over your vision. eren cursed when he felt himself already cumming, quickly pulling out and pushing you to your knees. he slipped his thumb in your mouth, pushing down on your tongue to open your mouth wider before releasing the rest of his cum on your awaiting tongue.

you hummed at the taste of him, taking more of his dick into your mouth with ease. eren’s breath hitched, his thighs tensing up from overstimulation. eren gently pulled you away from his cock, a line of spit connecting your lips to the tip. “i think i got a little inside m’sorry baby” he puffed air from his cheeks, tucking himself back in his dress pants.

eren gently lifted you from the floor, making sure your body was steady before bringing you in a tight embrace. you nuzzled your face into his chest, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his cologne.

“you good?” he whispered into your hair, gently stroke your lower back. you nodded, holding onto him tighter, whining when you felt his cum drip down the inside of your thigh. “clean it up,” you mumbled into his shirt, your cheeks flaming hot.

eren let out a low chuckle, muttering out a soft ‘m’kay sweet thing’ before pushing your back against the stall once more. he made quick work putting your leg over his shoulder, licking and sucking at your thighs, cleaning up his cum like the good lil husband he was.

once he was finished he gave your clit a soft kiss, letting out a breathy laugh when he felt you smack the side of his head. “i’m done i’m done, now let’s get outta here before people start to wonder where we are,” he figured your parents were already wondering you two had gone off too but he rlly didn’t give a damn—not when you just gave him one of the best nuts he’s ever had.

just as you two were leaving the restroom you bumped into—of course jean fucking kirstein. “what are you doing?” eren asked, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you into his side. jean looked at the bathroom door then back at eren, “um using the bathroom? what were you two doing?” he cocked his eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.

you both didn’t say anything, but the fucked out looked on your face and eren’s shit eating grin told him everything he needed to know. “you guys are gross….now if you’ll excuse me,” jean cleared his throat, brushing past you and eren to get into the restroom.

you buried your face in eren’s side in embarrassment making his laugh. “don’t get all worked up doll, you know he won’t say shit—probably in there right now jerking it to the thought fucking you,” eren gave your hip a possessive squeeze, guiding you to the chapel.

fortunately for him service was just finishing up.

“there you two are! you missed the whole thing, what took so long?” your mother rushed up to you both, you could see the tiniest bit of frustration in her eyes.

eren took the carrier that was holding your daughter from her, “she just had to pump sorry we took so long mrs. y/l/n. we’ll be sure to join you next sunday to make up for it i promise” eren used the most sincere tone he could, he gave your hip a loving squeeze when he felt you relax into his touch. “now if you’ll excuse us we gotta get genesis,” you both bid your parents farewell before making your way to the basement where the sounds of screaming children and parents could be heard.

“there’s my sweet girl!” you giggled, giving your daughter a bear hug when she jumped into your arms. eren leant down to give her forehead a kiss, “see? that wasn’t too bad now was? now let’s go get something yummy to eat! daddy’s starving,” he whispered the last part in your ear, giving your behind a pinch making you jump.

“don’t worry i’ll make sure you’re nice and fed i promise,” you giggled giving him three quick kisses on his jaw. eren gave you a toothy grin, ecstatic because he knew you’d keep your promise.

and that my friends is how peaches and coconut! eren and his wifey are living <3

#eren smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #eren x black reader #eren x black fem!reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #aot smut #attack on titan smut

815 notes · View notes

mihii-i · 4 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/k0yaz/758473618729615360/arlecchino-x-married-man-reader-please-oh-wait

Pause- this gave me a vision

Good Luck, Babe! by C.R lyric angst fic Arlecchino x Reader 😼

With happy ending tho 🔫

Like Reader married some mf from the male species when her and Arl were younger (18-20) because she was in denial abt her feelings for Arl and married him as a ‘f u, I totally love men’ but even after a few years Arlecchino can still tell she’s MISERABLE

Wait- double the angst and make Reader someone who’s known for being smart, powerful and just super cool in general but her husband is constantly trying to make her be seen as just his wife and never acknowledges any of the amazing things she does ☹️

I told you so.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, modern au, angst, comphet, more than usual swearing, girls kissing bro why is this even a warning it’s obvi, sexism, misogyny, bad husband ewwww, arle’s real name used at the very beginning, mentions of ugly ass guy inappropriately touching without consent ew, arguing, mild violence, fluff at end, not proofread.

A/N: needed to desperately write this my girlkisser ass is in code red rn cause of my parents 💀‼️ ALSO I DONT LIKE HOW THIS CAME OUT IT SUCKS 🕯️

“I don’t! I could never be into girls, Peruere!”

