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ino-tamukas-baggy-sweater · 4 months

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The Blessing to Your Curse - Part 1 (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)

Hey y’all I’m back again so soon with another fic, Sukuna’s lover reincarnation (whatever you call it) has me in a chokehold right now and I thought I’d share this with the world. Would like to warn you there is a lot of strange jumping around/pov changes which are indicated by the change in pronouns, I would mark each change but it would get a bit messy after a while so I hope it’s not too hard to follow! ^-^

Reader’s powers involve something I like to call ‘blessed energy’ which is the opposite to cursed energy and is mostly used for healing (reverse blessed energy is used to harm in the same way reverse CE is used to heal) and it’s something I created to use with my writings in the JJK universe. (sometimes I write it a little op because im a self-indulgent piece of shit so for most of what I post I’ll probably dial it back if I use it hehe) The reader has a similar situation to Maki/Mai (MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD) where one twin is restricted and the other has all the energy, and when the one with the energy dies the living twin gains all the power, so I hope that makes sense in context of the story

(PLEASE DON'T HESITATE TO SEND A REQUEST!!!! I'M ALWAYS IN NEED OF NEW PROMPTS AND CHARACTERS TO GO WITH THEM ❤)(I have a post which outlines characters I mostly write for but I'm open to adding to that list!!)

Warnings: mild description of mutilation (sukuna’s transformation), main character death (not described), fluff

Word count: 2.4k

“Ryomen!” You laugh, trying to keep a few steps ahead of the young man who chases after you. Your legs tire easily, body frail and sick despite the immense power flowing through your veins. “I’m coming for you!” He growls playfully, “Better run!” He’s holding back from his top speed, this you know well, but you refuse to let that stop you from trying to keep up with his childish play. Still young, 16 and 17 with him being the older one, you insist that you would rather spend the rest of your life here with him than being shepherded around in the village like a priestess.

This is your only escape from the temple on the hill, only solitude, your time with Ryomen Sukuna is precious and you treat it as such, thinking only of him and his rare smiles. You refuse to let the village’s words taint your view of him, as powerful as he is with his cursed energy there is good in him and you seek to nurture it, for both simple selfish gain and so he doesn’t turn on everyone like they did him. You reach the treeline and race out into the meadow, the grass tall and soft around your waist having stripped down from your daily ceremonial robes into just modest loose undergarments.

He does eventually catch up near the middle of the meadow, springing out of the grass and tackling you to the ground, making sure to roll so you land on top of him and he takes the full force of the fall. The last time you returned to the village after a long day of simple play with bruises and scrapes you weren’t allowed to leave the village for a few weeks.

He’s grown quite a lot larger than you during his time in exile, to be expected when you have to fend for yourself against wild animals and build your own shelter, “You’re getting stronger every day,” You smile, pushing yourself off him and laying in the grass, staring up at the beautiful pink of the sunset. “Well I have to, to be able protect you, I’m not the only thing out there you know,” He says, his tone almost too blasé for what he’s implying. You tilt your head and trace the lines of his tattoos with your eyes, “I know you’re not, but you’re not a thing to me Ryomen,” You murmur, “Please, you’re the closest thing I have to a friend, you’ve always been human to me,”

He meets your gaze, his eyes used to be brown, but the red no longer worries you like it used to, “One day I’ll get you out of that village,” He says softly, his words for your ears and the rustling grass only, “I will take you far away from here and we can live somewhere untouched by the rest of the world,” You sit up, looking down at him as you hug your knees to your chest, “I’d like that,” You say, smiling, “Just the two of us,” Nothing could touch you while you were together, the world stood still for you, not even the scathing remarks you sometimes got from the other young girls of the village could hurt you.

The world is volatile, things can change so quickly. Curses are still so new to the world of humans, sorcerers that act as protectors are only just starting to appear among humans and spread themselves between villages when the day finally comes. The wave of hatred and anguish that came with the curses suffocated everything in its path. You were outside the village when it happened, returning from a visit with Sukuna, and you returned to find nothing but death and destruction. More than half of the village had been killed with no discrimination towards age or gender, and it only soothed you a little to see your old family home empty when you wrenched the door open. No blood nor bodies of any kind. Your parents and sister had made it out alive, but the temple atop the hill that you resided in was completely engulfed.

You weren’t naïve, you did not attempt to return to the temple, but they came for you all the same because your energy was like a beacon for them, and they were programmed to destroy. Running with Ryomen had improved your strength over the time you spent together, you supposed that was one of the ways he took care of you in his silent brooding way, but it wasn’t enough to get you all the way to him. He must have sensed your fear as you grew nearer, your breaths shallow and your chest tight, his eyes are the last thing you remember seeing before your soul was harshly liberated from your flesh.

The smell of blood permeated through layers of warmth that held you in suspension beyond life, but you felt yourself being dragged back to the ground, standing over your own body as you watch the only person outside of your immediate family who ever truly cared for you cry. You had never seen him cry before, it was cathartic to know even he still felt human somewhere inside while holding your weak broken body to his bare tattooed chest.

You felt his cursed energy filling the air like smoke, almost able to see it in the purgatory state you’re trapped in, his body shaking and his muscles twitching. It was like watching someone turn themselves inside out when it finally happened, his body began changing before your eyes, an extra pair of arms sprout from the top of his ribcage just under the normal ones. His face contorts with an agonized cry and one half becomes unrecognisable, the flesh pink and hardened into some sort of twisted mask, and to finish the monstrous transformation a second pair of eyes open under his regular ones.

Drenched in sweat and breathing heavily as he cradles you, you hear him make one last promise, one that locks around what remains of your essence like chains and puts you into a deep sleep. “I will burn this world for taking you from me, I will become the King of Curses, and when you are reborn I shall make you remember, make you my Queen, I will bind myself to you to protect you,” It’s the final part that reassures you he isn’t losing himself as the darkness consumes you, “When I find you, the world will be right once again,”

Now it had been over a thousand years since the light in Sukuna’s life had gone out, reducing him to a killing machine that punished the world for snuffing it out, and he had returned once more in the body of a naive 15 year old boy with pink hair. Having been preserved as twenty separate cursed objects since his untimely death he was eager to resume his self-assigned purge, but the boy had more control over his body than Sukuna could break through, leaving him trapped within his innate domain watching through Yuji Itadori’s eyes like they’re windows.

“I had to do it at least once,” He grumbles to himself as the boy sits up, stark naked, on the morgue table, surprising the three sorcerers in the room with the formerly dead boy. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Yuji, come,” Gojo instructs as the boy slips on some clothes handed to him. “Another sorcerer?” He asks. “You’ll see when we get there,” The taller man beckons him and they make their way to a house on the furthest outskirts of the Jujutsu high campus, small in size and surrounded by forest on all sides except for the path leading up to the entrance.

A fire burns in the chimney and the house is warm when the pair steps inside, “L/n!” Gojo calls out. Sukuna’s attention is elsewhere as around the corner down the hall out walks a pure angel, her energy blinding and her form strong. “Gojo!” She smiles, “Who’s this?” “This is Yuji Itadori, Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel,” She bows politely, “Welcome to my home,” She looks back up into Yuji’s eyes as he smiles, “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Enchain!” Sukuna shouts, and suddenly he’s thrown violently to the forefront of Yuji’s mind. His trump card, wasted. He hadn’t considered the potential consequences, it had been instinctual and foolish of him. The girl didn’t know who he was, but he wanted to speak to her all the same. He would make her know. He cannot stumble, he cannot falter, not when she’s right there and all he has to do is show her, “Y/n,” He murmurs. “That’s not Yuji,” She frowns, her voice soft, “That’s-” Before the two can react Sukuna is on his knees before her, holding her hands in his and hiding against her soft clothing. “I’ve…” Gojo trails off, “I’ve never seen that before,” The girl doesn’t let him go, and he feels her power reach into him, feeling around in the darkest parts of his soul, “My Queen,” He mutters, feeling the metaphysical chains around his heart tighten, “Please, remember,”

A fast surge of energy from Gojo causes the man on his knees before you to react just as quickly, pulling you tighter against him and then seemingly teleporting out the open door into the clearing, “It’s rude to attack ROYALTY!” He roars as Gojo steps out the door after the pair of you. Sukuna has planted himself firmly between the two of you, “You sorcerers never learn manners!” Something happens when your skin next touches his, his hand shooting out to catch you by your wrist as you fail to keep your balance.

A flood of memories that don’t belong to you, in fact, ones that belong to him. You see yourself, weak and frail but smiling widely, Sukuna as he is in front of you now not as he is described in sorcerer texts. A regular human man with an abnormal amount of tattoos, fiercely protective and full of love for the only person who still sees him as human. You vaguely feel yourself fall to your knees as everything from the day he was exiled to the day you died returned to your mind. You knew that despite the life you had lived for twenty years, you were in fact over a thousand years old.

This wasn’t your life, this wasn’t your body, it was hers, but you are her. You can feel the chains, too, the ones he put there the day you died to ensure that you would return. “The world took her from me, and the world paid the price, now BACK OFF!” His words shake you out of your visions, his hand still clutching your wrist as your head hangs weakly.

“Come now, Sukuna, taking hostages isn’t your style, you know that,” Gojo bargains, “Let her go, and we can fight like men,” You shake your head, “No,” You murmur, “No, Gojo,” You finally look up into his eyes, slightly uncovered as he prepares to fight, “He’s right, I know who I am, I know where my clan comes from,” He doesn’t make a move towards you and you take the opportunity to speak again, “My mother was blessed, her child would calm the beast, but she had two and one was weak in body strong in energy, the other was lacking in energy but strong of body,” Your sister had been the one the clan records mentioned, nobody remembered the girl who died alone in Ryomen Sukuna’s arms.

“I am the Queen to Ryomen Sukuna’s King,” You breathe, feeling his grip on your wrist go lax. His energy dies away and he falls to his hands and knees, but the tattoos are gone. “Yuji!” Gojo’s shoulders finally relax and he recovers his eyes, “What happened? How did he get through?” “Don’t ignore me, Satoru,” You state firmly, “Sukuna will not be a threat while I am alive,” “Can you guarantee that?” He’s always been intimidating, but this man was a part of your training as a sorcerer, and he can be rational when he wants to be.

“You’re an imbecile if you think I’m going to go back on a binding vow,” Sukuna spits from Yuji’s cheek, the boy not even having a chance to get a word in, “She is the only thing in this forsaken world I care about and you’re not about to take that away from me just so you can pretend like you’re the saviour of humanity,” You don’t remember ever being as harsh as Sukuna is right now, but his rage fills you with confidence and admiration, “I can guarantee humans will not fall as long as I am alive, his vow makes sure of it, though I’m sure he would not need it either way,”

The secondary eye on Yuji’s cheek closest to you locks its gaze onto you, “Ever so cunning, I wish I’d had the chance to nurture your hatred towards the village, maybe you’d be more open to killing,” He sounds almost wistful, “But alas, I did make a promise, and I intend to keep it, no matter how idiotic I think you sorcerers are,” You finally move to stand back on your feet, helping Yuji up with a tentative smile, “It’s nice to meet you Itadori,” You murmur, “I’m sorry you have to listen to that punk, you come to me if he gives you trouble alright?” The boy nods, his previously cheery demeanour replaced with something mellower and he seems deep in thought as he looks into your eyes.

“He really loves you,” He murmurs in disbelief, “I didn’t… I didn’t think he was truly capable of love, after what he did to me,” You shrug, “It’ll make sense one day, but I’ll let him be the one who opens up, it’s not my place to air out thousand year old dirty laundry with people who are long dead anyway,” Your words hang in the air as Gojo finally sighs. The discussion and conclusion are finalised when he leaves, Yuji will live with you and you will suppress Sukuna’s energy. You will keep the world safe by preserving your life, lest another binding vow come down upon your departing soul and the King of curses be forced to unleash his merciless fury once more.

Sukuna is a little shit and out of character because it’s my fic and I get to write the male love interest however I want (I tried besties :( I don’t like mean Sukuna but I do love “I hate everyone but you” so that’s what you get) also I wrote this instead of sleeping at 2am, the brainrot is real and this will probably end up being a series because I can’t control myself

Part 2 here!

Post dividers from @cafekitsune

#jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #true form sukuna #ryomen sukuna #yuji itadori #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk sukuna #heian era #jjk x reader

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zillychu · 3 months

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woke up from a dead sleep last night realizing I could make soroku flavored pitch pearl and no one could stop me

edit: you know what? I'm feral and I won't apologize. more under the cut bc this is my house

I slammed this out all at once so I apologize for the quality but I'm having EMOTIONS

so imagine. bc of the way Danny was quickly resuscitated, his ghost only barely started forming. With the excess blast of ectoplasm from the portal being created, that little whisp was given form even after Danny's soul returned to his body.

except this ghost (Phantom) slowly comes into consciousness while trapped in Danny's body. they're separate entities sharing one body, but Phantom doesn't really have a sense of self right away. he pieces together vague fragments of Danny's memory to get a basic understanding of the world, and is mostly just observing like a backseat passenger.

