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egcdeath · 1 year

Text

wine night

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: joel takes care of you after a night out. part of the soccer parents alternate universe.

word count: 4k

warnings: AU: no apocalypse, alcohol consumption, established relationship, fluff, mentions of vomiting, the reader is kinda an annoying drunk but joel is a sweetie anyway, explicit language, no y/n

author’s note: i am so addicted to writing this pairing. they have completely taken up all my brain space

“I mean, can you believe that he tried to get with my sister? That’s just not right,” your friend exclaimed, clearly deeply upset by her situation.

Wine nights have been a sacred ritual between you and your friends since your college days. Between routine catch-ups, book clubs, and emergency meetings, you could always rely on a wine night to pull you out of whatever funk you were in. Wine nights were a safe space to share whatever had been on your mind–whether it was juicy gossip you’d heard while attending a HOA meeting, or whatever personal drama had been plaguing you. All done under the influence, of course, so that the words you may have been holding back flowed off your tongue with far more ease.

Tonight fell more into a routine catch-up than any of the other categories. Although, given that you’d been swamped with work for the past few wine nights, there was much for you to catch up on.

“He’s a dick,” Andrea said sympathetically, setting a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You deserve better, and I have complete faith that you will find someone better.”

A chorus of agreements went on around the room, as you all attempted to uplift your saddened friend.

“If you ever need anyone to talk to outside of wine nights, you know you can call any of us,” you expressed. “I mean, we all kinda hit the lottery with shitty exes. No one understands you more than us, and we all have your back!”

“Hey, speaking of shitty exes, how’s Chlo?” Jennifer asked, swirling her drink as she turned to face you.

You lit up at the mention of your daughter, although one might argue that with the amount of glasses of wine you’d had, you were already quite lit up. “She’s good! Her and her friend just had to do this ridiculous science project. Here, I’ll show you.”

You fumbled typing your phone’s password in, the flowing drinks making your fingers loosely flow as well.

In the video you pulled up, Chloe and Sarah began to explain their experiment while the torso and arms of Joel carried out the experiment. You smiled to yourself as you recalled the night; thankfully the girls had given you enough of a heads up before their project was due that you were able to plan a nice night around it, having a little family dinner before setting up and filming their project. After that, the children insisted on doing something fun which led to doing horrible karaoke. What a good night.

“Cool right? Aren’t they so cute?” you gushed, beginning to flip through your camera roll through pictures of your daughter—some by herself, some with Sarah, a few from the night you, Joel, and the kids attempted to make pasta from scratch, a few group photos you’d taken on your weekend road trip to San Antonio. Looking at each picture, you began to realize more and more just how much you missed your little family, and your heart yearned more and more to be with them.

“Are you soft-launching your boyfriend to us right now?” Andrea asked with a giggle, flipping back a photo to a picture of you and Joel on a picnic.

“No!” you laughed. “Boyfriend?”

“The one who’s in half of these pictures?” Michelle laughed, taking your phone and scrolling through for herself. “The one who’s checking in on you right now? ‘Let me know if you need a ride home, heart emoji?’” your friend imitated a deep voice and you laughed out loud.

“Ugh, ‘boyfriend’ just feels so juvenile,” you sighed. “But yeah. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now. Now gimme my phone back. I need to text back so he doesn’t think I’m dead or anything.”

“What?! You can’t just say that and not tell us more!” Heather gasped, leaning in closer to you as if she were afraid to miss out on any details.

“Well, our daughters are best friends, which is very convenient. He’s also just a really good dad. I mean, you should just see the way he interacts with Sarah, but he also treats Chloe like she’s one of his own. He’s just a really good, sweet guy, who treats me really well. He actually punched Nathan once, and I’m not even joking. He also happens to eat pussy like it’s his last meal on Earth. Did I mention that he’s gorgeous? I couldn’t ask for more,” you shrugged.

There was a collective ‘ooooh’ throughout the room, a clear indicator that your friends were interested.