Back flush to the roughened couch, your aching body stretched backwards into a domed arch as your arms flailed out for leverage. Those words you had so foolishly uttered all those years ago echoed over and over in your brain like a broken record, clouding your mind like a plaguing guilt weighing down every waking moment of your life that followed. You let out a defeated sigh, the exhale dragging out longer than it should have to the point where you felt as if your own breath had tickled your lower lip. The small rush of air…it reminded you of when you felt Arlecchino’s breath gently caress the side of your face as her lips hovered over your cheek, her looming frame inching closer and closer to you as you reciprocated.

Everything. Everything reminded you of her.

The crimson lipstick resting atop the bedside table, the intoxicating scent of the perfume she always used to wear—being inhaled so deeply by you to the point where it tickled the tightened crevices of your throat. You’d spray a little on your pillows often as well, the dizzying smell with a hint of fresh roses accompanying the comfort it burned into you, and helping you fall asleep often. After all, sleeping turned into more of a hobby whenever you found yourself sharing a bed with the said “man of your dreams.”

His weight bundled onto the side of the bed situated beside you only sent a pit of sickness bubbling up within you, teeth gritting as you would lay on your side. The silky pillows enveloped your head as your nightgown loosely covered your body, hand slipped below the side of your head as you faced away from your husband. Sleeping with that man was nothing short of a clawing nightmare. Every damn night, you’d uncomfortably writhe within the blankets draped over your shoulders as you silently prayed for him to fall asleep as soon as possible, the wait getting so awful over all these years that you’d always count the digital clock situated atop the bedside table next to your head.

10:01…10:02..10:03..10:04. Finally.

The earliest he’d slept was 10:04. Giving you enough time to get lost in your maelstrom of guilt and ambiguous thoughts piled up within you.

The dotted red glow of the broken numbers displayed on the clock beside you illuminated the corner of your face dimly, eyelids low as you mindlessly gazed at the smooth wood of the table your head almost shifted onto after nearly falling off the pillow. Archons. You fucking miss her. You miss Arlecchino so much it hurts. You wish that you didn’t marry this awful, entitled man child just to prove a point that only consisted of you placing another mask of suffering upon yourself to conceal your truth. A mask that was cracked and easy to see through anyway. His irritating snores continued to buzz along the vicinity of the room, sounding more like a rumbling growl shaking the bed to be frank.

You hated him, to put it simply. You only married him to prove that you couldn’t fall in love with a girl. He was the one that was at the other end of the table with his chin resting on his hand as he gazed at you in a covetous manner, cocky grin pasted onto his vile face. The was the first suitor you thought would accommodate to your delusion.

“(Name) will you marry me?”

Each syllable hung in the air for an extended in a way that made you want to choke, blood rushing to every part of your body to seep into your sunken heart. With a stiff nod, your shaky hand slowly inched forward palm down, veins protruding along the tightened flesh as you fought the urge to hold it back and prevent him from grasping it. Swallowing back a sob, your bottom lip quivered between your teeth as his rugged hand dragged along your skin, tainting it with his unkempt, rough touch. Heads of goosebumps blistered along your hand as the freezing metal circled your ring finger tightly, suffocating your finger between the tight ring like a corset. He didn’t even bother to affirm your size. But you knew full well that she would’ve made sure that ring slipped seamlessly in perfect fit.

The gyrating ceiling fan above you whirled in rapid motions as the cool breeze emitted from it brushed along your skin, all the way up to fluffing your hair. Your eyes remained lifessly tracing the swift afterimages of the fan as you lounged on the couch, not minding your husband’s exasperated complaints piling up one after another with each venomous word he spoke.

“(Name). I told you to make me dinner when I got home from work, so where the hell is it? I’m fucking starving over here you good for nothing whore!”

Your brows furrowed together at his degrading words, face scrunching up with prominent wrinkles of irritation adorning your features. Upper body carefully elevating off the arm of the couch, you brought your palm to your forehead, before pinching the bridge of your nose with a sharp inhale. Silence swallowed the room from your lack of response to his insolent remarks and insults, only cut through by his heavy breathing vibrating against his throat. Clearing your throat finally, you were able to articulate your words in the small window of time you had before he could cut your off once more. Even the mere scratch of clearing your throat felt relieving once he ceased to speak, feeling as if there was a pass way of freedom which released you from the cage of his grasp.

“I’m exhausted. Cook your own dinner, I physically and emotionally can’t do this right now.” You replied coldly, collapsing back down onto the couch into your returned comfort as the fluffy cushions pressed flush against your spine. His face only contorted into anger, slightly reddened like an unstable child rather than a grown man. “You’re my wife. You’re supposed to cook for me! That’s your job not mine!” He bit back, hands folded over his chest and gaze staring daggers into your relaxed form.

Tilting your head over to his upright figure, you simply cocked an eyebrow, staring back at him with heavy lidded eyes as if he was just a mutt ordering you around.

“I’m not only your wife, you know. I’m my own person. I don’t have to cater to everything you want.”

“You know that you’re inferior to me. Ever since we got married that’s how it should’ve been! But no you had to go do your own little thing!”

“Then how should it be? Come on enlighten me.”