Phantom starts reflexively protecting Danny, his powers and instincts bleeding through when his emotions are high. Danny doesn't really transform, and his personality doesn't totally shift that much at first because Phantom’s mind isn't complex yet. but as time goes on, and Danny has tense conversations with ghosts, Phantom realizes that's what he is. he's a ghost, somehow trapped in his old body. and even now, this early on, he already feels separate. he doesn't have all the memories Danny has.

this slowly turns into horror. into rage. sorrow, mourning a life he never got and will never get to have. forever trapped behind the eyes of someone else, never able to interact with the world. Phantom's rage eventually boils over until it allows him short bursts of taking over Danny's body. it starts out small–a stray hand moving without his consent, knees locking up, ghost abilities going awry. Danny can start feeling emotions that don't belong to him. get vague impressions, almost hears a voice inside him.

and eventually, Phantom is able to fully take over. this is when Danny “transforms". at first, Danny blacks out because his consciousness isn't used to being shoved into the back seat. but eventually, he's awake for these “episodes", trapped in the back of his mind while Phantom controls his body. this only happens when ghost stuff is happening, when Phantom feels threatened enough. he's not protecting Danny, he's protecting himself. Phantom knows instinctively that if Danny dies, he dies too. he's not a normal ghost, he wouldn't be freed. he'd simply disappear.

at one point after a fight, Phantom can feel Danny struggling to take back control. and he talks to Danny for the first time, acknowledges he's there. asks how it's fair that Danny is the one that gets to exist. but Phantom is tired and weak, he slips back into the passenger seat.

over the next few days, he's able to start talking to Danny even while he's not driving. though he's not chatty, it's only when necessary. and Danny knows, can feel it across the link between them–Phantom hates him. the ghost he created is desperate to find a way to take over completely. and as time goes on, Danny realizes with horror that it might actually be possible for Phantom to do that. he grows stronger every day, can stay transformed longer, controls Danny's body with much more ease.

it's only through a chance meeting with Frostbite that Danny and Phantom fully learn what happened to them. Danny feels sympathetic towards Phantom now. this isn't a malevolent ghost, it's a person who was never given the chance to live. who's trapped. who has to watch someone else live a life they're just as deserving of.

and Phantom feels that emotion from Danny. is so shocked by it, he doesn't know how to handle it at first. it takes him a while to contemplate, to talk to other ghosts like Frostbite. until one day, Phantom realizes… he feels sympathy for Danny, too.

neither of them asked for this. both of them deserve to live. Danny didn't do anything wrong. they're both villains to each other's story. and if anything… doesn't Phantom owe his life to Danny in the first place?

Phantom takes over less often. Danny doesn't feel hatred from him anymore. anger, yes–but not aimed at him. in fact, Phantom starts controlling their body in little ways in order to protect Danny from things that aren't even dangerous. just to avoid pain that would only affect the human tethered to him.

it isn't long before they're separated, either thanks to another ghost or Danny's parents. they're thrown apart in the middle of a horrific fight, and when Danny sees Phantom's equally shocked expression, he's terrified.

this ghost that hated him for so long–at best, Phantom would leave him defenseless. at worst, surely some part of Phantom still wants to kill him for stealing away his chance for autonomy.

and yet, when fire rains down on them, Phantom risks it all to grab Danny and get them both to safety. they're still both shaken and stunned this is even happening, but Phantom is able to nervously be like shit shit shit okay stay here don't go anywhere or I can't protect you, okay?

after the fight is over and dust settles, Phantom offers Danny his hand. they stare at each other and god if this isn't the weirdest thing. like, uh, okay, what now? they decide to go see Frostbite, who confirms that they're fully separate now. they ask if there's any chance of merging again and Frostbite assures it's impossible.

Phantom asks, even if I overshadowed Danny? or stay real close? yes, it's nothing to worry about. they leave, and back in the quiet of Danny's room, they talk. Phantom isn't sure what to do. now that opportunity is in front of him, he feels paralyzed. Danny does his best to let Phantom know that… they might be separate now, but if he ever wants help or even just a friendly ear, he's here for him.

Phantom is quiet for a while. then says maybe he just needs to rest first. he'll think about it tomorrow. they're both exhausted and injured. Phantom asks quietly… if he could rest in Danny for the night.

Danny's shocked, and–really confused. Phantom blushes and is like I don't know what my haunt is yet, I don't know where to go, but I know… you're kind of my home. now that I know I can leave whenever I want, it's not something bad anymore. I miss feeling your heart next to my core, just a little bit.

and Danny is just as surprised when Phantom overshadows him, then quietly nestles into the passenger seat again. he didn't realize how he got used to feeling Phantom with him. it's a feedback loop of contentedness, and Danny sleeps easily. (they also find out while sharing a body, Danny gets to reap the benefits of Phantom's supernatural healing)

anyway that's all I got for now thank u for coming to my ted talk

#I'll be honest. it has interested me. I've read fics. I'm just more interested in other stuff for dp #but the prospect of pitch pearl 'enemies to friends also maybe they kiss about it' has me sweating nervously #the struggle and angst of defining yourself against your progenitor. the defiant sorrowful anger funneled into misplaced hatred #only to slowly realize your progenitor is a sweet person who didn't condemn you. they even fight for you to have your own agency #so once you finally have your own body you'll do anything to protect that person you've come to truly care about #and because you shared a body for so long. because you had the same origin. you know them as well as you know yourself #you're not incomplete but you still hold half of each other #HAHA WOW anyway I'm in danger :)#don't. don't look at me #should i even tag this. yeah okay #Danny Phantom #pitch pearl

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geekforhorror · 14 days

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giving ani road head 🏃🏼‍♀️

sweet like candy

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT (DNI IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT!), switch!anakin, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, praise, pet names, orgasm, slight cum play (?), bossy anakin, fluff at end.

Never in a million years would you have thought you would be in this situation. In a speeder giving Anakin a blowjob. Sure, you guys had done plenty of other stuff together, but not this. This was completely new territory for you. The night had started off with the two of you going to a gala, but over time, you guys had gotten bored and… desperate. The invite was a nice gesture of the Order, but both of you couldn’t really care when all you guys could think about was feeling the warmth of each others body. And that’s exactly what was happening right now.

Anakin had parked his speeder in a rather secluded area, which had come in handy for this very moment. Here you were, sucking away at his cock for the past few minutes, both of you reduced to a sweaty mess.

“Fuck angel, just like that…” he pants as you hollow your cheeks around the base of his cock that was already coated with precum. You continue what you do best, but this time, you swirl your skilled tongue on his aching tip, which only provides a stronger sensation for him.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he says while looking down at your fucked out state. You looked angelic in this moment. Your pupils were currently blown out in a sense that they had a doe look to them and your chin was covered in drool and his precum. You’ve never looked better to him. Anakin can’t help but wonder what you would look like while your hair was being tugged that way your mouth could sink lower onto his dick. Only one way to find out.

Anakin finally grabs a fistful of your hair before shoving your head lower, now taking all of him. Your gag reflex kicks in and he notices your throat threatening to choke on his fat cock.

“Come on baby, I know you can take more. Be a good girl and give me what I want,” he orders. You nod your head at his demand and behave. Your mouth is now the fullest it’s ever been and you fucking love it. You purse your lips around him before placing your hands on knees for support while sucking away at him.

“That’s a good girl,” he coos.

Fuck. That voice of his is going to be the death of you.

You take that as an opportunity to show him just how much of a good girl you can be for him. You hastily start to bob your head back and forth while he’s still in the back of your uvula. This makes Anakin hit his head on the plush leather of his seat, now moaning louder than ever. You made him lose his self control and you took pride in it. Both of you know someone could walk by any instant, but that’s what provided the thrill.

Anakin starts to feel the hot coil form in his abdomen and he knew what was about to happen. And so did you when you felt him twitch in your sore mouth. All you wanted was to make him feel good.

“Kriff…I’m going to cum…” he trails off. You finally suction him even rougher with all your might and before either of you know it, he comes undone in your trained mouth, shooting hot ropes of his salty seed down your throat. You graciously swallow all of it without being asked, which stings for him since he was still so sensitive. With your hand, you wipe off the excess fluids that were plastered on the crevices of your lips and chin.

“That was fucking…wow…” he says while pulling his boxers and pants up.

“I could say the same,” you say before kissing him passionately straight on the lips. His lips are molded to yours in an instant and it’s the best feeling in the world. After a few seconds, he brings his fingers to your chin before pulling your face away.

“Missed a spot… tastes so sweet,” he says, before wiping away the drop of cum you had missed.

“I love you, Anakin Skywalker.”

tag list: @zapernz @mortalheartache @midnight--raine @camiemorgan8 @myheartwillgoon2022

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin imagine #anakin star wars #hayden christensen #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fandom

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augusgus · 1 year

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touch yourself (m.)

Being Sukuna's vessel isn't easy. Even less so if he's decided to take advantage of it - to his great pleasure and your humiliation.

pairing: ryomen sukuna x vessel fem!reader

tags: forced masturbation(?), a bit of degradation, corruption kink, sadistic sukuna (are we surprised), dacryphilia, oral sex, ruined orgasm, a tiny bit of spit play

You could hear his snicker even before you felt your cheek moving from Sukuna's sneer.

"What a lewd woman..." His voice was dripping with self-satisfaction, the kind that made you want to strangle him. Him and his damned influence over you.

Another wave of heat rushed through your body, this one stronger than the ones before, and a strangled whimper escaped your lips. Damn it, damn it, damn him. You were burning up and at this point it took everything in you to keep it together.

A knowing chuckle. "Why so shy?" There was a dark, cajoling tint to his whisper that sent involuntary shivers down your spine. "Or, perhaps, are you a filthy liar? Is that how it is? My, how scandalous!"

"T-that's rich coming from you, curse."

You were breathing heavily, fingers gripping your pillow with white knuckles. It hadn't been long since you had woken up from your body going into overdrive but it was already become too much to handle. Slowly, tantalisingly. It was mortifying to say the least, slowly losing control over yourself like that.

And Sukuna, being the source of your problem, was eating it right up.

You could feel the mouth on your cheek stretch impossibly to an even wider grin. "I would never deny myself pleasure, woman. I always take what I desire."

"Explains w-why you're such an ass," you quipped back.

You knew your response was weak. But you couldn't think clearly anymore - every drag of fabric against your skin, every shift of your fingers against the pillow was sending tingles up your neck and lighting up sparks in your brain.

His voice seemed closer to your ear now as he drawled, so sardonically, so humiliatingly smug, "you know, your perverted cunt is much more honest than you, woman. It's been dripping the whole time."

Wincing, you closed your eyes in shame as if that would make everything disappear. It wasn't for the first time that you wished to have never become a vessel for this demon, to have never given Sukuna the opportunity to touch the most vulnerable parts of your innermost and pick you apart by the seams with sadistic enjoyment. He was stripping you from your decency, dragging away layer by layer until he had you naked and cornered and cowering exactly the way he wanted you to.

You felt watched when your fingers slowly, almost involuntarily, travelled down your body - and in a sense you were indeed. Gleeful eyes, all over, drinking in this horrible humiliation that not even your lust-induced haze could block out... And that small part in yourself that actually took pleasure from this exploitation of your weakness - you started to hate that you have been made aware of its existence.

A gasp left your lips when your nails caught on one of your nipples, the slight touch alone enough to have a gush of wetness pooling between your legs. Sukuna's mouth laughed and the sheer proximity of the harsh sound made your head spin.

"Hah! Are you crying, woman?" He taunted. "D'you think that I'd take pity on you?"

"I'm n-not..." You hadn't noticed it before but tears had started to gather in your eyes. The realisation only made them well up more, salty liquid running down your cheek and landing on his tongue.

He laughed louder, a hint of madness vibrating in his sadistic excitement. "Yes, yes, this is it!! Lose yourself! Get even more desperate... You're a whore, behave like one!" You could feel his arousal brimming under your skin, dark and sticky, mixing with your own lust.

"You're such...an...asshole..." The insult lacked the usual spite. Forming words felt much too difficult all of a sudden.

If he had any regard for anyone other than himself, he would have stopped here, left you intact. He still would have had you hanging by the last threads of your pride, of your morals, but you'd be able to shrug it off as a moment of weakness. A lapse in judgment.

But Sukuna had never cared for the thing called restraint.

"Touch yourself, woman." He was playing with you, cruel in how his voice made it sound like an inevitable order. "Show me just how shameful you are, getting off on fingering your perverted cunt with a cursed spirit possessing your body. Show off how much you crave this!"

The moment the pads of your fingers pressed into the covered folds of your pussy, you couldn't breathe. The pleasure was all-consuming and the bit of relief that came with it made you momentarily forget about the guilt. "S'good..." the whine forced itself between your lips but you didn't have it in you anymore to care.

It felt so good... and yet the ache only seemed to grow stronger.

"Still not enough, huh." You could hear the grin, feel the movement right next to your ear, "what a slut."

And then white flashed before your eyes when something strong pushed against your entrance - Sukuna's mouth having opened on your palm instead, hot tongue licking a fat stripe up to your clit.

"Ah-hhhah...?!" there was no softness to his ministrations, no rhythm to make it easier for you to adjust. Whatever he decided to give to you, you had to take it. It was almost too much, balancing on the fine line between overwhelming and mind-numbing.

You had no control over the sounds you made anymore, over your muscles, and without thinking you pushed harder against your own hand, pressing the palm flat against your sticky folds to have better access to him. To have him closer, reach deeper.

Little sounds of "ah. Ah. Ah" filled the room and combined with the squelches from your dripping juices and his saliva. Sukuna laughed against your clothed core before biting along your outer lips, then slowly sliding his teeth over your clit - just gentle enough that the sensation had you squeezing your thighs even harder around your hand and trapping it effectively. With a scoff he sucked your clit into his mouth, rubbing circles into it with the tip of his tongue until you couldn't stop shaking.