“So when can we meet him? You’ve obviously been together for a while, but you’ve also been keeping it from us… So is this even serious enough to warrant a meeting?” Michelle poured herself a little more rosé and offered you some, which you politely declined. Your brain was already too fuzzy from the amount you’d drank throughout the night.

“Did you see that camera roll? Of course it’s serious enough.”

“Well, what’s with the secretiveness? Is there a catch or something?”

“Is he married?” Andrea sighed, exasperated.

“Oh my God. That would make so much sense. He has a daughter, so...” Michelle attempted to piece together

“That was once and it was an accident. I broke things off with him as soon as I found out,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “And for the record, he’s a single dad.”

“That’s hot,” Jennifer remarked, the words seemingly slipping away from her before she could catch them.

“You’re gross,” you countered before getting back to the topic on hand. “I guess… I don’t know. It feels weird to be in such a serious relationship after my last serious relationship. I just keep wondering if I’m gonna fuck it up or something, and I don’t wanna lose half my friends again because they all like Joel more than me.”

“Hey! We could never love a man more than we love you,” Jennifer explained.

“I don’t know. He’s pretty damn charming,” you hung your head and Michelle set her glass down to give you a hug.

“Babe, I swear, nothing will ever get in between our friendship. Especially a man. What would any of us ever do without you?”

Now that your friends had really reassured you, you were feeling slightly better about the whole situation. Maybe, just maybe, you’d let them meet Joel. They’d certainly approve of him, which was a plus. You glanced down at your device, which now had one unopened notification from the man of the hour.

Having fun? he asked.

id be having more fun with yoh, you replied.

you

miss u :(

We miss you too.

Uno wasn’t the same without our favorite cheater

lies

Now we’re talking about you and im sad bc i miss you and im more sad i missed uno

I’m sorry.

We’ll play Uno some other time.

Soon.

Very soon.

As the conversation moved away from your life update, you began to evaluate the situation. You were far more drunk than you anticipated being tonight, and it felt like you were only becoming less and less sober with every minute that passed. At the moment, nothing sounded better than the idea of crawling in bed with Joel, and cuddling with him until you fell asleep.

Can u come pick me up? I miss you too much to stay

Sure! Are you going back to your home or want to stay at mine?

You’re home

*Your. I’ll be over soon

No i meant it

See you soon

“I gotta retire,” you faux yawned, stretching your arms above your head. “So sleepy.”

“Uh-huh,” Andrea looked over at you, then back at your phone skeptically. “Did you get a better offer than wine night?”

“Possibly.”

“Is your man coming to pick you up?”

“Possibly.”

“Tell him to come in and say hi! We want to see him at the very least. Don’t tell him that part, though.”

You agreed with less reluctance than you probably would have if you hadn’t been reassured by your friends that they were loyal to you, and let him know (somewhat incoherently) that your friends wanted to meet him.

When a few knocks at the door were heard from the living room, your friends immediately paused their conversations to listen in. Andrea got up, as she was currently the most sober—which wasn’t saying much—of the bunch, and opened the door for him.

“Hi,” she greeted in her best customer service voice. “How can I help you?”

They exchanged some back and forth that you couldn’t quite make out before he entered the living room and waved at your friends awkwardly, before beaming when his eyes fell upon you. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room, and maybe it was just the wine speaking, but you felt like it too.

“Ready to go?” he asked you, approaching the couch you were sitting on.

“Mhm,” you hummed affirmatively. “You want a cracker?” you asked, reaching over to the barren charcuterie board on the coffee table and holding one singular cracker up.

Joel clearly bit back a laugh, but leaned down so you could pop the cracker in his mouth. “Yum. Need any help getting up?”

You shook your head and stood up, legs a little wobbly from your inebriation and the fact that you’d been sitting for hours.

“Isn’t he just perfect?” you directed your statement towards your friends once you finally managed to pull your attention away from Joel. “So handsome and so kind,” you hugged his side. “My perfect man,” you murmured into his shirt. “Now you see why I’m scared to mess everything up.”