Your annoyance began elevating to a boiling point with each little thing he spat at you, every remark of inferiority made you fall further and further into a hole of sorrow and anger as he spoke each revolting “truth” about his twisted views. You couldn’t help but grasp the fabric of the cushion below you forcefully, wrinkling the fabric in every direction with your husband’s endless remarks spilling from his undignified lips.

“And once a woman is married to a man, they become his wife, and his wife only!”

Slamming a hand down onto the couch, you rose to your feet in one quick motion, glaring up at your husband’s wrinkled face of rage. Letting out a quick huff, you only took in the simmer of the broken air conditioner enveloping the silence once more as a means to tranquillize your boiling anger, breathing ragged as your heart rate skyrocketed from everything you bit back through the course of the argument.

“…I’m going to bed.”

“This early? I wanted a night with you (Na-)”

“You’re not fucking getting one.”

You winced slightly, hunching your shoulders as your skin grew hot from discomfort. Closing your eyes, you only braced yourself for the string of unending curses spewing from your husband’s mouth. Simply, you lowered your gaze as everything surrounding you was manually shut out. Mind enveloped in a pitch black void of emptiness, the only noise flicking at your cold ears being the unnerving ticks of a clock.

How much longer would you have to endure this?

The floorboards only sang out a ghastly creaking noise as you set your foot down upon each elevating slab of wood, the faint yet evident noise reminding you of the man below you having his eyes utterly fixated on your every move like a hawk eyeing its next catch. It was nothing short of disturbing and unsettling for you. Slowly, you made your way over to the entrance of your unfortunately shared bedroom, pushing open the heavy door with a fervent shove.

You couldn’t help but finally take in a deep breath as you flopped down onto the bed, body comfortably sinking into the plush of the silk mattress accommodating your exhausted self. Head still continuing to swirl with a wave of unresolved emotions, and a caged feeling confining to gnaw at you endlessly, you reached into your left pocket to whip your phone in front of your face. Rolling over onto your stomach, you thumbed aimlessly through the various contacts rowed out along your glowing screen, scrolling until you found the one you were looking for.

The contact you are calling does not exist.

Shit.

You just stared at Arlecchino’s inactive contact with deadpan, hopeless eyes, blinking twice to process it once more. You truly couldn’t reach her could you? Having lost all hope, you simply set aside your phone as it fell flat onto the wood with a knock, and you rolled yourself onto your back to combat the pure insanity of your fate enveloping you.

“I told you so.”

The already wrinkled bedsheets below you only bundled together further as you swayed onto your back and side alternately, holding the pillow up to your face with a muffled yell. Her words only continued to return to you with every moment you were awake, perhaps even in death your regret wouldn’t cease to eat away at you for locking yourself into this awful pact. Dim slivers of pale light brightened the left half of your face, glowing from the burning lamp on the table as you squinted upon the sudden flood of light blinding you.

The one thing you longed not to hear at this moment was your husband’s footsteps drawing closer and closer to the bedroom, heavily bellowing against the floorboards. Remaining on your side, your arm tightened slightly from the pressure of your torso cushioning it into the mattress, the mattress sinking deep upon your husband making his way beside you on the bed.

“(Name). Turn off that light.” He grumbled. The stinging odor of his excessive cologne only caused you to choke back a retch, gagging from the pungent smell assaulting your nostrils. You merely decided that he wasn’t worth any more trouble, and you remained too exhausted to even snap back at such a childish individual. Slowly, you reached over to clasp the handle of the switch, thumb fitted against the teardrop shaped steel of the end. For a moment you hesitated, gaze flickering behind you for a brief second—only to catch his eyes tracing your every move. In a sudden, burly voice, he cleared his throat to speak to you, tone remaining arrogant around you as if he had authority over you.

“Tomorrow we’re going to some big event with a few rich people here and there, nothing much. Dress nice tomorrow, we leave at 3 pm.”

You scoffed, squinting your eyes back at him while your body remained facing away. Of course. As always he goes and makes decisions for the both of you without even considering your words or plans.

“And you’re telling me this now?” You retorted, cocking an eyebrow while sharp breaths emanated from the man beside you, indicating his loss of patience. Not that he had any to begin with. “I can do what I want, bitch. Try not to embarrass me with your usual displays of arrogance, ‘kay, (Name)? There’s gonna be a couple rich people there.” Rolling your eyes, you only delivered a small nod in response, not wanting anymore trouble especially when you desperately needed some rest. “Yeah.”

Finally, your tugged down onto the cord of the lamp, the pale yellow light dimming and blowing out completely. Your husband was completely knocked out by the time you lowered yourself onto your side, facing away from him. Rumbling snores reverberated throughout the room, ringing in your ears repeatedly as you folded the edges of your pillow over either side of your head in an attempt to block out every noise.