Your orgasm wasn't far, the denial you've put yourself through having put your body in an even more vulnerable state. The coil was steadily tightening, growing in intensity until you could almost taste it on your tongue. A little more, just a little-

All contact vanished. Nothing, apart from your wet panties clinging to your folds. Gone was the pressure, lingering warmth all that was left. And still, in the last moment the slight shift of fabric made you tip over the edge.

You came but it didn't feel like an orgasm.

New tears welled up in your eyes as you realised, this was so unfair. So unfair. You could still feel the awaited pleasure brimming right underneath your skin, could feel it retracting without having given you any of the relief.

"Did ya really think you deserve to cum?" He was mocking you - his mouth back on your cheek letting a trail of spit run down his tongue and in between your own opened lips. It tasted like yourself.

Almost as if a dam had broken, you cried even more - desperation to cum, really cum, taking a hold of you. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou..." your pussy was pulsating around nothing, your body having been tricked into an empty orgasm, but the lust was still right there. Heat pooling in where you thought to be your womb. You needed it, needed him. So bad.

"Come on, you can do better than that," Sukuna drawled. "Beg. Say it, say my name."

"Scream who it is you're letting yourself be fucked by."

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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sidekick-hero · 2 months

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(steddie | gen | 1.2k | tags: feelings realization (not his own), Kas!Eddie (flashback), smoking weed together, boys in love | @steddielovemonth prompt: Love is what makes you brave | AO3)

Eddie never claimed to be smart. It was not for nothing that it took him three tries and a very lenient high school administration - thanks to Hawkins' very own apocalypse - to graduate from high school.

It's not that he's dumb. It's more that he has what his uncle calls a scatterbrain. It's hard for him to focus on anything outside of the things he's really passionate about, like DnD or metal or fantasy. So it's not really surprising that he realizes that Steve is in love with him weeks after he's fallen for the boy himself.

And oh boy, did he fall for Steve Harrington. Hook, line and sinker.

It's new and exciting and scary. It takes up all the space in his head, and just as he read Lord of the Rings so many times that he can recite Aragorn's battle speech at the Black Gate, Eddie now spends all his time and energy learning everything there is to know about Steve Harrington.

He begins to pay attention to what people say about Steve and even more to what's said between the lines. He learns a lot by finally listening to all the times Dustin talks about Steve, which is often, singing his praises in his own, unique Dustin way.

Eddie focuses on what he can learn about Steve from the stories the others tell about a time when Eddie wasn't part of this weird little group of misfits and heroes, and collects all the clues like he's Sherlock fucking Holmes and Steve is his Moriarty.

Like how Robin and Steve have all these jokes from their Scoops days, even though they only really became friends later, during their run-in with the Russians. Yet Steve was willing to bait them into beating him instead of Robin, sacrificing himself so she could be spared before they ever established their platonic soul mateship.

It fits with the story Jonathan told him once, when they were smoking pot with Argyle, about Steve running back into a house with an honest-to-God monster in it to help Nancy and him fight it. And that was after Steve had come to Jonathan to apologize for their fight, even though he had reason to suspect that his girlfriend was cheating on him with Jonathan.

It's like puzzle pieces clicking together in Eddie's head.

At first, they don't fit with the things Steve tells him while they're out by the pool, sharing a joint and just talking. Steve goes on about all the times he was a coward, how he never stood up to his father or the bullies at school, even when he thought they were going too far.

But the things he says start to make sense to Eddie when Steve starts talking about how he only ditched Tommy and his other asshole friends because of Nancy. Because she made him realize how shitty he had become for fear of falling out of line and losing his status and his so-called friends.

Steve would never say he was brave.

But Eddie knows the truth.

Eddie knows that Steve is brave for the people he loves.

Love makes Steve brave.

And Steve loves fast and hard.

Once those two things become a certainty in Eddie's mind, other things fall into place.

Vecna sent him back to his friends as a spy, but they saw right through him, so he attacked them. He was faster and stronger now, thanks to whatever spell he was under, and he was vicious. They weren't his friends, they were the enemy. If he didn't kill them, they would kill him.

It makes him remember something he mostly tries to forget because it still hurts. It still fills him with shame and guilt. But now he thinks back to those weeks when he was under Vecna's control, a puppet dancing to his master's will.

Vecna had saved Eddie's body from dying when Dustin and the others thought he was already dead, but it came at a price.

Steve, the self-sacrificing idiot, managed to trap himself and Eddie in a room away from the others, his trusty nail bat at the ready. They faced each other, both ready to attack, to fight until one or both were dead.

And then Steve dropped the goddamn bat.

"I'm not going to fight you, Eddie. This isn't you. This isn't the guy who gave the outcasts and the nerds and the geeks a safe haven in the middle of the hell that is high school for them. This isn't the guy who decided to fight for a town that abandoned him and hunted him because he was different."

Steve took a step closer, so close that Eddie could see the flecks of green and gold in his hazel eyes.

"This isn't the guy who gave his life to save Dustin and buy us more time."

Warm hands closed around his own, clenched into fists and ready to strike, and cradled them gently.

"You saved us, Eddie. Because you are good. Because no matter how cruel the world was to you, you never stopped being kind." Another step towards the monster with his friend's face, but Steve never faltered, never hesitated.

"Please come back to us. Dustin needs you. Mike and Lucas need you."

Steve's arms wrapped around him, pulling him into their warm embrace, holding him tight as Steve said directly into his ear, "We need you, Eddie."

It hit Eddie right then and there, lying on the grass in Steve's yard with the pungent smell of the finished joint still in the air and the warmth of Steve's body seeping into his own where they touched from head to toe.

He never thought about it before because it couldn't have been. Steve had only known him a few days before the bats got him. And besides, he had been mooning over Nancy at the time, hadn't he?

But Steve risked his own life to get Eddie back. He could have killed Eddie, probably should have. Instead, Steve bravely stood his ground and reminded Eddie of his own humanity. Of all the love in his life and in his heart.

Steve falls hard and fast.

Love makes Steve brave.

Steve had only known Eddie, really known him outside of high school gossip, for a few days, but he risked his life to save Eddie.

Clumsy with the lingering effects of the weed in his body, Eddie turns his head to look at Steve, who's still staring up at the starry night sky. He takes in his profile, the sharp jaw line, the strong nose, the full lower lip. Steve is beautiful. He's good and kind and bitchy and secretly a giant dork. And he...

"You love me."

Eddie doesn't mean to just blurt it out, a thought that only formed a few minutes ago, but he's never been known for his brain to mouth filter and holy shit, Steve Harrington loves him.

Startled, Steve tears his eyes away from the stars to look at Eddie instead, his lovely hazel eyes wide as they search and hold Eddie's.

"I know," he finally says, leaning in even closer as if they were sharing a secret. "What gave it away?"

Instead of answering right away, Eddie bridges the infinitesimal gap between them and kisses Steve.

"I make you brave." At Steve's questioning look, Eddie adds, "Don't worry, you make me brave, too."

Before Steve can ask any more questions that Eddie's weed-addled brain couldn't answer anyway, he captures Steve's lips in another kiss before bravely rolling on top of him and showing him just how much Eddie loves him, too.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #day 7 #love is what makes you brave #my writing

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cookinguptales · 9 months

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So I've talked about this a little bit in the past, but like... to me, the biggest tragedy of this substandard turning for Guillermo is that he's clearly always associated vampiric transformation with personal growth.

One thing that's always struck me about both Guillermo and Nandor is that both of them have this odd fixation on a nebulous "better" version of their lives that they should be living, and that fixation is so strong that it prevents them from fully living the life they already have. They both have a tendency to be so focused on how green the grass is on the other side that they forget to water their own lawn, if you get me.

Nandor has pretty obviously been on a quest for meaning since at least the first season (due to his crisis over Al Qolnidar no longer existing and his descendent dying) and he has a strong tendency to ignore all of the meaningful things that already exist in his life so he can pursue a fantasy of something better. He constantly throws aside the good things he has because he believes there must be something better. And in so doing, he often loses what he had to begin with.

Guillermo actually does things fairly similarly, except while Nandor is looking externally for something to enter into his life and give it meaning, Guillermo's fantasy life is focused more purely on his sense of self, with the anchor of it being vampiric transformation.

Guillermo has always looked at vampiric transformation as being the magic bullet that will make him good. It'll make him stronger, faster, more powerful, sure. But it's not just that. His entire sense of self-worth is attached to this. He doesn't just want physical power; he wants social power. He wants emotional power.

When Guillermo becomes a vampire, he won't get bullied anymore. When he becomes a vampire, he'll get respect. He'll be smart, strong, sexy. He'll be loved. He'll be able to love himself.

He'll be better.

Guillermo has always unabashedly put all his eggs in that basket. He's always just waited for someone to come bestow worthiness on him. But it's also circular logic, y'know? He'll become worthy once he's a vampire, but he'll also only become a vampire once he's worthy.

He has to earn it, and he'll never be happy until this growth, this vague sense of superiority, is earned.

That's really not how self-worth works, though, is it? No one can give that to you. No one can magically make you all the things you've always wanted to be, and no one can magically strip you of all the parts of you that you're ashamed of. And all the praise in the world won't mean anything to you if you don't believe it.

Guillermo, as he's gotten further away from being a vampire, has actually started to gain all the things he has intrinsically associated with vampirism. He's stronger. He's faster. He's more powerful. He's sexier. He's more confident. People respect him. People accept him. He's been able to start to reclaim his sexuality. He's starting to be able to be himself, and that self is both alluring and dangerous.

But none of that came because of anything he's done to try and earn his worth. It was all accidental; he's been so focused on this fantasy version of himself that he didn't see the way he was growing, changing, and developing in his own way.

Guillermo can't see that he's already grown up to be his childhood fantasy of himself, y'know?

So now he's gone and used all this newfound power and confidence and cunning to finagle himself a bite. But it didn't work. And it didn't make him feel the way he thought it would.

Because it's always been a fantasy. It's always been something to work toward. It's always a version of him that can't exist because it's nothing concrete, it's just the nebulous idea of being better.

Moreover, it's not just a power fantasy, though it certainly is that. I think the key to it here is that Guillermo has really come to associate this changing with acceptance. Not just anyone's acceptance -- Nandor's acceptance.

Along with all the other parts of the fantasy, Guillermo has fantasized about Nandor changing him because Nandor thinks he's worthy. It symbolizes all the longing he's ever had for acceptance and respect and acknowledgement and love and desire. Nandor's really become the center of all that for him, mostly because Guillermo is stupid in love with him. And since he circumvented Nandor's acceptance when he claimed a bite from someone else, he's really missed out on a major portion of what he was fantasizing about in the first place.

No one in the vampiric world is accepting him. If anything, they're pushing him away even more now that he's upset their social balance. No one thinks he's sexy. No one thinks he's cool. No one loves him, desires him, respects him. He still hasn't gotten the acknowledgement that he really wanted all along.

It was never just the powers. It was the fact that Guillermo hated himself. He hated his nebbishness, his weakness. He hated the way he couldn't fit in, not with his peers or his family or his religious community. He hated his timidity and his shyness and his submissiveness. He hated the way he was pushed around by everyone -- and in fact, he wanted to do the pushing.

And he thought that getting bitten would fix all that overnight. But it didn't.

So now even though he's gotten the bite he's always fantasized about, he's still deeply unhappy. And some of this really is the lack of physical power, which he's associated with social power. But I think more of it is that he always thought that a bite would change him on a fundamental level. But he has to come to terms now with the fact that he's still just Guillermo.

He can never be anything but himself. And Guillermo hates himself. He's embarrassed by himself. He's ashamed of himself. The idea of never being anything but what he already is is unbearable to him.

Then you add the fact that he doesn't feel like he "earned" this transformation, he never did get the acknowledgment from the person he needed it from most...

Guillermo was bitten and he still doesn't feel worthy. That's the root of it. He doesn't feel like the bite made him worthy and he doesn't feel like he was deemed worthy of the bite. So the bite itself? Yeah, that's worthless, too. Just like him.

Guillermo is struggling with the death of a fantasy here, I think, and struggling with idea that he might only ever be himself. And all he has to impress those around him, especially Nandor, is that self. And he doesn't feel like that self is enough, especially now that he might have fully alienated Nandor in particular.

God, I just. I really want Guillermo to come to accept who and what he is. I want him to see his own strength and his own power and his own beauty and realize that it didn't have to be bestowed upon him by anyone. It's not just his bloodline, it's not just the master he serves. It's him! It's in him! It's intrinsic! It's good!

It's enough!

I want him to be so proud of himself, because I am. My beautiful little murder machine. He's awful and I love him so dearly. ;;

God, I just want these two idiots to look at each other and realize that what they already have is enough. Nandor already has the love and acceptance he's been craving. Guillermo already has the power and worthiness that he's been craving. They already both love each other. They just need to stop being dumbasses for five minutes!

(But now who's lost in a fantasy world? lmao)

#last meta post for the first two eps for now I PROMISE #that said once I see tonight's ep things will just start again unfortunately #wwdits #wwdits meta #wwdits s5 #wwdits spoilers #nandermo #guillermo de la cruz

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vetteltea · 4 months

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Pierre Gasly and Big Hugs from the Family [no warnings]

Day 11 of the Vetteltea Advent Calendar

The silvery car pulling up outside of the Gasly’s family home was enough to make your stomach churn. It was breathtaking, truly. A beautiful tiled path leads to the ornate front door, soft lights decorating the roof for the holiday season. The tree, the one he had told you about so many times, how his elder brothers would tease him until he learnt to scale the branches, stood to the left, draped in identical string lights, a reindeer statue artistically placed underneath.