Joel blushed under the praise and awkwardly smiled at your friends. “Oh? Bye guys. We’ll have to catch up sometime. Nice meeting you all,” he said as he began to direct you towards the door.

“Bye!” you called out as you exited the room.

Once Joel got you situated in the car, double checking you were strapped in and whatnot, you sighed as you looked over at him.

“I missed you so much,” you sighed. “You’re not allowed to leave me alone ever again.”

Joel smiled to himself at your drunken words. Sure, he knew you cared about him, but it was sweet to hear your uninhibited thoughts.

You continued your drunken rambling on the drive back, giving him a play-by-play replay of the night, up to the point where he came in. By the time you’d finished your story, you were back at his place.

You held Joel’s hand as he led you up to his bedroom, you giggling behind him as you copped a quick feel of his ass.

“Shh,” he reminded you, gesturing to the room where your children were having a sleepover.

“Sorry,” you whispered apologetically before following him into his room and flopping onto his bed. “I just missed you. And that ass.”

“You’re funny,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right back.” As he disappeared, you rolled onto your stomach and buried your face into his pillows, deeply inhaling his smell. You would have his scent made into a candle if you could.

While Joel was gone, you realized that you weren’t particularly fond of the jeans you decided to wear to your friend’s place. By the time he was back, a large glass of water and bottle of Advil in hand, you were helplessly struggling to get out of the clothing article.

He set the items down on what you’d declared as your side of the bed’s nightstand, then moved away to rummage in his dresser, eventually finding a pair of athletic shorts you’d left behind at some point, and heading back over to you.

“Need some help?” he asked despite already knowing the answer as you ridiculously wiggled around in your jeans.

“Yes, please,” you stuck your legs out and Joel was clearly fighting laughter at just how incompetent you’d become. Despite your previous squirming around, you were happy to let him unbutton and unzip your uncomfortable pants.

“Lift,” he directed, tapping your hip. You did as you were told, eventually ending with your uncomfortable pants off and your cozy shorts on. You sighed out a sound of relief as you propped yourself up against the headboard, the gentle touch of Joel’s hand on your thigh only further soothing you. You were finally ready for bed.

Before Joel left your side, he reached over to your nightstand and set the glass of water in your hands. “Alright, drink up.”

“What would I do without you?” you mumbled, taking a few big gulps from the glass he’d placed in your hands.

“Probably have a nasty hangover and shitty sleep in those jeans,” he sat back down next to you on his side of the bed, propping himself up right next to you.

“I mean, what would I do if I never met you?” you asked, rolling onto your side so you could get a good look at your partner. “If you never argued with me at games? Or never took us to that tournament? Or if our daughters never set us up?”

“That would be very sad,” Joel turned to face you as well, looking at you very earnestly as he humored your drunken ramble.

“Yeah,” you agreed, wiping at your eyes that had begun to well up. “I would be so sad without you.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Joel sighed, softly cradling your head and gently pulling you over to him as you began to bawl into his shirt. “You are so drunk.”

“No,” you protested, pulling away from some so that you could look up at your partner with watery eyes. “I just love you so much, and you mean so much to me. I hate imagining not knowing you.”

He gently thumbed away your tears. “Then don’t imagine not knowing me. I’m here with you right now, right?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I just missed you so much.”

“You’re sweet. I missed you too,” he rubbed small circles onto your back.

“Can we live together so I never have to miss you again?” you asked, burying your face back into his shirt.

“Someday, probably. I’m thinking this is a conversation we should have when you’re sober, yeah?”

“Maybe,” you agreed, sniffling and closing your eyes. “Joel?”

“Yes?” he asked, thumbing away the last of the tears on your cheeks.

“Do you know that I love you?”

“I do,” he confirmed.

“And that I wanna marry you someday?”

“Uh-“

“And you and our daughters are my favorite people, like, ever.”

“Well, I could say the same about you and our kids. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“I just love you so much,” you repeated.

“I know, honey. I love you too.”