It wasn’t too early in the morning, rather the darkness spread out within the frame of the window accompanied by the low glimmer of light outlining the moon suggested it was sometime in the middle of the night still. Deep quakes of breathing racked the vicinity the moment you took in your surroundings, alerting you awake altogether. Of course. It was him again. Letting out a subtle, quiet groan, you buried your face into your cupped palms, fingertips tracing along the flat of your forehead as you cloaked your face within your hands.

Was this all you were now? Nothing more than his trophy wife just like he wanted?

A light buzz from your phone lit up the device, making its glowing screen noticeable from the corner of your groggy eyes. You leaned over, inspecting the notification you had received so late at night. There was a single gray bar with the calendar icon in a box to the left of it, the lines: “Rich people dinner at 3” displayed along the margins of the bar. Great. Not only does he set notifications on your phone without asking, but he also doesn’t even formally address the dinner. You simply sighed, breath shaky as you constantly found yourself struggling to come to terms with your current reality clawing at you.

—

“(Name) come on! We’re gonna be late and the fancy pricks’ll look at us like we’re broke!”

You scrunched up your upon hearing him calling you like a barbarian, your dress halfway hitched up to make a few adjustments for a good fit. Loud bangs against the door only heightened your brewing annoyance, causing you to manually drown out his calls as another screeching white noise in the background. The silk of the dress tightly fitted your figure, framing every inch of you and hugging each blooming curve of your body. You hunched your shoulder forward, turning to your side to inspect the dress as a smile crossed your face. For once you felt quite confident in yourself rather than sulking about your husbands antics.

It didn’t take long for you to suddenly be snapped out of your daze as the and of the door swung open against the wall, revealing your husband with his arms folded in the doorway. You nearly choked on your own breath, coughing in shock as the sudden thud of wood banging against the wall had startled you, making your body jolt.

“Well, you look like a snack don’t you?” He sneered, causing you to instinctively brush your hands along your elbows as you folded your arms, physically recoiling from his forward advances. You thumbed at the fabric anxiously, sucking in a breath of fearful anticipation with each step he took. That was until his arm grasped at the dip of your waist tightly, fingers digging in as if he wasn’t going to let you go. There wasn’t much you could do besides hold your breath as you felt yourself being pulled against him, perturbation screaming at every single mental alarm, every possible sense you had before yanking away from him to fix the front of your dress.

“Please. Enough. You said we’ll be late, right?”

He only flashed you a grin, taking your hand in his, which you almost immediately yanked away from.

“Yeah. Get in the car. Remember no smartass remarks. And if anyone asks, you’re my wife. Nothing more.”

You averted your gaze at his statement, only walking over to the door of the sleek rental car before climbing into the back seat. No way you were about to get into the passenger seat next to him. Once you seated yourself into the back against the smooth leather, you proceeded to draw in the remaining droops of fabric your dress hung out of the car before shutting the door and leaning back into the head rest.

The ride felt like it was driving past various roads and buildings for hours, each time you gazed out the window to see a tree flash by quickly feeling as if it had been a century since you had first gotten into the car. However, you found yourself lazily parked—courtesy of your husband—before a opulent hall towering above you and lit up brightly despite the sun peeking behind the clouds in the afternoon. Two large doors framed the opening carved around the center, adorned with outlines of black steel, and large knockers stuck on the inner part of the door frame. A lanky man in a suit stood upright beside the parted door, arms tucked behind his back as his eyes scanned each person who made their way in and out of the building hall.

You exited the confines of the car, ducking your head to avoid hitting it along the roof before standing straight and closing the car door behind you. Your husband only shoved your shoulder in response, grasping your wrist as he dragged you along with him with haste before the doors. You didn’t even bother to protest, and flashed the guard a weak smile as your heels dragged along the rolled out carpet leading into the hall. Just get this over with. You’ll be fine.

He finally released your hand carelessly, not paying any mind to you while you shook your wrist and blew on it to subside the effects of his tight grasp. The chandelier decorated with candles rocked back and forth above your head, while various bars and tables stocked with food and drinks furnished every corner of the hall. Along with that, a large screen flashed at the very front of the hall blared loudly along with the speakers situated on both sides of the screen.

—

The entire event had been nothing but a bore. Rich man after rich man bragging about his company which he knew nothing about. The people who came up to you and your husband when you both were standing by each other attempting to converse with the two of you, and inquire more about you, were only met with your husband’s constant boasts about how you were merely his wife. Your achievements were his too, and therefore he was the one credited. This only led up to you isolating from him, and practically everyone at the party, drowning your sorrows away in glass after glass of champagne. Thankfully, your high alcohol tolerance allowed you to remain appearing sober, only needing to tighten your hand around the table for support occasionally.

Heavy lidded, you brought another glass to your lips as you tilted your head back in one jerk, gulping down the alcoholic beverage and squeezing your eyes shut. You let out a quiet hum as you set down the glass on the table behind you, dragging along the table cover as you examined the vicinity through droopy eyes. The same. Everyone was just wearing suits and that god awful smug expression. You simply rubbed your forehead, stress lines forming along your skin as your massaged it.