Pierre ceases the engine, his own hands dropping from the wheel of the car. It takes less than a second before one of them finds your own, gently slipping it into his touch and offering a comforting squeeze. He knows all too well, after meeting your parents the previous night, that you only have one chance to make an impression. Despite his lavish and overbearing reputation, your family had fallen head over heels for your boyfriend the previous evening. A quick pit-stop in a hotel that evening, you had spent the day driving to his family’s home for the remainder of the holiday.

He’d given you a gentle reminder during the drive, that only three of his brothers would be present when the two of you would arrive that evening. Even so, your eyes had gone wide from finally seeing the front door, identical to the photos that Pierre had shown you of his five-year old self, standing in front of the door on his first day of school with a huge grin. This was the first time in a long time, after all, that he had bought a girl home.

Everybody knew of his reputation; how every moment of every day he seemingly had a new plaything on his arm; maybe that was the reason you were so nervous of meeting his family; what if Pierre got sick of you in less than a week and dumped you for some pretty blonde he’d crossed paths with in Monaco?

You didn’t have time to be nervous; not before you heard a loud scream from outside of the windows. Both yours and your boyfriend’s head snapped in the direction of the house, Pierre’s mother now stood on the porch. Gently, Pierre slips his hand from your grasp, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to the temple of your head.

“Come on.” He coaxes. “Let’s do it, yes?”

The words are what you need, pushing you from the safe-space of the car. Pierre is the first to move, opening the driver side door and making a beeline to the passenger side, opening the door for you. One gentle hand reaches out, clasping yours when you lift from the seat. By the time you’ve stepped away from the car seat, his mother is already there. You had heard the stories, how Pierre was a mother’s boy because he was the youngest, her baby.

She completely bypassed her son, taking you in her arms and pulling you into her chest. You feel her heart racing in awe, warm hands clasping you so tightly and your chest relaxes. She’s welcoming you, she is already elated by you. When she pulls back, her two hands reach forward to cup your face, pressing a gentle kiss to either one of your cheeks.

“Pierre! Elle est tellement belle!” She’s shouting about how beautiful you are. You’re not like the other girls she sees her son photographed with. You’re naturally beautiful, and she can sense you have a strong head on your shoulders and a good heart. You’re good for him, perfect for him. This time, when she pulls you back into a hug, she pulls Pierre alongside you, tightly squeezing you for one more moment.

“Cyril! Paul! Nik! Aide-les avec les sacs!” Her demand for his elder brothers to come down from the porch and help the two of you with your luggage is met immediately, not before each brother has pulled you into a hug, agreeing with their mother that you are quite simply the greatest women he has ever pulled. Cyril laughs, throwing one arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer to his own side. His English is stronger than his mother’s, though he’s still able to understand both.

“Pierre is really punching with you, no?” He laughs, the youngest brother’s cheeks turning pink. “Seriously. You are beautiful. Way too good for him!” This time, you can’t help but join in the laughter, the youngest Gasly’s hands reaching out in mock surrender.

“Yes, alright.” He grins. “She’s too good for me. But she’s still mine.” Cyril eventually removes his arm from around your shoulder, whistling for one of the suitcases to be passed to him, all being taken up to Pierre’s childhood bedroom, he was the most nervous about you seeing that later on. Whilst the three men carry the cases inside, your boyfriend takes the time to wrap his own arms around you, pulling you closer to his chest.

“Are you feeling better now, yes?” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, letting you relax into his chest. “You’re her favorite now, no questions asked.”

You take notice of his pout, stretching upward and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “It’s okay. You’ll always be my favourite.”

#Pierre Gasly #PG10 #Pierre Gasly x Reader #Pierre Gasly Imagine #Pierre Gasly One Shot #Pierre Gasly x You #Reader Insert #F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Pierre Gasly Blurb #Pierre Gasly x Y/N

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literaila · 1 year

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the luckiest

part one.

summary: you consider yourself a generally unlucky person, but when you meet peter parker it becomes even more apparent that the universe hates you.

warnings: past trauma, death, grief, self-conciousness, there’s a fire, and spider-man, fluff, angst, all that

a/n: so technically i lied because it’s 3 in the morning. but here you go. disreguard all of the bad parts until i have a chance to go throw and fix it tomorrow. love ya

the weekend after peter came over to your apartment, you were filled with the overwhelming realization that he was your friend.

that he wasn't going to put a label on it, and neither were you, but he still meant a lot more than you'd intended. more than you could've expected.

and he had your number now, so he was texting you.

he was asking you how long you'd be able to survive on the leftovers he'd forced you to keep. telling you that he could feel you falling out of bed from his house.

he was there, even when he wasn't.

and you loved it. you laughed at every message he sent you, felt your chest ache every time his name appeared at the top of your screen. when he asked you what you were doing for the rest of the weekend...

you wanted to respond seconds after every message. you wanted to eagerly joke with him, scold him for thinking so little of you.

you really wanted to be peter's friend.

but the past had a hold on your heart, and it tightened every time you felt any sort of admiration for him. any desire.

so you couldn't be. and you ignored his texts.

it wasn't often that you really thought about it.

you tried to keep the memories out of your mouth, the guilt out of your chest, and the words away from your head.

you tried so hard to just forget everything that had happened. everything that you'd done.

but the images flooded your mouth like water.

they took up any capacity to breathe, any sense of control you might have had.

and you knew, you knew that it wasn't fair for you to try and forget. that there were people--so many other families--that could never forget. that would live with your mistake, your happenstance for the rest of their lives.

and you tried not to think about it.

not to count the days since all of it had happened. not to track the years since it'd started.

but it was three years since you'd mistakenly walked into that building.

three years since you'd allowed yourself to sit comfortably within the public eye and not watch everyone else.

two years since you'd had a friend.

it was easy to push people away. when you were so angry at yourself that you couldn't stand to be talked to, that you had no more idea how to laugh, or want to care about the people you loved. when you started pushing people away, they let you.

and if they pulled at all, they'd come to learn that you were a lot stronger.

so, now, three years later and almost a year into your tragic decision-making, you hadn't wanted to think about how much you'd been craving.

intimacy, in any capacity. someone to laugh with besides yourself.

someone to look at and understand.

to watch the flicker of someone's eyes and be allowed to ask about it, to know what they were thinking about.

you hadn't had a real friend in three years.

there were your old neighbors that invited you to parties, brought you leftover desserts, and flowers when they'd heard what happened.

the girls that had offered themselves up willingly, just if you needed anything.

and then you moved.

in the last year, you'd spoken to hundreds of people. you'd thanked every person that held a door open for you, said excuse me every time you walked by someone just a bit too close. you laughed at strangers' jokes while waiting in line for lunch. you'd said happy birthday to your coworkers.

but you hadn't said a thing to any one of these people.

you hadn't reached out and stuck yourself to them, like some type of syrup, wanting to seep into their pores and discover the very being behind all of these words. you hadn't latched your claws onto anyone, hadn't wanted to.

but peter.

peter was just an accident. he was a man who hated you, and that was okay. but as soon as that shifted into something else--like tolerance--you'd crossed the line.

you probably should have quit as soon as jameson called the two of you partners. you should have left then, but selfishly, you liked this job too much and were too comfortable to even think about walking out the door.

just another mistake you'd wound up making.

and now you were stuck; because peter was something else. he wasn't just a partner, or an acquaintance at work, or a boy that made you laugh sometimes, and texted you about the people at work when you weren't around.

he was hard and strong, bitter and bold, but so incredibly soft.

and you wanted to push him. you wanted to poke and prod at him until you left bruises.

it was your own fault for letting this need, this sort of desperation build for so long.

you'd like to believe that peter is just a coincidence. that you couldn't control who you got along with, and it wasn't your fault that he was funny or intimidating, or incredibly beautiful. you couldn't control that.

and you tried not to think about it.

but like every other time, every other mistake you consistently made--it was your fault.

you knew that.

there was a day when you stayed late in the office.

overtime wasn't a thing at the bugle, but being reprimanded for turning something in late definitely was. and you'd been... slightly distracted the past couple of weeks.

so you're sitting in the dark--with only the flashlight on the phone to find a spare pencil--typing to yourself, and humming.

you'd moved from the cave, as wonderful as it was, to sit in a comfy chair that one of your coworkers had spent way too much money on.

but no one else was there, so you don't think they’re going to mind.

you're going over your own writing, trying to answer emails, and fix any mistakes you'd left behind all at once. you don't want to head home, with all of those people as collateral damage, so sitting here with your computer in your lap wasn't a bad way to spend the night.

it was almost calming. if the building sunk into the ground, you’d be the only one there:

but about forty-five minutes into this, the elevator chimed.

and you knew enough about this building--about the stabilizing structures, the pillars, and columns that kept the walls standing, the schedule of every person that worked here--to know that it wasn't just a janitor coming to clean. you’d studied the floor plan in many reckless hours, and gotten a copy of the building records. you could trust yourself on this.

and besides, jameson believed in taking responsibility for your own messes, which means avoiding the bathroom at all costs.

so, you look up, dimming the light on your computer. it was stupid of you to move from your desk into the open office space, but the back support was a little too good to pass up.

you bite your lip while you wait for someone to walk around the corner.

luckily, you're met with hanging limbs, a t-shirt and jeans, and completely messed up hair.

peter, with all of his casual walking and leaning against walls and coming into the office at six.

he doesn't seem to notice you there, even though you're right in his eye line. he's groaning to himself, bending down to stretch his back, and trying to fix a shoe that slipped off.

he was completely oblivious. but you sort of appreciated the moment you’re allowed to stare.

a moment to notice how disheveled your usually calm, usually controlled coworker was.

you squint at him, testing to see if you're just hallucinating.

but peter is moving around in the dark. he's grabbing something off of his desk--you hope--and being almost perfectly silent as he does it.

and then, as soon as he finally slips his shoe back on, he looks over to you.

"mother hubb--" he gasps while holding a hand to his heart. "why are you sitting in the dark!?"

you lean back in the chair, crossing your arms. "why are you jumping around the office like a college student waking up at someone else's house?"

"first of all--"

you smirk at him.

"i don't like that comparison. second of all, i forgot something here, and i need it."

"what'd you forget?"

peter's face falls--or at least, that's what you think you see in the dark. and then he looks over to his desk, mouth opening, and closing as he reaches for something. "my--my water bottle."

you blink at him. "you needed to come back for your water bottle? it was that important?"

"it's an emotional support thing," peter shakes his head, frowning and scratching at his neck. "i don't need to explain this to you. what're you doing here?"

"working."

"it's 6:11."

"some of us have actual deadlines."

peter scoffs, grabbing his water bottle off of the desk, and walking over to you. "this isn't your chair."

"i'm borrowing it. this is good representation of teamwork."

peter sits down in a chair next to you, getting far too close for comfort. "what are you working on?"

he turns your computer towards himself, scrolling with his ring finger and thumb.

"it's just some mistakes i need to correct."

peter frowns. "this is the article for the bakery on 51st."

you nod.

"this isn't due for at least another week. jameson hasn't even asked me or any of the other photographers to get a cover image."

"well, i like to be on top of things, peter," you say, stealing your computer back. "i'm sure that's very unfamiliar to you."

"why are you here, kid? you don't need to be working on this."

and his words are soft and considerate, but all the same, they feel like ridicule. the judgment coming out of peter's eyes reminds you of a particular day from months ago.

"why are you here, peter?" you ask, frowning. "you could've gotten that tomorrow. you hate this place, why would you bother coming here when you don't have to?"

peter clears his throat, pushing his chair away from you, and tapping his feet against the floor.

you recognize this move now--now that you've known him for months and actually heard the thoughts coming from his head. he's stalling. or trying to come up with something to say.

doesn't matter. you just know that he's hiding something.

"it's not that bad. i just... needed to get out of the house, i guess. needed to get out of my head."

and even though you're almost sure he's lying, you nod. if anything, you can completely understand that. even his presence here, you know, is a bit nerve-wracking.

"so you came here?"

at that peter hits your foot with his. he's smiling that half-smile. "well you're here, aren't you?"

you almost have to close your eyes.

"you didn't know i would be here."

peter tilts his head. "maybe i was hoping."

and then he stands up, closing your computer for you. "c'mon," he whispers to you, breath just inches away from yours. "you can work on this tomorrow. i'll even help if you want."

you laugh at the idea.

but peter ignores it. "let's go get something to eat. if you're gonna work on anything tonight let it be your eating habits."

"i don't appreciate that," you tell him, but stand up anyway.

and when peter walks out, so do you.

monday morning, you wake up to your first alarm.

your eyes open and you stare at the ceiling, wondering when this had happened.

when you'd stolen your own control right out of desperate hands.

and you wait in bed, for an hour, as each alarm chimes; loud and broken. you stare at the ceiling and allowed yourself to feel bitter.

and then you got up out of bed and left the house thirty minutes early.

it was completely unnecessary to be at work before the sun could, but you couldn't sit at home and wait.

so you sit at your desk, watching the water leak from the ceiling.

you know that this isn't just a strange morning, and you hadn't just felt like getting to work early. what you really wanted--want--was to avoid peter. to not have to walk past his desk and whisper good morning to him.

you want to act as if you'd never done any of that in the first place.

but you can't make peter feel the same, and you don't want to.

so when he comes up to your desk around eleven, smiling and tapping on the back of your computer, you have to look up.

you meet amorous brown eyes, honeysuckle, and driftwood.

peter tilts his head at you, asking you a question without asking.

last week you would've been overjoyed.

but today, your eyes sting.