“No, Joel. I love you. Like, I want to spend the rest of my life with you and grow old with you. Because that’s how much I love you. Do you understand?” you were almost worried you weren’t getting your point across. “I would swim across every ocean to be with you. ‘Cause I love you so much.”

Your words were definitely slurring at this point, both from the alcohol and the sleepiness setting in, but Joel didn’t seem too bothered by it.

“I do understand, and I would do the same for you,” Joel was clearly quite amused by your earnest, but inebriated sentiment, yet his fondness for you managed to shine through. “I’ll tell you all about how much I love you in the morning. Why don’t we try to sleep now?”

“Okay,” you agreed. “Only ‘cause I love you,” you didn’t protest as Joel hit the lamp on his bedside table. “I’m gonna miss you while I sleep.”

“I’ll be right here,” Joel assured you as you somehow managed to snuggle up even closer to him.

“I’m gonna try to dream about you,” you mumbled.

“Let me know how that goes,” Joel yawned.

“I will,” you promised before mirroring his yawn.

Joel fell silent and closed his eyes, something you could just barely make out in the dark. You attempted to fall asleep too, but failed. Your brain was simply too loud for you to will yourself to go to sleep.

“Joel,” you said quietly, testing to see if he was still awake.

“Mhm?” he hummed, not opening his eyes.

“Do you remember when we stayed at that hotel together?” you began to reminisce, thinking back to that first night the two of you shared a bed. If only you had known then what your tiny little crush would’ve turned into.

“Mhm,” he affirmed. “How could I forget?”

“I dreamed you held me all night. It was great,” you giggled, somehow being able to recall that moment despite your inebriation.

“I don’t think that was just a dream,” Joel admitted, figuring that you probably wouldn’t even remember this conversation in the morning. “I woke up with my arms around you, which was why I got out of bed so fast. Felt like I violated you.”

“You could never violate me,” you slurred. Of course, your mouth was moving faster than your brain, but in a way there was some backwards truth to your words. You would trust Joel with your life. Of course he could still do something awful to you, but you certainly trusted him enough to believe that he would not.

“Honey, that’s not as romantic as you think it sounds,” Joel responded, sounding somewhere between exasperated and exhausted.

“Oh. Oops,” you acknowledged. “Well, you know what is romantic? That I love you,” you countered.

“Love you too,” he mumbled sleepily, surely tired of repeating the phrase at that point.

“Good,” you nodded mostly to yourself, just checking in to confirm that your partner still loved you. “I’m going to sleep now,” you announced.

“Sounds good.”

“Goodnight.”

“‘Night.”

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” you murmured.

“I’ll try,” Joel said quietly.

“Joel.”

“Yes?”

“Ow,” you whined.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding slightly more alert now that you might’ve been uncomfortable.

“Bed bug got me,” you explained, doing your best to keep your act of pain up.

“There are no bed bugs.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked them. Let’s get to sleep.”

“I am asleep.”

“Are you really?” Joel cracked open an eye and chuckled at the sight of you.

“Yes,” you declared, despite very obviously being nothing clearly wide awake. You made eye contact with Joel, who know was at least looking at you. “Have I ever told you how hot you are?” you asked.

“A few times, maybe.”

You reached out to the man across from you and pushed your fingers through his hair. “Hottest man in Austin.”

“Hottest woman in Austin. I suppose it’s a good thing we found each other.”

“Right?” you grinned, leaning into the touch as he reached out to hold your cheek.

“Right. Now it’s time to get your beauty rest, beautiful woman,” he laughed softly, clearly fighting sleep as it looked like each blink was more and more of a struggle to keep his eyes open.

“If you insist,” you replied, impulsively sticking your tongue out and touching Joel’s finger with it. “Sleepy boy.”

“Ew,” Joel remarked, retracting his hand from your cheek.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” you explained with a giggle. “I’ll go to sleep now.”

“Okay, good. I’m also going to sleep now,” he said seriously, a hint of finality in his voice. “Like, seriously, I’m going to sleep.”