That was until a dashing figure caught your eye. Someone familiar.

You squinted your eyes once more, catching a single streak of black hair blended into white, a thin ponytail trailing down her nape to the back of her white suit. At this point, you were sure the drinks had definitely done something to you. You just missed her so much you were going insane and hallucinating like a typical drunkard. Yet, you couldn’t mistake that piercing gaze—near glowing red crosses embedded into her pitch black pupils within heavy eyes.

Despite still being drunk, you shouldered through the crowd, halting upon reaching the circle of people crowding the alluring woman who held a glass of wine between her sharp, black faded fingertips. Her crimson lipstick glistened as a hint of wine smeared across it, expression remaining indifferent to the heaps of people surrounding her while she leaned onto the table. You couldn’t believe your eyes. It really was her.

Arlecchino. Where have you been this whole time?

Steep breaths caught in your throat, you pushed past the crowd, stumbling occasionally and not minding their complaints. You wanted to do so much. Cry, hug her, apologize, run away from your caged marriage, talk to her, catch up—everything. She simply turned her back to the crowd before you could even reach a viable proximity near her, stepping away to a more secluded location. Your heart sank as you began to lose sight of her, gaze fixated on her white suit with the emblem in the center of her chest as you continued to keep your eyes on her in the crowd no matter what.

You paved through each bundle of people blocking your path, staggering occasionally due to your own drunkenness as you finally caught sight of Arlecchino leaned against a polished wall near a table, eyes fluttered shut as she sipped her refined glass of red wine. Breathing heavily, you staggered over to her, resting yourself at her side before slowly trailing your sights up to her face with bleary eyes and a near pleading expression.

“Arle..?”

She only cocked an eyebrow in response, staring down at you with a cold gaze lacking recognition. “Do I know you?”

Hurt burned in your throat as you fought not to cry upon hearing those words from Arlecchino’s lips, your own bottom lip being dragged between your teeth to prevent making its fervent trembling noticeable.

“Arle, it’s me, please.” You choked out, placing a hand on your chest while panting heavily as you locked eyes with hers. “It’s me, (Name)..” you mumbled under your breath in a shaky voice, tears threatening to sting the corner of your eyes at any given moment. Arlecchino suddenly set down her glass, coming face to face with you before her own eyes widened at your familiar features.

“Ah. It really is you isn’t it?”

Although her tone remained calm and collected, it wasn’t hard to tell how her voice softened for you, growing sweet like nectar dripping from her crimson lips. You nearly sobbed upon feeling her hand gently brush along your cheek, your own hand resting atop hers as you leaned into her touch, trembling. You could barely articulate what you wanted to say, each word coming in short breaths as droplets of tears pricked at your eyes subtly.

“My darling. You haven’t changed much. Still as beautiful as the day I met you…” her thumb circled the skin of your cheek, eyes roaming down to the same crimson lipstick she used decorating your own lips. “…and the day you departed from me.”

“Arle- I’m so sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you then! I can’t live like this any longer! I can’t! I knew it was you ever since I didn’t listen to what my feelings told me! Please! I love you, Peruere!” You gasped out desperately in one breath in a near sob, clinging onto Arlecchino like a lifeline as you grasped at the fabric of her coat. She only let out a soft hum, resting her chin onto your head as she took in your scent. You were wearing her perfume. Soothingly, her fingertips traced a repetitive pattern of comforting circles along your back, something she always did when you both were in your youth to calm you down.

“(Name). I’ve never once lost my feelings for you. I love you. And you only. I’m just, pleased that I get to see you again.” She sighed, burying her nose into your soft tufts of hair at the top of your head as she hugged you. She hemmed her arms around your vulnerable form holding her tightly, almost like a promise to never let you go again, to protect you from any harm that dared cross your path. Wiping your eyes, you cleared your throat as you pulled away from your moment of weakness, standing straight before Arlecchino as your palms nervously clasped together in front of you.

“Tell me, how awful is he to the point where he broke you like this..?”

“Terrible. Straight from hell if I could say. I’m stuck. I’m so fucking stuck you don’t even know.”

“I see.”

She paused, proceeding to say her next words.

“Would you reprimand me if I said once more that I told you so?”

You shook your head, contrasting the initial reaction you had when you first lashed out at her all those years ago.

“Nope. I’d affirm that you were right. I shouldn’t have complied with what society wants if it means I have to suffer.” You replied, gritting your teeth together as you looked away in shame. Arlecchino only placed a hand on your shoulder, running her arm down the curve of your shoulder as her sleek hands traveled down the flushed skin of your arm. “You would always get warm like this when I touched you.” She reminisced, letting out an exhale of contentment.

All of a sudden, the comfort of the moment was shattered by your husband’s voice, slicing through the tranquility harbored between you and her mere moments ago.