"peter," you say, "hey."

you watch his face twitch, and he almost frowns but seems to catch himself before he can.

"what are you working on?" he asks, coming to lean over you so he can stare at your computer.

and so he can make you feel even more claustrophobic than you already had.

"i'm covering for lindsay and finishing an article for her."

"does jameson know that?"

"yes, peter, i don't offer my talents for free," you say softly, trying not to feel his breath on your neck or his eyes on the side of your face.

he chuckles in your ear, almost inaudibly. "have you eaten lunch yet?"

you turn towards him--mostly to get away from his proximity and to force him to stand up--and shake your head. "no. no, i haven't had time."

peter's eyes are bright and foreign. "do you want to come with me to get some coffee at smooth brew? i didn't sleep great last night, and the mediocre company-supplied coffee isn't cutting it."

you take a deep breath in. you're looking at him because you can't look away. and you can see the circles under his eyes, the slight yellowing of his skin in certain spots. the scar he has under his chin.

you're trying not to frown.

peter is smiling at you. he's smiling that smile that you can't actually believe exists, that feels simultaneously wrong and right on his face.

the smile you've only seen him give you.

and then you sigh. "can i--" you stop, swallow, tell yourself that this isn't worth it. "can i take a rain check? i'm supposed to finish this by the end of the day, and jameson keeps nonchalantly walking by my desk."

"was he whistling?"

"twinkle twinkle little star."

peter's smile falls just enough for you to notice. "ouch, " he says, leaning back and walking around your desk. "that's okay, some other time."

"sorry," you add, like a squeak. and then you mentally berate yourself.

"don't worry about it," he whispers. then tilts his head, still observing you. "do you want me to bring you something back? a latte?"

his hand is out and reaching toward you, he's trying to climb his way back in.

but you'll be damned if you lose peter just out of desire.

"no, that's--" you smile at him, fake and wide. "thank you, peter, but no. i'm okay."

"okay, well..." he blows a breath out, taking a few steps back. "don't work too hard. and don't let jameson see your candy stash."

"never."

peter grins at you for just a moment, and then he walks away.

on tuesday, your chest hurts so bad that you can't take a deep breath.

your limbs laugh and laugh, and your head pounds to the rhythm of someone else's heartbeat.

you call in sick, deciding to give up.

on wednesday, when you wake up you have an email from jameson, notifying you that you'll be taking over an interview for cathy--who apparently, has hay fever--and going to the art museum.

he tells you not to bother to come into the office, and that he'll lighten the article load for the rest of the week so you can get everything done.

he's not asking.

so, you're interviewing with the director of the art museum about a new monet exhibit, and you're going to be accompanied by everyone's favorite photographer.

peter parker.

"hey, kid," peter says, as you fiddle with the visitor badge you're supposed to be wearing.

you don't typically handle giant, public places well.

"hi," you mutter, trying not to look around.

but the museum is huge. it's long and wide and there are so many walls, so many different pillars that could fall on you any moment.

you try not to let it show on your face, how nervous this is making you. you wonder if you could ask the lady at the front desk for a building layout.

wonder if jameson has teamed up with the world to ruin your life.

"you okay?" peter asks, nudging you with his arm.

"what?"

"where'd you go?" he says, amused.

"oh, i'm--just, i didn't get a lot of sleep last night. sorry."

peter laughs and begins to walk up some stairs--stairs. "don't apologize to me. you going to be okay during the interview?"

"yeah, cathy already had a list of questions prepared, so..."

peter shakes his head, looking back at you. "no, i meant, are you feeling alright?" he stops, studying your face and your eyes and every inch of your skin. he's practically burning you. "you were gone yesterday."

"i didn't feel very good. i'm better today."

"you sure?"

you nod, looking away from him, and then you step past him and begin walking up the stairs.

he can take pictures and you can take notes.

it doesn't have to be anything more.

peter waits for you to pack up so you can both walk out together. he's smiling when you look towards him, gesturing towards the hallway you might've come from.

you're hoping that he knows the way out of this maze because you definitely don't.

"how'd it go?" he asks you after you've been walking for a minute or two.

"oh, um, okay, i think. cathy's questions were a bit unorthodox--"

"'do you think monet would appreciate his art being displayed in your museum?'" peter mocks, recalling one of many slip-ups you'd made earlier.

"yeah," you snort. "so i had to improvise. but i don't think they'll be calling jameson about any problems."

"except for when you almost ripped that painting in two."

you scowl, not appreciating his reminder. "i tripped."

"into something that costs over a million dollars. probably more."

"it didn't break," you excuse, glaring at him and walking in front.

but peter catches up because his legs are abnormally long, and he's bumping into you every couple of steps, his hand brushing your arm, his shoulder grazing yours.

he's so close, but you couldn't feel any farther away.

and you know that you shouldn't, but you can't really stop yourself from asking, "get any good pics?"

peter raises a brow at you--which you are definitely not looking at. "nothing new, obviously, but some of them will work. i have to go and edit out all the people walking by."

"even the man with the parrot on his shoulder?"

peter stops walking, turning towards you. "wait. that was an actual person? not just another display?"

you laugh and peter smiles and everything feels fine.

and so ridiculously wrong.

you're quiet for a bit, trying not to think about the ceiling collapsing on you both, or the bridge you're walking on beginning to crack. you're keeping track of the nearest fire exits, and looking for rooms you could hide in if anything happens.

because it might.

you try to keep this indiscreet, only looking behind you every few minutes or so.

peter clears his throat. "do you want to go get something for lunch? there's a good diner just around the block."

you squeeze your eyes shut. this is another hand held out, another thing peter wants you to grab onto.

but there's that pounding in your ears, that heartbeat that you can't let fade.

and you'd like to explain to peter that he should keep his distance. that you can't do this with him, and that it's all of your fault. you want to apologize for letting it get this far.

instead, you say, "i have to go edit an article that i was supposed to be doing today."

"oh, okay." peter nods his head and doesn't say anything else.

you let him walk ahead of you, praying that nothing will happen as long as he gets out first.

and then you leave him behind.

that night, you finish editing the article that you and peter are supposed to work on that week.

you write descriptions and attach them to the file peter sent you with his pictures.

and then you email jameson, telling him that you can't make it to work for the rest of the week.

your hands are shaking and your apartment suddenly feels much too large for you to be in.

suddenly unsafe for every other person that lives here.

you close your computer and crawl under your covers.

and you try to sleep but you keep hearing them scream in your ear, blaming you.

your eyes are stuck in one place when you hear the knock on the door.

they are picturing a girl falling from a cliff, a boy riding his bike, a mother screaming, and a child crying.

you keep hearing someone whisper in your ear, someone begging for your help.

but all of this is interrupted when someone pounds on your front door, shaking the walls and causing you to really open your eyes.

you're thinking to yourself that they'll probably leave if you don't answer--that they'll walk away and you'll be alone again--but then you're thinking about falling down the stairs, about having no one to help.

and so you get out of bed, feeling yourself shake with the effort it takes.

you answer the door, uncertain of what you're expecting.

but it's definitely not brown eyes, not a frown that you've come to covet in more than just dreams.

you suck in a lazy breath, feeling your lungs freeze. "peter. what are you doing here?"

even you can hear how labored your voice is. how damaged and rotten it's become in its misuse.

peter is wincing, and you don't know what else you're supposed to say. maybe neither does he, because instead of answering your question or greeting you with a casual smile he's become more comfortable with, he just walks right past you.

into your apartment--the one place you're supposed to be safe.

even just being in the same room with you, breathing the same air, and seeing the same images feels dangerous.

peter is scanning the area. he's looking around like he can't stand to look at you.

but then he does. "what's going on?"

his voice is rough and his words are fast.

you can't let yourself meet his eyes. "what?" you whisper, looking back to the door.

you could just leave. you could walk out and keep him away forever.

"what is going on?" he repeats, but sternly. like a parent lecturing a child.

you bite the inside of your cheek. "peter, i don't..." you shake your head, eluding the idea of anything being wrong. there's nothing wrong except for the fact that he's in your apartment. staring at you.

seriously staring, because his brown eyes are burning a hole in your smile. they are ruining every ounce of control you still have. "what happened?"

these words are softer. a parent concerned.

you shake your head, brows furrowed. "nothing happened, i'm just--"

"what did i do?"

you swallow, confused and broken and terrified of his voice.

peter is in your apartment. he just won't let go.

"i've been--" he runs a hand through his hair. "i've been trying to remember. trying to think of what happened last week, or the week before, but i can't--"

he looks at you.

his eyes are haunted by something that you put there. a ghost that you've given him.

"i can't think of anything. we were--just, just fine. we were laughing and teasing each other and i thought that." peter stops, closing his eyes. he licks his lips and looks at the ceiling. "i don't know what i did. but whatever it is, i need you to tell me."

"peter..."

his face is concerned and his shoulders are tense as he looks at you. "i need you to tell me so i can fix it."

and all you can think about is whiplash as a car hits a sign. the feeling of snow covering your lungs. all you can see is a woman with tears running down her face, and a hand that can't move. a building that can't stay up.

you're not sure what to do. how to get him away from all of this before it goes too far.

you can't talk to him, and you can't be around him, and you can't keep looking at his lips like they're something you deserve--

"there's nothing to fix, peter," you whisper, repeating the words to yourself. "you didn't do anything."

i did.

"then why are you avoiding me?" peter says, shaking his head. "why aren't you coming to work?"

you look at the ground, thinking about it falling while you're both standing there. you scratch your neck, rub your eyes. "i'm not avoiding you. i just haven't been feeling well, and i, well, i'm not sure what's wrong. but it's probably contagious so--"

"then why haven't you called me back?" he whispers, but bitterly. "why didn't you come to smooth brew yesterday? why didn't you let me know that you were going to be gone?"

you sigh. "i forgot, peter, i'm sorry.”

"you didn't forget," he argues, and his breath matches yours. his sighs sound so familiar. "you're still avoiding me. you won't even look at me. so, just tell me what's going on. whatever it is--"

"there's nothing, peter, just..." you stop, staring at the ceiling in hopes that it might disappear. "just nothing."

you think about swallowing your lies until they suffocate you.

there's just so much.

peter is staring at you. he is waiting for something more.

"thank you for checking on me," you whisper, after a moment. "i appreciate it. but honestly, i just need some sleep, so you should probably go."

"are you serious?" peter asks, and it doesn't even sound mean. it doesn't sound like any voice you've ever heard from him. something desperate. "have you looked in the mirror at all? have you seen yourself?"

"of course, i've--"

"because you look like a ghost. you look like half a person. your eyes are glazed over, and i'm not sure that you're even listening to me. you look like a statue."

beautiful and wrong.

"peter, i don't know what you want from me."

he clenches his jaw. "i want you to talk to me, y/n. i want you to tell me what's going on, and stop pretending like i don't know you, or i don't care about what you're going through. you think it's easy to watch this? to know that something is going on but that you can't trust me enough to tell me?"

"i trust you."

"then tell me how to help," he pleads. "tell me what i can do."

"nothing, peter," you finally crack, eyes meeting his, heart clenching around something that has never been yours. "i can't do this. i can't--i can't, peter."

he's frowning. he's the same man you met nine months ago. "you can't what?"

"i can't do this. whatever this is, whatever we--" you gesture between the two of you with a hand that isn't yours. "i can't do it. i won't."

"you can't do us?" peter repeats, his voice almost stagnant.

the air has stopped moving, and it's your fault. it's all your fault that he's here, that he's looking at you like you've just stolen something important from him.

"i can't do this with you. i can't be your friend or anything else, and i can't have you here right now. i can't let you be here."

you can hear a little girl screaming. you can see a woman you don't know falling.

"why not?" peter asks, no fight left. "what can't you do?"

"i can't let you get hurt because of me."

peter's face goes blank. his eyes stop. "what?"

"peter, if something happened to you, if anything happened--" you stop, shaking your head. "i can't watch that. i can't be there."

he takes a step toward you, hand reaching out like it always does. "what do you mean?"

you take a step back. this dance is one you're familiar with. you trip over your own feet.

"remember what you said about me, that day at the coffee shop?"

peter blinks at you, shaking his head.

"you said that danger was attracted to me. that i was reckless," you swallow, looking at the door like it might call to you. "you're always saying that i'm reckless.

"what does that have to do--"

"you're right, peter. being around me is reckless. being around me is dangerous."

he's frowning. he waits a couple of seconds like the words might start to make sense. "no, it's not."

"really?" you laugh, throat raw and hurting. "how about you talk to any one of the people that i've killed, then? you might want to ask them if you're so sure."

peter stops.

"when i was five," you continue, walking towards him, "me and a girl from my neighborhood were playing tag. we were running around a glass table, and she slipped and cut her arm open, shattered her elbow."

you take a breath in, listening to the voice in your head begging you to keep going.

"and then when i was eight, a classmate got a concussion while we were sledding. i was in the front, but he hit his head.