“Well I seriously am too,” you shrugged.

“Prove it,” Joel attempted, one last shot at getting you to go to sleep.

“Fine,” you countered, closing your eyes. “Goodnight. For real this time.”

You relaxed into the mattress, finally ready to sleep—or so you thought. You only lasted about ten minutes until your eyes opened once again, this time you found Joel quite soundly asleep, the deep rises and falls of his chest clueing you into just how tired he’d been.

You resisted the urge to wake your boyfriend up again, but rather pulled yourself in closer to him, looping your legs around his waist and your arms around his torso as if you were some kind of koala. If you were even slightly more sober, you were sure you would be completely uncomfortable with the position, but drunk you couldn’t think of any other way you’d rather be sleeping.

“Goodnight,” you whispered, melting into your partner, and eventually succumbing to sleep.

The wine was not kind to you in the morning. A pounding headache and waves of nausea rolled over you, waking you up prematurely as your brain signaled to your body that you were absolutely going to throw up.

You held a hand to your mouth as you slipped out of bed, sprinting to the en-suite and dangling your head in the toilet for what felt like a lifetime as you emptied the majority of the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl.

As soon as Joel heard the sounds of your sickness, he was right there with you in the bathroom, sitting on the floor next to you as he held back your hair.

First, he took care of your drunk ass, and now he was taking care of your hungover ass.

“I’m getting too old to drink that much,” you groaned, curling up on the cold floor once your body was finally finished punishing you for what you had done to it the previous evening. “Remind me never to drink again.”

“If it makes you feel better, you were having a lot of fun last night.With your friends, then back here with me,” he rubbed your back as you groaned on the floor.

“Did I say anything stupid?” you asked, watching Joel get up to grab your cup of water and temporarily mourning the loss of his comforting touch.

“To your friends? No idea. To me, you were just being extra affectionate. You kept telling me that you love me, and at one point you were crying because you kept thinking about not knowing me. I was pretty entertained.” He sat back down next to you and passed the cup over, along with two little pills.

You groaned at the description of your night and took the Advil you’d been offered before drinking down some more water.

“You also refused to let me sleep. It was pretty cute. Well, not in the moment because I was pretty tired, but thinking about it now, it was pretty cute.”

“Oh boy,” you softly chuckled to yourself, careful not to disturb your pounding head too much by laughing too hard. “I’m sorry. I may need to be a sober participant at our next wine night.”

“Don’t worry about it. You had fun with your friends, and that’s what matters most. Now are you feeling any better?”

“A little,” you nodded, at the very least no longer feeling nauseous.

“Then let’s get back to bed?” Joel suggested, posing it more as a question than anything.

“As much as I would love to, I don’t know if I’m physically capable of getting off of this floor right now,” you confessed. You were in pretty bad shape after last night.

“No worries, I got you,” you weren’t exactly sure what Joel meant at first, until his hands were under you and he was scooping you up in his arms, carrying you back into his bedroom where he gently set you down on his mattress.

“You are a saint,” you expressed, stretching out on your side of the bed before curling up onto your side and facing your partner. “How did I get so lucky?” you asked, reaching out to play with a strand of his hair.

“Not that lucky,” he remarked.

“No way. I can’t think of any other guy who would put up with my drunken antics, then proceed to take care of me like this in the morning,” you explained. “That, and all of the other ways you improve my life. Remind me, and I’ll get into them when I don’t feel like my head is going to explode.”

“I mean, I’m not gonna argue with someone telling me how great I am,” he lightly chuckled, reaching down to lift your blanket back up and over the two of you.

“Good. I’m in no shape to debate you right now,” you muttered, snuggling into the duvet and succumbing once more to a peaceful and content sleep.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #soccer parents au

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animeomegas · 1 year

Note

Hello! Congratulations on your 4k milestone! Can I request Needle working together with Bakugou? Alpha reader and Bkg are good friends with each other because they're in the same high class circle. They both hinted to their parents that this is what they wanted. Reader is so used to Bkg being fierce whenever they meet but is surprised that bkg is actually very good with domestic stuff. Maybe things get heated in the end?👀

Hey! Thank you! This was such a cute one, thank you for requesting!