“Ah! (Name)! Who’s this? A friend?”

He eagerly shook her hand, while Arlecchino’s gaze grew resentful and repulsed of the man before her, her own hand clasped around his with every ounce of hatred she possessed. Brows furrowing, she immediately pulled her hand back, manner remaining distinctive, yet subtly aggressive.

“Ah, you may talk to me now in fact. This woman is my wife! And she’s just my wife don’t worry about it. Anything she told you is my achiev-“

“Shut your fucking mouth. Before I shut it for you—nauseating son of a bitch.” She replied harshly, eyes locked on him with nothing but murderous intent.

“Don’t speak to me that way you slut-!”

He was cut off by Arlecchino’s firm grasp on his wrist, nails digging into his flesh barely. Although—her mere strength alone was enough to nearly shatter his wrist, making him cry out for mercy and forgiveness from the woman looking down upon him. Fear clouded his eyes for the first time you had ever seen as Arlecchino looked him in the eye, his pupils shaking from anticipation and fear. “Refrain from speaking about her like that, or treating her poorly. If I find out about your disgusting antics again I’ll personally tear you apart limb by limb, understood?”

Before he could respond, she tossed him aside like a ragdoll as he gripped his arm in agony lip quivering at the searing pain ripping at the aftermath of his wrist. In the meantime, you felt Arlecchino’s lips brush against your ear, staining the shell a light blood red color as she whispered softly.

“May I?”

You smiled genuinely for the first time in years, nodding as you felt her warm breath caress the side of your face once more. God, you missed that feeling. Her arm circled the wide ends of your waist, pulling you tightly against her as she held you close under her watchful eye. It was simple. She’d never leave you again.

—

“Peruere..since when did you even get such a nice modern home like this? I’d die to live here.”

She breathed out a quiet laugh, tidying up an area quickly with her back turned to you as she stood in her nightly wear. “No need. You will be living here if you’d like, darling.” She glanced over her shoulder at your form splayed out on the mattress, comfortably hugging the pillow to your chest. It was evident that you’d never felt this safe or happy in quite some time. She put down the cup she was rearranging near an odd table in her room, seating herself on the bed as she motioned you to come closer. A light chuckle escaped her lips as you complied, shifting close into her arms comfortably as you basked in her warmth.

“What about my husband?”

“What about him?”

“Well- I am still married to him. I’m legally still stuck.”

Laying back, Arlecchino just exhaled in response, threading her slender fingers through your hair.

“I will get you out. Trust me. For now, just rest how I wanted us to. You have a lot of love you missed out on, and I’m here to help us catch up on that.”

You sighed peacefully against her at those words, curling up at her side as you nuzzled into her. For the first time, you could sleep peacefully with a weight beside you. This was all you had wanted. Safely enveloped in Arlecchino’s embrace, being able to bask in tranquility and solace with the woman you loved as you sought an escape from the cruel torment of your husband.

Perhaps it all worked out in the end.

No.

It did work out in the end, as you slumbered in your beloved’s arms.

A/N: HOLY SHIET THERES SO MUCH I WANNA SAY

first of all tysm for 1k followers I genuinely appreciate all the support and I hope my writing has improved over the course of the past year and a half or so!

Second guess who’s alive again yay but writing is a little rusty

Third I am in fact going thru a little internal struggle atm so if my works are a bit late or kinda ass bear with me please 😭‼️

Other than that ily all I love how the second half of this turned out and yeah 🕯️

I’m kinda cold ngl

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ghostykapi · 5 months ago

Text

three against me (the trio's love)

misamo & fem!reader // college au

thank you for @cry4mina for the misamo pictures and for being delulu with me about misamo <3 MISAMOOO

when you said you wanted your college life to be eventful

you didn't expect the universe throwing you three girlfriends, each with their own side of how they got you locked with them

it starts during the first semester of your 3rd year, when you were in a small cafe, getting to a headstart in your pile of homework

it's perfect, a iced coffee by your side, three readings beside you, your laptop on the coffee table in front of you and phone silenced, muting whatever the onslaught of messages nayeon is sending that you can't even be bothered to check

you needed this, you couldn't handled anymore 'dubchaeng babysitting!' when the duo would just make your head hurt with the amount of crazy ideas they had. the change of pace for the day is much welcome, especially knowing that jeongyeon took over with the lure of seeing a band a cafe next university over

it's nice, you can feel like you are in control for even just for a bit

then the cafe's noise dies down when the door chimes

it's too silent

fuck.

you brace yourself at the trio, who’s presence can make the entire student populous go on their knees. the mere whisper of their little group brings the entire college either trembling

misamo.