"when i was ten a friend's parents were driving me home from a sleepover and we hit a sign. all of them--my friend, her mom, her dad--had to go to the hospital. her dad, who'd been driving, was in the icu for three weeks. but i was fine."

peter's mouth opens, but you stop him before he can interrupt.

"ithe older i got, the worse it was. my mom died when i was thirteen. she had appendicitis. she was so busy taking care of me, making sure that i was fine, that she ignored the stabbing pain in her abdomen. she thought it was just indigestion. her appendix burst on the way to the hospital."

you stop, looking around your apartment, at bare walls and ghosts of people that still follow you. "my dad died a couple of years ago in an oil rig accident. i'd gone to see him that day."

peter is staring at you. he is breathing. and he doesn't say anything, because maybe he doesn't need to. maybe he already understands what you're trying to say.

maybe he should run out the door right now.

"you called me clumsy. and i am, but i'm also incredibly unlucky. it rains when i go outside, the power goes out when i walk into the building. i get the worst desk in the office, with a leaky ceiling. i get sent the wrong email about a meeting and walk in late."

"none of that--"

"all of these things, peter, they're not coincidences. eventually, when so many bad things happen to the people you love and not you, you have to look for a common factor."

"and you think it's you," peter finishes. "you think it's your fault."

you shake your head, and there are tears in your eyes. "i know it is. because it's not just the people i know and care about. three years ago, i went to see a movie. and in the middle of it, i decided that i wanted to leave. that it wasn't good enough to stay for. it was april, one of the days that electro attacked the city. i left the building right before he could do anything. i was standing there while everyone still in that movie got electrocuted."

you can't look at peter, but you can feel him there. you can feel his presence like a knife in your back.

"i need you to go, peter. because whatever sort of bad fortune i am, i won't let it happen to you too."

peter makes a noise. "it's not your fault that any of that happened," he says, "you couldn't control any of that--"

"exactly. i can't control it. that's why i stay away from everyone in the office, why i show up late, and why i've been staying away from you. if i'm around, and something bad happens..."

peter is right in front of you, he is taking your hand, leaning down, and cradling your cheek. "nothing bad is going to happen," he promises. "i would rather have you and the risk of breaking a few bones than not have you at all. anything else."

but just like you can't trust yourself, you can't trust peter to understand.

so you push him away, feeling barren and cold inside. the voice in your head is gone. the images have faded away. "i'm not going to let you do that. i won't."

"i'm stronger than you think--"

"peter, i appreciate you caring so much. and listening. and just... being here. but i couldn't mean it anymore when i say that i need you to go."

you meet his eyes, poison trickling down your face. "please."

and then you walk away, back to your cave, and leave peter standing in your apartment, all alone.

it's for the best.

you have to go to work on monday.

if there's one thing you want, it's this job that you like. that you're good that. that you can do without worrying about it.

and you can't lose another thing right now.

you can't.

so you go to work on monday, wearing clothes that scratch your skin, watching people with a bitter feeling in your chest.

any one of them, you think, all of them get to make friends and be around boys they like and...

all of them.

but you sigh anyway, go back to your desk, and sit there. you don't think about peter.

you don't deserve that.

"oh thank god," is the first thing you hear when you walk into the breakroom.

you've been staring at your feet all the way here. you've been trying not to look at peter's desk. trying not to find his eyes and accidentally smile like you would’ve last week.

the floor needs to be vacuumed.

but now you look up, frown on your face. there are three women there, all older than you, all mostly nice.

beth, jade, and rita.

and they're all staring at you.

you clear your throat. "sorry?"

one of them laughs. jade. "we were just talking about you and that young man. we're just glad you're back, finally."

"oh. thank you?"

"honey, he's intolerable as it is, but when you're gone he's a nightmare."

you frown, blinking at all of them. but the other two are nodding. "peter?"

"who else? on friday he almost broke the fridge trying to get his lunch."

beth chimes in. "on thursday he kept slamming the drawers at his desk. i could feel it from my desk. all day, just opening and closing. i genuinely thought he was going insane."

"yeah, he was at the copier while i was picking up a fax from an office downtown, and gave me the nastiest glare i've ever seen. and i don't even think he noticed that he was doing it."

jade laughs again, looking back to you. "that boy is polite enough, but we all know to avoid him whenever he's around."

you swallow, stumbling over some words. "that--that doesn't sound like peter."

all three of them laugh, creating their own chorus.

"well, of course, you would say that."

"yeah, he adores you!"

"you're the only person i've ever seen him smile at."

you take a step back, suddenly not hungry, suddenly not wanting to be at work at all. "what?"

and then they laugh again.

you're rushing out of the building at one.

jameson called you into his office--and by that, of course, he emailed you to come in. and then he asked you why the hell you were still there, and not at the exploration building, interviewing the president of the experimental medicine about the new nerve generator.

which, obviously, you didn't know about.

but jameson says peter is waiting, and you're out the door.

you're walking to the building, only a couple blocks away from the office, and thinking about how you're not supposed to be doing this.

you can't believe that you're covering for another coworker.

but you go anyway because you don't want to leave peter hanging. because you can't not go.

and when you walk into the building, you can see him there, waiting with his camera in hand, tapping his foot anxiously.

his backpack looks out of place between all of the briefcases.

he sees you too, but he doesn't wave.

"hey," you say, walking up to him. your voice is an out-of-body experience. "sorry i'm late."

"we're supposed to be on floor fifteen in two minutes."

and then peter walks away, leaving you to stand there, watching him go.

you and peter aren't making eye contact.

you're standing right across from each other, listening to this very smart, very nice man explain to you how all of the testing works in the building, and something about dna that you don't understand. but you're looking at peter.

and you're not really listening. your hand is writing down his words, but your mind is on brown eyes and flickering glances.

this isn't fair, you're thinking. there's a sting in your stomach, the punishment of double standards.

"wanna see the lab?" dr. hazzen asks, and you smile and nod.

peter is taking pictures of the wall.

you follow this man and your instincts, and you're standing right next to him. you can feel his body warmth, you can feel his aggravation from two inches away.

peter smells sweet. like some sort of candle you'd light in your house to get rid of everything else.

he's not smiling today. you're not missing it.

it's only a couple of minutes later when he finally looks at you, his eyes wide, his hands immediately falling inches above your waist.

the fire alarm has gone off. the sprinklers in the building are drenching you, and making peter's hands feel like an itch you can't scratch.

"what?" you look up, then down, then towards the door. "dr. hazzen, is that normal?"

"i'm sorry to both of you," he answers, looking towards the door. "my assistant will show you the way to the emergency exit. i have some things i need to attend to."

and then he's gone and this woman is ushering both of you out of the room, apologizing for the inconvenience.

you'd like to tell her that her mascara is running from the water. you'd like to ask her how to get the hell out of here before--

"you okay?" peter whispers in your ear, his hand keeping you next to him, covering your shoulder.

"do you think it's this floor?"

peter's face is still. "probably not. i didn't see any chemical testing in the lab."

"could someone have set a fire?"

"i don't know." peter looks around, at the people crowding around the door to the staircase, to the concerned look on dozens of faces.

but you're looking at him.

"peter?"

"i have to--" he looks at you, letting you go. "i left something in that room. i have to go get it."

"what?"

"i'll be right behind you," he promises, and then he's walking through the crowd, ignoring your calls after him.

"peter! c'mon, we can't stay here!"

but even you can't hear your voice amongst the others. against the siren that's flashing in your eyes, blaring in your ears.

and within ten seconds, peter has disappeared from your sight.

you try to push through the crowd, crawl your way back to him, but you can't get through all of the people giving you glares, all of them forcing you along.

and you know it then.

it's all happening again.

you manage to push yourself so close to the wall that you can't breathe.

you've managed to make every single person in this building angry at you, but you'll be damned if you make it out of this--like you always do--and peter doesn't.

you're not going to let him stay behind while you go down, escaping with everyone else.

and you can't believe that he was stupid enough to turn back around.

but now you're doing the same, walking back up the stairs and calling his name.

you're thanking dr. hazzen for not being on the thirtieth floor.

by the time you make it back up, you're out of breath and shaking from the water. but you don't hesitate to burst through the doors of the lab, searching for anything that looks like an idiot of a man.

brown hair, brown eyes, and an absolutely brilliant smile.

an attitude, and a sincerity you can't believe you've been allowed to feel.

"peter?" you call out, walking through another door. looking for a backpack, a water bottle, a camera on the ground.

but you don't see anything.

and you don't know where else he would've gone, why he would have gone anywhere but here, in this room, where he'd recklessly run back to.

"peter?" you say again, pushing a door that refuses to open, looking at the floor for any spare keys around. for any single thing to help you find peter parker.

you push even harder, muscles aching.

and then the door opens all on its own, and you're slipping, bumping into the chest of the person who's opened it.

you're being blinded by bright colors you've never seen in person before.

a strange voice says "what are you doing up here?" there’s a sigh, a groan, or something else. “don’t you know that you’re supposed to follow the crowd of people running out of the building panicked?” but you're barely listening

"spider-man?" you say, muffled and shaking, pushing your hair out of your eyes so you can look at him properly.

but even this surreal moment--where you meet the guy that's supposed to be saving everyone in this building--does nothing to deter you from getting back to peter.

"i have to--" you gasp out, pushing behind him. "my friend is still up here. he came looking for something. i have to find him."

"whoa," spider-man pushes you back, needing nothing more than a hand to do so, he grips around your arm so you can't squirm away. "there's no one back there, i already checked."

you shake your head. "i don't know where else he would be. he promised he'd be right behind me."

spider-man seems to be looking right at you. he seems to be grumbling to himself. "we have to get you out of here," he says, looking around for a door he can push you through.

"i'm not leaving without peter."

you're staring at him with a glare in your eyes, with a finality in your voice. spider-man could glue you to the ceiling and you'd still find a way to get out, to find the one person you care about in this entire place.

"i'll look for him, i promise," spider-man is saying, voice muffled in your ear. "but you've got to leave the building, sweetheart."

"not until he does."

the superhero sighs, putting an arm around your waist so he can push you out of the doorway. "let's go--"

but you don't hear the rest of the sentence. you don't hear anything more.

you can only feel a ringing in your ears. a sort of silence that stops everything, leaving the world to be nothing a mere figment of your imagination.

you can only see spider-man as he leaps towards you.

and when your head falls back, your eyes close in succession.

you wake up to banging in your kitchen.

you're laying on your couch, shoes off, head carefully rested on a throw pillow.

and your neck hurts. your body aches, like you've forgotten just how much physical strain you've been putting on it.

you wonder if it was all just a dream. if you imagined seeing peter again if you imagined meeting spider-man.

or maybe you died, and this is the only home you have left to return to.

either way, you're not sure what that sound is.

but something falls on the floor, followed by an angry noise, and then you hear the faucet running.

there is someone else in your house. and you have absolutely no idea who it is.

if this isn't a dream, then you shouldn't be at home right now. you shouldn't even be alive after what happened in that building. you shouldn't be thinking of anything else but--

"peter," you say, just remembering, just realizing what the whole point of all of this was.

you don't know if you ever found him. you have no idea if he's alright.

so you're sitting up, looking around your apartment, and moving to follow the sound of whoever's in the kitchen.

but a hand stops you, cautious, keeping you from running into the counter. "you shouldn't be standing up," a voice says, and then gently--or maybe not--leads you back to the couch.

you're not sure that you can believe what you're seeing.

spider-man, in your apartment, absolutely drenched, holding a bowl and a cloth.

spider-man, standing right in front of you.

"i'm dead."

you hear a sharp intake of breath. spider-man makes you lay back down, setting his bowl and cloth down on the coffee table beside your couch.

he leans down, and he must be looking into your eyes.

"you're okay," he says. "not dead. you're going to be fine."

"how did i get here?" you ask him, not bothering to process anything he said. "why are you here? what happened? did peter--"

"slow down. you just woke up." his voice is soft and chiding, and he hands you a glass of water, tipping it toward your mouth so that you'll drink some of it. "good. now, let me make sure you're--"

it's then that you almost fall off of the couch, vision blurred, equilibrium completely removed.

"jeez," spider-man is saying, keeping your shoulder up, making you lean back. "could you be any more out of it?"

"probably. where's peter?"

he sighs, taking the towel he brought over and dipping it in the water. "lay back," he tells you.

"this is crazy," you say, instead of listening. "i don't even know who you are."

"really?" the man asks, voice somewhat amused. "because you had a little starstruck moment back at the lab."

you blink. "that actually happened?"

the man chuckles instead of answering, and he wipes your face with the cloth. you can hear him breathing in and out, you can feel your own heart rate rise.

spider-man freezes, tilting his head toward you. "what?"

"did--" you pause, the answer already coming to your lips. you already know, but you have to ask anyway. "is everyone okay? is--"

is peter alright?

he stares at you for a moment, thumb rubbing over the skin of your neck, drawing circles over your pulse.

and then his warmth is gone, and spider-man is leaning back on his heels, raising a hand up to his face, pulling at--

oh.

as soon as the mask moves above his nose you already know what you're about to find. you already know what's happened.

you don't need an answer, or a superhero, or a goddamned article to tell you what happened.

you're looking at this man, at this--brown eyes and full lips and a tight expression on a sinisterly structured face.

a bruise on his cheek.

you reach out to graze your finger over it.

and you can't think of anything to say.

peter swallows. "i was going to leave before you woke up." his voice is raw, and you can't believe you hadn't recognized it fifteen seconds ago. "but i--i just wanted to make sure that you were alright. that you would..."

there's a moment. a silence so loud it bursts your eardrums.