...

BAKUGOU + GOOD FRIENDS + EMBROIDERY

You had expected your suggestion of spending the morning embroidering handkerchiefs to be dismissed, but Bakugou had surprised you by agreeing enthusiastically. Well, enthusiastic by Bakugou standards, which meant he said something along the lines of "fine, what are you waiting for then, dumbass?". That was as close as he got to enthusiastic, excluding his, admittedly attractive, bloodlust when he was sword fighting.

But here you were, sitting in an arm chair each in front of the fire, embroidering handkerchiefs and sharing the latest gossip.

"But the plot thickens," you shared, delighted. "Because Tenya Iida, you know, the second, super straight-laced Iida son? He was apparently found by the groundskeeper kissing a stable hand in the gardens during his brother's birthday birthday! How delightfully scandalous!"

Bakugou snorted.

"Maybe the stick in his ass will fall out if he has some fun," Bakugo said, taking a break from his embroidery to sip his tea. "Might do him some good."

There was a natural lull in the conversation as you both focused on the embroidery. Your handkerchief was still unfortunately bare because you'd been more focused on telling stories, but Bakugou's looked colourful and almost complete.

"Can I see your design?" you asked eagerly.

"Give me five minutes to finish it, then you can see it," he said, his tone leaving no room for bargaining. He was always too much of a perfectionist to let you see anything half-finished.

Time ticked by slowly. You decided to abandon your own work in favour of watching Bakugou put the final few stitches in. He always looked so intense when he was focused. You remembered people always asking you how you were friends with someone so volatile and angry, but to you it wasn't just anger, it was passion that Bakugou exuded from every part of himself.

"There," Bakugou said proudly, holding up his work. "I'm done."

Eagerly, you leant forward and took in the design. Rather than the flower or animal designs popular with omegas, Bakugou had embroidered a battlefield, with swords embedded in the dirt and bloodstained grass around the edges. It was a shocking design choice, but the craftsman ship was beautiful.

"That's amazing, Katsuki!" you said, and Bakugou subtly preened under your compliment. "I didn't know you could embroider like that!"

"Yeah, well, both my parents love this shit, my mother especially, so my father used to enforce mandatory embroidery night for family bonding, whatever that means."

"I love it," you said earnestly. "The design is unusual, but that just makes it better. You can only see so any flower designs before it becomes repetitive."

"Ugh, don't even get me started on flower designs," Bakugou grumbled, taking the handkerchief out of the hoop now that it was finished. "My father used to try and convince me to embroider those patterns for a few years before he gave up."

You just stared at him in awe for a moment. He kept surprising you, again and again, and you were honoured to have someone so strong, so proud and so fiery as you fiancé.

"What are you looking at?" he grumbled, raising an eyebrow.

"You're amazing, Katsuki," you replied honestly.

He stiffened, but after a moment he turned his head to the side, mumbling 'whatever' and pointedly ignoring the red on his cheeks.

"This is for you, by the way," he said in a faux casual voice, before throwing his completed handkerchief at you. "You can do what you want with it, I don't care."

You caught the fabric with ease and gently folded it.

"I love it! You're the best!"

"Of course I am," Bakugou replied. "Now let's call for lunch, I'm starving."

#4k follower event #bakugou #bnha #mha #bakugou x reader #royal au #x reader #reader insert #katsuki

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bisexual-horror-fan · 11 months

Note

If we're gonna multi may in this house, lorde says let's do it up!

just hear me out hear me out hear me out!

bo sinclair x fem!reader.

but wait wait wait!!!

featuring leslie vernon!

*holds for applause*

there is more!

have you heard lera lynn's wolf like me feat shovels and rope. because i promise it will fit!

ugh this has been such a great event! so happy you're doing something for you and everyone loves it.