you can feel her gaze land on you, despite the only indication that it is one of them without looking is the whispers within the cafe. even the baristas know them

hirai momo. softball player, the star athlete that brings medals and more recognition to your university. average grades, stellar performance when she steps on the field and can land a nasty punch

with each step you hear her take, the more you have to remind yourself not to look. you can hear her giggles and the way your heartbeat is now in your ears

minatozaki sana. influencer and model, the unspoken leader of their group. through her bubbly and charming personality, she uses her wit to become the face of the university. part of the top 10% of the whole university, the inspiration to study hard and diligently

you feel a hand on your shoulder, the firm grasp rendering you unable to move, yet it's how you know who it is. she hums in delight at your sharp intake of breath, knowing that you don't need anything else to tell her apart

myoui mina. rising entrepreneur of 3 different business ventures, the deadliest one from the trio. always calculating, always 10 steps ahead of her peers and competitors. sweet, kind, and demur, she brings class to whatever she does

that includes sitting beside you, her bag gently landing on the table, your proximity leaves the others questioning your relationship, but all you know is that you must have done something at your shared class with her yesterday for her too approach you

"i hope you don't mind" she starts, eyes confident and you want to scream and cry because she's wearing a suit. typically worn when she's fresh from visiting one of her businesses. "i heard you were well versed in code"

"programming is my major yes" you keep your voice leveled, after all, being a woman in such a male dominated course has made you what your flock of admirers say, freezingly cold.

"i have a proposition for you" mina starts, keeping a dangerous game of who can keep the eye contact going "you help me with homeworks and projects while i give you money per assessment made"

while mina has a fair share of students that matched her energy, something in your gaze makes her crack a bit

"what makes you think i'll say yes?"

"you can't say no to me"

"yes i can. here watch i'll say it"

and mina can't deny it when she feels her heart start to race when you get closer to her. faces barely a few inches apart

"i don't do things for money. so no"

and you pull back, ready to put back to attention to your homework when mina speaks up

"every time you have to help me i'll pay you in food"

oh goodness free food

"ok i'm in" you hum, hands typing away on your laptop "we start in two days, send me an address and i'll met you there myoui. now shoo, i have to catch up to my work"

she stares at you with a blank gaze, but inside she's dumbfounded at your boldness

nevertheless, she stands up to leave you be, but before she's out of earshot, she says something you don't quite catch

"what?" you ask

"you should call me mina. myoui is too professional even for my taste dear"

three days later, it's momo who bugs you after your morning class

she slips up right beside you, the lack of dress code in the university gives momo a chance to wear a body hugging pink dress, something that makes everyone go crazy. what you don't like is how every guy is looking at her in ways you want to pluck their eyes out

filthy bastards don't deserve to gaze at her at all

"momo" your ears are red because everyone can clearly see you both in the halls, her arm around your waist as you slowly walk to the next building for your next class "what are you doing?"

"accompanying you to class" momo won't admit it, but ever since mina said you were, in her words, 'pretty and sufficient', she had to see you

"why?" you ask, glaring at every man who's looking at her too creepily, making them scurry away

"just because, plus our classrooms are right beside each other" she relaxes more with each less man in the hall, you notice it

"fine" you huff, and before she can even say anything else, you remove your jacket, giving it to her "wear this for today, i don't want any man to look at you. you're too gorgeous for them"

the rest of the walk is silent on the way to both of your classrooms. only thing you can hear is the squeak of every sneaker from each man running way and the whispers in between students

it's the most peaceful walk momo has had since becoming star athlete

so when you wave at her from the door before disappearing to go to the classroom beside her's, she feels like she can breath without panicking

she hates taking anything math related, but she might bare it more when she knows your beside her classroom

she's hooked

later that afternoon, while you lounge around the student council office sipping a red bull, someone barges in, scaring your team who's having a heated debate on who should the rest of the papers

"fucking jesus who the fuck-" ryujin is silenced from who she sees at the door

minatozaki sana, the ever persistent and one of the most notable member under the team of the president.

"someone sent you flowers?"

not a question you were expecting, even your team is gawking at her

dressed to perfection, you can't catch her in a regular outfit at any point, which is kind of ridiculous. sana doesn't care, always styled like she's going to a fashion week in europe. today she's wearing that white dress that she just wore in her feature in some magazine

what is it with the trio and wearing designer clothing every time they are at university grounds? specifically when they are within your eyesight

"pardon?" you know the amount of admires that still try despite cold rejection, even hailing from different courses. hell you think someone from the university over sent you chocolates once, you gave it to your team though

"did you accept some stupid boy's flowers?" sana repeats, anger in her eyes, an emotion she barely shows, and possessiveness in her body language, something you see glimpses of when someone gets close to mina and momo that she doesn't approve of

"minatozaki you know i don't do that" you say calmly, your team in awe at how you keep a calm attitude "if the suitor doesn't have the guts to face me, then they do not deserve my limited time"

"then you'll entertain if i do right?"

you can hear felix and lily choke over their pizza behind you

"you are not serious" you look at her like she's crazy (she loves being called that, you learn from mina later on)

she gets closer to you, faces barely an inch apart, any slip up from her leaning way to closer over your table and she can just kiss you