"you hit your head pretty hard. i'm not sure what caused both of us to--anyway, i was worried that you got a concussion. or something else. but i wasn't, uh, i couldn't bring you down to an ambulance without carrying you through the crowd. so i just came here."

your mouth opens. "peter?"

his eyes close, and you finally notice how tired he looks. how worn his skin is under the mask.

peter parker is sitting right in front of you, in your apartment.

peter parker is spider-man.

"i don't expect you to..." peter laughs. "well, any reaction really. i know we've talked about, um, me, before, but this is--it's just different. and i don't have to stay for much longer, i just want you to drink some more water and stay awake for longer than ten minutes."

"i've woken up before?" you ask.

peter's lip twitches and that's answer enough.

"...how?" you whisper, looking up and down his face, watching his eyes follow your every movement. "why?"

peter breathes in, standing up and lifting your legs from the couch so that he can sit next to you. "it's a long story. probably one you shouldn't hear with a concussion."

"my head feels fine. i'm just confused."

peter nods, and he's not looking at you anymore.

but you can't look away from him. you can't help but notice the similarities between his suit and his face, the mask he's left on the floor, and the voice that you've heard on video so many times, the laughter in your ear, and--

you never even realized. it seems ridiculous now.

you clear your throat. "i'm sorry for following you. i didn't know--" you rub a hand over your eyes. "i didn't realize it would cause you more trouble."

and peter smiles. it's that same one he gave you when he apologized the first time. the same sort of olive branch you refused to see.

"it's okay," he says. "i would've come back for you, too."

the two of you sit for a while. peter doesn't speak, and neither do you.

instead, you listen to the way he breathes. you watch his face as he thinks, noting the little wrinkle between his brows, and the slight twitch of his lips every couple of seconds.

you've seen his dimples before, but somehow, you've never had the chance to look at them.

you feel ridiculous. you feel absolutely stupid for ever following him up there, for not realizing weeks ago, for letting yourself get so close to him that--

the guilt swirls in your chest. you shouldn't have gone to that interview. you shouldn't have gone to work at all.

"hey," peter interrupts your train of thought, tapping on your calf. "don't worry about it. everything is fine. no one was hurt, and the police are already dealing with the damages to the building."

you bite your lip.

peter blinks at you, moving a little closer so he can properly observe your eyes. "it's not your fault," he tells you, slowly.

the words are like a hammer pounding on the nails in your chest.

"i know you think this is just another example of you radiating danger--" peter says the words like they're ridiculous, like they're just some idea from a story a kid has written. "but it's not. it was an accident. and everything is fine."

"you can't know that--"

"i can," his voice is a bit louder than yours. "because i know you. and i know that bad things happen, and sometimes it's no one's fault."

you swallow and look away from him. from the eyes that are trying to convince you. plead with you. "peter, i don't think--"

"are you feeling alright?"

your brows furrow. "what?"

"are you feeling alright? because i want to talk to you, i want to explain some things to you, but i need to be sure that you're going to hear it. that you can listen."

you look back to him, confused.

"do you feel okay? is your head hurting?"

"i--no. no, it's fine, i told you."

peter nods, and he runs a finger over the exposed skin of your leg. "okay. are you ready to listen?"

you're not. you're not really ready for anything.

but you'd give anything to listen to peter's voice for just a little bit longer.

"yes, yeah. i'm listening."

peter almost smiles.

"i want to give you an explanation," he begins. "a real reason for why i was so... mean to you, before. and it's just an excuse, really, but i think--" he runs a hand through his hair. "i think you should know."

you nod. peter can't meet your eyes.

"i was terrified of you," he says, "for a long time."

"what?"

his nose scrunches. "you're undeniably beautiful. and intimidating. and something about the way you moved around all of the people in the office, just observing, not needing to join in on any conversation to understand what was happening... i don't know; there's just something about the way you react to things."

you frown, not sure what he's meaning to say.

"yeah, like that. i tried to ignore it for a long time. to push away that pull i felt towards you. but as soon as jameson paired us up, and as soon as you started actually smiling at me, telling me jokes that weren't funny--"

"hey--"

"--but were awkward, and overbearing, and reckless... well. i couldn't just ice you out anymore, not like i did with everyone else. and i was so scared of that--of you--that i took it out on you."

his voice is soothing, and his fingers are still grazing over your skin. and you're partially sure that you've gone insane.

"peter, you've already apologized for that. it's okay. i'm not mad."

peter laughs, a bit stiffly. "that's not all," he whispers, swallowing.

you nod, waiting for him.

you don't know what you're supposed to be doing.

"i know you believe that all of the terrible things that have happened to you are your fault." he meets your eyes, pursing his lips. "and i know that you think that bad things happen when you're around."

there's a second. one moment where your thoughts are echoed against the wall, and you know that peter can hear them all.

"but i've seen more of those bad things than you can imagine. and i know--i know that there's no reason to any of them. there's no reason for people to do bad things, or hurt other people. but they do them.

"and there's no reason for the world to put so much pressure on someone so kind, and so selfless, and listens wholeheartedly to every person she meets."

peter is leaning towards you. he is breathing your air, sharing your secrets. "i've never met someone i love to talk to more. i've never met anyone that i love so easily."

you stop breathing. there is not a single thing, a single pin-prick of your lungs that might get your heart to stop beating again.

"you're not going to change your mind about all of this just because i disagree with you, i know," peter is laughing, he's laughing at you and with you and. "but i'm not afraid of getting hurt. i'm not scared to be close to you. not anymore."

"peter, you don't--"

he leans closer. he says more with his eyes than you have heard from him in the last three months. "i believe that the world is a terrifying place. and i've gotten bitter about it over the past couple of years. i couldn't--i can't understand how great people can be treated so badly, and cruel people can have everything they want. i don't know why, and i don't want to. but you are a person that i know i can trust, without even knowing you. you're someone that i can laugh with, and someone that has turned the world back into something i can believe in."

peter pauses, you pause. and everything stops. "i believe in you," he says, "even if you don't believe in yourself."

his eyes are unbelievable. his voice is overwhelming, and you don't know how, you're not sure how any of the things he's saying can tune out the cruel words you can hear yourself whisper.

but he does. easily.

and this smile that he has on his face, it's one that you've been craving for weeks. one that you've so desperately tried to hold onto, even when you were pushing him away.

"you believe in me?" you repeat, voice breaking.

peter's smile widens. "i do," he says. and he's an inch away. "sweetheart?" he asks.

and you nod.

"can i kiss you?"

peter is close enough that his words are attacking you. his words are terrifying.

but looking at him, listening to him, and feeling the way he's staring at you.

you know that peter has more than enough courage for both of you. you know that he's strong enough to take whatever you can't control.

when you lean in, lips meeting his, you feel luckier than every other person.

peter is there. he is smiling against you.

you're awake, finally.

i’m thinking one more, very shorter, part. maybe peter pov?

let me know what you thought of it! thanks for reading.

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @sharkswaters @petersirius

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luveline · 1 year

Note

hi!! i was wondering if you would write more ab spencer, r, and baby amanda from your single dad au? :o they’re so precious <3

Thank you for your request! ♥︎ fem!reader 1.6k

"How come you aren't hungover?" Spencer asks.

You can barely hear him over the cacophony of the crowd. You're waiting for Hotch to finish his decathlon, the girls in their sunglasses, Jack and Morgan holding a homemade sign aloft.

Amanda's sitting on the barrier with her weight against Spencer's chest, her soft brown hair splayed out against his collar like a wave.

"I know the meaning of moderation," you say with a sweet smile.

You might be imagining the pinking of his cheeks. "Not moderate enough, clearly," he jokes.

JJ hadn't picked Henry up until three in the morning. Which is fine, Spencer will take Henry whenever he needs to, as per his self-ordained godfathering duties, but when JJ hadn't appeared at 11 like she'd promised, Spencer had obviously been worried.

"Things got a little… out of control." You dip your face to his ear. "I've never seen Emily dance like that. It was crazy."

"I wish I could've been there, but we had a date with Edward Tulane, didn't we, Amy?"

Amanda tips her head back at her father's affectionate tone. "Daddy, I can't feel my butt."

"Not your butt!" he says, taking her seriously but chuckling at the same time as he pulls her up and off of the barrier. With some careful manoeuvring, he's tucked Amanda into his chest, one hand held protectively over the bottom of her back. The other hooks behind her knees.

"Is that better?"

He speaks to her with the same fatherly fondness as always and every time you find yourself melty like butter in the summer sun. In Spencer's eyes, Amanda is the smartest, most interesting girl alive. You're tempted to agree.

"I was worried it might be depressing for her," he says, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It's sad for a children's story, you know? But she's really interested, and it's important for kids to hear sad stories. Children who read stories with unhappy plotlines are more empathetic, and have a stronger sense of justice." He smiles at her. "Plus, I think it's her favourite so far. She asked if we could read it again, all in one go. It's gonna take hours."

"That doesn't surprise me. I mean, she's yours. I thought you'd be reading her Tolstoy by now."

"I'm saving Tolstoy for first grade."

He's serious.

Hotch runs through the finish line and the members of the BAU that are assembled cheer loudly. He doesn't seem embarrassed at all, only proud, ducking down to give Jack a sweaty hug. Then he, Jack, and his new girlfriend move away from the group. The remaining members of your team start to break away, too.

The girls all want to go home and die in their own beds. Rossi and Morgan have separate dates. You're thinking you'll go home and shoot the breeze until a more reasonable bedtime when Spencer turns to you with his usual genial smile.

"Do you want to come over? We're gonna make pasta and watch Fraggle Rock."

Spencer's changed a lot since he became Amanda's primary caregiver, but some things stay the same. He loves doing things with other people and he'll always extend an invite if he thinks the other party might enjoy themselves. Going over for dinner feels a lot more intimate than his having an extra ticket for a foreign film festival, or late night takeout, though.

"I don't want to impose," you say awkwardly.

"Do you think you're an imposition?" Spencer asks in concern.

"No, just, you know, I don't…"

"Amy doesn't mind. Do you, sweetheart?"

"What?" says Amanda's little voice.

"Can Y/N come for dinner?" he asks.

Amanda smiles, pearly white teeth and cheeks chubby with baby fat. "Yes! We're gonna make pasta and watch Fraggle Rock!"

You laugh in delight.

"We decided in the car," Spencer explains.

"Here I thought you were telepathic." You direct your smile at Amanda's doe eyes. "I'd love to come for dinner. Thanks, baby."

Spencer has the cleanest car any parent has ever had. You know he spent days choosing the safest one he could find in his budget, and even more days on a car seat. His apartment is just as clean but way more crowded, stuffed to bursting with Amanda's toys and his books.

"I'm gonna change, do you mind?" he asks, leading you down the hall into the kitchen. Amanda had tipped half a juice box down his front, and the stickiness is clearly making him uncomfortable.

"No, by all means."

He smiles. "Stay here," he says with a feigned sternness, pointing one of his pretty fingers at Amanda. His daughter only giggles.

You follow Spencer with your eyes as he leaves.

"Will you take off my shoes, please?"

You look down. Amanda stares up at you, her round eyes pleading, one foot held a half inch off of the ground.

You leap to action, and say, "Oh! Yeah, baby, no problem," as you get down on your knees.

They're simple buckles and take all of ten seconds. Amanda holds onto your arm and lifts her feet one at a time so you can pull them off. Her small toes wiggle in her socks when she puts them back on the floor.

"Feel better?" you ask knowingly.

"Daddy says shoes are a con-d-struct," she tells you.

"They are!" you say, though whether you really agree might take some thought. "They're silly, huh?"

"Yeah. If we walked with no shoes, we would have tough skin like trees!"

"Like trees," you repeat. You love listening to little kids speak because they're so full of joy to share what they know, and Spencer Reid's kid? She is a walking book of facts. "That's so cool, did daddy tell you that?"

"Daddy tells me everything."

Spencer appears in a graphic t-shirt. You've only seen him dressed down through barely open hotel room doors or in photographs with Amanda. It takes a second for your brain to recognise what you're seeing.

He's a genius, so he understands what you're doing immediately.

"Oh no," he coos, bending down to take Amanda's shoulders into his hands. "I'm so sorry," —he kisses the top of her head— "I forgot all about your shoes. How will you ever get tree bark feet?"

It's sweet to see how she responds to his affection. Her eyes squint closed and she smiles softly, giggling when he scratches her shoulders through her dress.

"Thanks for releasing her, she can't stand wearing shoes when she doesn't have to," he says to you, nudging her out of the way to offer you his hand.

You take it, letting him pull you up. He doesn't let go of you straight away, instead brushing his thumb over your fingernails, one after another.

"I've been meaning to ask you to dinner for a while. I– I've never been any good at this part, I thought it would be harder, because Amanda's the only girl in the world I understand no matter how many books I read, and that's not going to last forever, but I…" Spencer's voice steadily quietens, until the tone he's using is dulcet, and his brows have pulled together. He's just as pretty frowning as smiling. "It feels easy, with you," he finishes.

"Are we having macaroni?" Amanda asks.

Spencer looks torn. "I was thinking rigatoni," he says.

"Gross, dad."

"Farfalle?"

"Bowties?" she questions suspiciously.

"Is that better than rigatoni?" he asks.

Amanda dwells on this, leaning her weight into your leg. It's an unthinking gesture that fills you with light.

"We can't have macaroni?"