"try me, i'll see you at tomorrow's meeting miss vice-president"

when she leaves the office, it takes you and your team a total of 5 minutes to recover

"jesus what the fuck was that"

"ryujin shut up, go back to bickering with lia"

no one has ever said no to the trio

maybe a few people had

they're just not as pretty, charming and confident as you

maybe that's why mina keeps sitting beside you during your shared programming class even oustide 'tutor' hours, why momo's insistent at being beside you in between periods to carry your items on days your classes line up, and why sana shows up in every weekly meeting with an expensive gift or a trinket, challenging each suitor head on.

women like them are gonna be the death of you

"you have some crazy women that like you" jihyo jests beside you, giggling at how sana is glaring daggers at how close you both are. you both are now taking a break along with the rest of the internal team to finalize some papers

"yeah well" you don't like to admit it, but ever since their persistence to always either be near you, you have been starting to crack bit by bit "can't really escape them y'know"

"i think you would look cute with them" jihyo hums, swinging her pen between her fingers, making someone across the table keep her stare at the president "misamo and their girlfriend who sucks ass at karaoke"

"ok that was one time" you huff, jihyo's snickering makes sana look up from her phone, jaw tensing up at how close jihyo is "clearly i let you win because you liked it when tzuyu said she's treat you out if you win right?"

that shuts her up. the said tall woman is at the other side of the room, watching the president's face get red, wondering what you just said to make her like this

"get back to work" jihyo then shoos you away, your laughter making jihyo flip you off before returning to work for herself

before you cam even return to work, your eyes meet sana's, her expression unreadable. you wonder what she's thinking of

you look away, a light blush on your cheeks from her intense stare, busying yourself once more with the papers

to sana, witnessing your smile and laughter rewires her brain, heart pleading with her to speed up whatever this stage the three of them are in. each day that passes drives the three of them crazy

mina is messing up in her calculations, momo is missing her shots and sana is losing her composure on the daily

she needs you. they need you.

when sana heads home that night she keeps thinking about you. even when she lets her girlfriends debate what their late night dinner should be (mina wants tacos, momo is craving for some pasta). she blurts out in the middle of it

"do you think y/n would say yes if we offered her sushi as a late night dinner?"

the two stop at their bickering to look at sana, who's eyes are begging for the next move. she's getting itchy and desperate to make it

"satang" mina reaches out to her, letting sana wrap her arms around her waist as momo hugs them both "did something happen?"

"it's just" sana doesn't even try to hide it at this point, knowing that the three of them are nearing their breaking point "i saw her laugh today and it really made me think that 'i want to make her laugh with us' and i-i don't know but it has been driving me mad"

mina hums in understanding and momo speaks up, ready to take that push

"then let's go"

staying late even after meetings is normal for you to catch up with the papers, but for the past few days, you have been staying late in the office to busy your thoughts

mina hasn't been looking at you in the eye or been acknowledging you

momo hasn't been accompanying you to class

sana hasn't shown up to a single meeting this past two weeks

trying to silence your head, you decided to throw yourself into your extra curriculars every night. this night, you are working alone, the only sounds that you can hear are your aggressive typing on your poor keyboard, the music coming from your small speaker and the voices in your head making your heart ache

and now a knock and the door swinging open

"if you have any concerns please drop them by our social media accounts, email, or even the drop box by the-"

you stop your next words when you look up

mina.

you want to curse at the woman, for deliberately avoiding you. it was worse with her, because at least with the two you didn't have the urge to scream because they simply did not show up.

momo.

even clad in that handsome suit, she's still wearing that jacket you handed over to her. devastatingly handsome and gorgeous, you wonder why did she have to leave you wondering in the noisy university halls

sana.

meetings are still the same, but jihyo keeps on asking why your eyes have been straying, always going back to the door. waiting for that laugh to annoy you, waiting for a snarky remark to any stupid men flirting with you, waiting for anything from her

you really want to throw a chair at them for just showing up now and pissing you off

you don't though, because you missed them

each in their own suit, each with their own gift, each one with a nervous smile that no one will ever see, each one wearing their hearts up their sleeves, and each with the same question you didn't know you wanted to hear until now

"we like you. would you like to go out with us? dinner tomorrow night, our treat"

you can't say no

"you guys are horrible at courting. pick me up at 7"

bonus:

in every first date you've been on, you never come over to your dates home. that changes and ends with them

"hirai" you're trying to keep your breath stable as her hands are playing your hair. eyes hazy, but clearly on you, her self control out the door, just like yours

"myoui" she's behind you, her hands on your waist, murmuring what she's been thinking about for the past days. it's all you, and it makes you melt

"minatozaki" you let her kiss you, silencing your worries and doubts, silencing anything that makes you question them. the heart finally getting what it wants

"you my love, deserve to be ours"

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