You know from Spencer's bemused sigh alone that she's about to get her way.

"Do you mind?" he asks you.

Amanda pins you with a pout, raising her hands into a praying triangle. Her puppy dog eyes are killer and unnecessary.

"Whatever you want, babe," you say hurriedly.

She bursts off to her toys with an excited cheer. You're sorry to see her go, petrified of embracing yourself, and still majorly caught off guard by what Spencer said. He's wanted to ask you over for dinner for a long time, does that mean he likes you? And the way he'd held your hand — that's not an ambiguous affection.

You like Spencer. All the small things that make him him, and the huge things too. His daughter, his books, his genius mind and his clumsy heart. If he likes you too, you might just combust.

Spencer nips into the living room to put Fraggle Rock on TV. Amanda's sweet voice chases his heels, her singing a mixture of melodic gibberish and passionate recitation.

You linger as he starts to gather what he needs for dinner. He's either not worried about what you think of his confession or trying to hide that he is, knee deep in a recount of the invention of boxed mac and cheese when you touch his elbow.

"I know what you mean, about what you said before, I feel the same. It feels easy with you."

You don't know what it is. But Spencer knows everything, so you aren't worried.

He beams. His smile warps each word he says as he turns back to the saucepan he's filling with pasta. "Maybe we should get dinner without Fraggle Rock, sometime."

"I don't know, I don't think it gets any better than this." You nod your head toward the living room, Amanda's singing an adorable echo.

His smile grows impossibly bigger.

"Me neither," he says.

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #dad!spencer reid #dad spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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shanastoryteller · 10 months

Note

Happy birthday!!!! I love your blog so much, this is my first time making it to the asks!

Dealer’s choice!!

He waits two weeks and five days, which is seventeen days longer than he thinks is necessary.

However, it’s how long it takes for the Cuban couple to be discharged. He’s not sure if this is the time to indulge in symmetry or ritual when it’s never done him much good before, but he supposes he’s trying something new.

Cuddy is still furious at him over firing Chase. Wilson isn’t much better, oscillating between pity and disappointment, which is just obnoxious. The new guitar is at least a decent distraction. The downside is he has to actually spend most of his days in the clinic to avoid taking another case, which he doesn’t want to do just yet.

Symmetry and ritual and all that.

The day after the couple is gone, he sleeps in then drives his bike in the opposite direction of the hospital.

He has to hit his cane on the door for over a minute before it flies open and Chase is standing there, hair sleep mussed and mouth pulled into a scowl. “What do you want, House?”

It’s too soon to smile, so he doesn’t. “Is Cameron here? I assume she is, otherwise I’ll have to come back later which would be a huge pain. Why do you live downtown? The traffic is awful.”

“If you’re looking for Cameron, go to her apartment,” Chase says, moving to shut the door in his face.

They grow up so fast.

He shoves his cane in the door because he’s not willing to risk his foot and Chase glares at it like he’s seriously considering trying to snap it with the door anyway. “I didn’t say I was looking for Cameron. I asked if she was here. How much have you been drinking? You can’t be losing braincells that quickly.”

Chase’s expression turns considering, which almost makes him smile again.

The door is flung wide open and Cameron is standing there, hair greasy and wearing one of Chase’s button ups over a pair of leggings and glaring at him like he’s something on the bottom of her shoe. “Go away, House. You’ve done enough.”

“Good,” he says. “Have you eaten yet?”

Cameron’s eyes narrow. Chase asks, “Why?”

“There’s a half decent restaurant about a mile from here. We could get breakfast,” he says, still refusing to smile, but now it’s out of self preservation. If they slam the door in his face, he can play it off as a joke. Or he can start stalking them.

Playing it off as a joke is the safe option. The socially acceptable one.

But he’d foregone the safe option when he’d fired Chase.

“I’m not coming back,” Cameron says firmly, lifting her chin in challenge.

“I don’t want you to come back,” he says. It’s true in the way she means, at least. “So, breakfast? It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“It’s noon,” she says coldly.

“Lunch, then,” he amends. “My treat, considering you’re both unemployed. A bit careless of you, to leave one job without having another lined up, but such are the mistakes of youth.”

Maybe other people can get things and people and relationship with honey rather than vinegar. His personal experience has leaned more towards catching each one by the wings and shoving it in the jar himself. His metaphorical jar has airholes, so he doesn’t get what everyone is always so upset about.

Cameron is still glaring but Chase has relaxed. Cameron may have wanted to understand him, had tried to study him and make sense of him, but Chase had always been better at it. A life of a shit father and being a huge kiss ass has given him selectively useful skills. Chase says, “Brunch. I want pancakes.”

“Chase!” Cameron shouts at the same time as House says, “Cool.”

“I’ll drive,” he says, nudging Cameron out the door even as he leans further into the apartment to grab his keys. “You would have made a stronger argument if you’d brought the corvette instead of your bike.”

“Well,” he says, finally letting a smile tug across his face. Cameron stares. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to agree for the wrong reasons.”

Cameron thinks she has to be asleep. This can’t be real.

But they’re sitting in a booth in an old school diner that still smells faintly of cigarette smoke, which gives her some indication of how long it’s been in business, and House is stretched out in the opposite seat, leaning his back against the wall and with his legs crossed in front of him.

“Aren’t you going to look at the menu?” she asks as Chase flips through the multiple pages, House looks at the ceiling, and she looks at him.

“Nope,” he answers.

“Are you going to tell us what we’re doing here?” she presses.

He turns to look at her, eyebrow raised. “We’re getting brunch.”

There’s nothing heavy at the table, but she could probably do some damage with the fork. It’s not like he can run very far.

The waitress comes back, settling coffees in front of all of them. Chase orders chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, and eggs. House gets the steak omelet, which the sign they’d passed on the way in had proclaimed was this week’s special. She still hasn’t looked at the menu so she says, “You order for me.”

House rolls his eyes. “The little lady will have one slice of the stuffed French toast, scrambled egg whites, and the fruit cup. No grapes.”

She wouldn’t have ordered the stuffed French toast for herself, but she does want it. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to read into that.

The waitress says, “Aw, introducing the new boyfriend to your father? That’s so sweet.”

Chase freezes while Cameron feels her mouth drop open and she tries to say something but finds she can only get out a strangled, “Ah.”

“Kids sure do grow up fast,” House says, his disconcertingly normal smile of before having stretched into a much more familiar smarmy grin. He at least waits for the waitress to leave before asking, “Tell me, Cameron, have you ever gotten urge to call me daddy?”

“Oh my god,” she breathes, “why would she-”

“You both look like children outside of suits and lab coats,” he says. “Or maybe I just look especially old today. Or maybe she clocked our ages perfectly and just thought I had you young.”

“Please stop talking,” she says. The French toast suddenly doesn’t sound so appetizing.

He shrugs, stirring sugar into his coffee before lifting the mug up to take a sip.

The red mug. That she’s definitely seen before.

“Is that – your mugs in the office,” she says.

“I steal one every time I’m here. Don’t worry, I tip well.” He taps his fingers along the side. “If you want to be helpful, steal yours for me too. Wilson always refuses because he’s a wimp. He got caught once and she didn’t even care.”

This has to be a dream. House has brought them to a place that he goes frequently, with Wilson, and has revealed a personal detail about himself. It may just be where he gets his favorite mugs for the office but it’s more than he’s ever offered up willingly before.

“What do you want?” she asks.

He takes another long sip of his coffee, once again staring straight ahead. She thinks the real reason he’s stretched out like that isn’t because of his leg or comfort but so his default position is looking away from them. “There’s an open position in surgery under Thomas. He’s an insufferable ass, but luckily you have experience in that area.”

She’d asked the question but he’s obviously talking to Chase. He swallows and she can feel him tense along her side. She hates this. “You want me to apply?”

“There’s a senior research position in immunology at St. Sebastian’s. They’re doing a lot of cool stuff,” he continues, not answering Chase but now speaking to her. “I’d go for that one. However, Williams is looking to retire, which means his position is open. It sounds like an utter bore to me, but you’d probably like it.”

“Williams, the emergency room department head?” she demands incredulously.

“Keep in mind I’m only bringing it up because I’d prefer you both stay at Princeton. It’s a shit job,” he answers. “The research one is way better.”

“You want me to apply for the surgeon position?” Chase repeats.

“Don’t be stupid,” House says and Chase’s grinds his teeth together. “I want you to accept the surgeon position. Thomas will offer it to you outright in about,” he checks his watch, “eight days.”

Cameron has never found House to make sense, but this is taking it to a new level. “If you’re feeling guilty about firing Chase–”

“I’m not feeling guilty,” he interrupts. “When have you ever known me to feel guilty for doing the right thing?”

“Doing the right thing makes you miserable,” she retorts.

He smiles again, small enough that she thinks it might be genuine. “Only sometimes. This will probably make me miserable too, though. I hate hiring people. They’re all so stupid. A benefit to you two sticking around the hospital is that I can go and bug you when your replacements’ idiocy threatens to kill someone.”

“Or your stubbornness,” she says.

“Tomayto, tomahto,” he replies. “There are also a couple open positions in Chicago that you’d like, but that makes me intention to leech off you significantly harder.”

Chase sits up a little straighter. “Why would you tell us about jobs that you don’t want us to take?”

“You’re not my employees anymore. I can’t make you do the smart thing. You’re free to be idiots, if that’s what you want,” he says.

Cameron doesn’t want to press on this particular bruise, but she’s missing something. “Why did you fire Chase?”

She’d asked that before but this time she thinks she might get a real answer out of him.

“So you’d make a choice,” he says, then nods to Chase, “You’re welcome.”

Chase blinks several times. “What?”

He groans, “Are you going to make me spell it out?” Neither of them say anything and he sighs. “Chase loves me too much to ever leave me so of course I had to fire him. Plus it pushed you to make a choice – me or him. If you’d never had to pick, even if you started dating Chase, he’d always feel like your second choice. Because he would be. But now he knows he’s your first. So, again, you’re welcome.”

She’s actually speechless so she’s relieved when Chase asks, “Why would you care about that? Why do you care at all? Even if you do care, why do this? You hate change.”

“True,” he acknowledges. “Which is why I didn’t do anything when your contracts ran out. But Foreman quit. Change was happening whether I liked it or not so there’s no reason to prolong the process. Better to get all the change out at once so I can get back to a life of no changes.”

“Why isn’t Foreman here?” Cameron challenges. “Why did you come get us and not him?”

That makes him go silent again, but she and Chase have years of experience waiting him out. He’s still looking at them, but he’s not seeing them, his eyes going unfocused like he’s thinking through a case. “Wood ducks, unlike the majority of their genus, make nests in trees.”

She’d always been convinced that one day House’s stupid metaphors would make sense to her. Mostly they just give her a headache.

“They also have a habit of flinging themselves out of the nest with very little concern for the consequences of those actions. That’s because the mother duck builds the nest high enough to keep it from predators but low enough that they’ll be unharmed by the impact of the nice cushy ground, so this propensity for leaping first and looking never wasn’t bred out of them by evolution. Of course, humans mess that up, and now lots of places have hard concrete instead of soft ground. So now the duck’s ability to survive is based on their ability to fly.”

“So you’re seeing if we can fly?” Chase asks tentatively.

House sighs, taking another sip of his coffee and giving them a faux disappointed look that she’s surprised doesn’t prick her as much as it used to. “You landed on soft ground. It doesn’t matter if you can fly or not.”

“Concrete is accidentally killing a patient who wouldn’t have died otherwise,” she says, sitting up straight. “You kicked us out of the nest because we’d be fine. But you think Foreman is heading for concrete and you don’t know if he’s going to be able to fly or not.”

“Less killing the patient, more the lack of self confidence and self awareness,” he says, “but yeah, close enough.”

“What if he falls?” Chase asks.

House shrugs. “Then, if he lives, back into the nest he goes.”

“And if he flies?” she challenges.

He takes another sip of coffee, but it doesn’t quite hide the smile on his face. “Then we invite him to brunch.”

“Are you going to take it?” Cameron asks, resting on top of his chest and digging her chin into his sternum.

It’s not the most comfortable position on his end, but he’s not going to tell her that. “I haven’t been offered it yet.”

She gives him a look and he sighs, which only serves to shove her chin even further into him.

He’s going to take it.

It’s a good job, a great job even, and he’ll be able to really develop his skills as a surgeon. But he’s self aware enough to know that biggest draw is that House wants him to take it. That House didn’t just get sick of him and decide that he was worthless and fine to throw away.

He was trying to help, in the worst, most assholish way possible.

“Do you think we can actually be friends?” he asks instead of answering.

Cameron frowns. “He did pay for brunch.”

“He also told you that you were getting the next one since you’d quit instead of being fired,” he reminds her.

Her frown deepens. “He’s friends with Wilson.”

“I don’t think I can handle being Wilson,” he says honestly. He likes House. He really likes the idea of being friends with House. But the only friend House has is sort of insane and has to put up with even more crap than they did as his employees – and he isn’t even getting paid for it.

But it’s different, too. Wilson still gets called an idiot if he’s being an idiot and House will be insane and annoying and all of that, but he can be nice too, when it’s Wilson. He makes an effort for Wilson.

Sort of like he’d made an effort with them, today.

“So we won’t be Wilson,” she says. “We’ll be Chase and Cameron and he’ll be House and maybe that can be something different than it was before.”

Maybe.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anoceanofbooks #house md #when will i be free from house md hell

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