Okay! So! I did it! I know Multi-May is done and over with but this has still be living in my head and I have not been able to get over it so here it is! A new and very unconventional poly ship! I hope everyone digs this, it is deff an interesting thing, pretty angst heavy but with some lighter moments and a smattering of smut, let’s get into it.

—

Rating. NSFW. Length. 4K. Bo Sinclair X FEM! AFAB! Reader FT.Leslie Vernon. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Bo And You Are In An Established Relationship. Slasher x Final Girl/Survivor Girl. Mentions Of Murder. Death. Gore. Hurt. Comfort. Cross-Over. Angst. Sex. Mild NSFW Content. Pining. Complex Feelings. Leslie Is SO Down Bad For Taylor.

—

There Is No True Substitute But God You’re Close.

—

It might have been overkill but there is no such thing as being too careful, being out of state seemed smart to him.

Leslie’s first outing had gone amazingly well, he was still riding high from the kills, the twists, from her. It went much better than he could have ever hoped, but now he had to lay low. So far it has been going well, he had this remote cabin he hung out at for a couple of weeks until he was sure that it was safe enough and then he began his celebratory post spree vacation road trip. He had some places to stop off, people to see and it was nice, being able to meet with people who were like minded, in the same industry and tell them all about how well his first foray went. Before he always talked theory but now it was backed by real life experience, he felt like he belonged, the first serious move of his career and to making a name for himself, to being taken seriously.

The time we want to focus on however is when he had worked his way down to Louisiana, it had been a long time since he’d been here, Eugene encouraged him to take some real time while considering this career path to explore around, talk to some people in the business, be sure and Leslie was thankful for that. It affirmed to him he was making the right call, Eugene told him where to go and gave the people heads up and Leslie was pretty universally welcomed. A lot of the older people were excited, they claim so few people wanted to take up this job and do it right, the old fashioned way, the way that honoured tradition.

This was one place he spent a decent amount of time. Coming back to Ambrose and seeing the improvement and expansion that had occurred in the few years he was absent was impressive. He arrived mid-day, Lester met him outside of town, greeted him as friendly as ever and there was much excited talking on the way in, Lester telling Leslie, “I got so many new knives, I gotta show you-”

“Hell yeah man, sounds great I can’t wait to see them!” He was always down to talk tools of the trade and Lester said, “And tomorrow morning fore’ the heat gets too bad an’ it starts to smell too much we can visit the gore pit.”

“You have a gore pit now?!”

“We do!” Lester said excitedly and Leslie asked, “Business that good down here?”

“So good! I mean the town is almos’ done, that’s what Bo says anyway-” Lester admitted and Leslie gaped, “Already? God, I know there are three of you but that turnaround time is amazing. What are you gonna do when it’s all done?”

Lester hummed, hands sliding into his pockets as he considered the question, “Honest? I dunno. This been our whole lives for years now, weird to think bout what’ll be like when s’ all done.”

“Well I am sure you guys will all figure it out, you’re resourceful!” Leslie assured as he clapped Lester on the back and he smiled, “Yeah yer right, we’ll be alright.”

Soon they were at the gas station and Bo was coming out to greet him, wiping his hands on a dirty rag before a firm handshake was exchanged. “Leslie, how are you?”

“Great, so great.” He assured and Bo asked, “Drive down was alright?”

“Oh yeah, no trouble at all. Where’s ol’ Vin at?” Leslie asked as he released his hand and Bo scoffed, “In the workshop, don’t worry he’s excited to see you, he’s gonna come out in time for dinner.”

Leslie was excited for dinner, last time he was down they treated him to some pretty good BBQ, it was going to be great. Bo and Lester proceed to show Leslie around town, updating him on changes and showing off all the new procedures, the developments and wax figures.

It was a great afternoon Leslie was so glad he made the effort to get down here, and as the sun had begun to go down but the sticky heat remained, on the way out of the movie theatre Leslie asked, “Should we go get on cooking dinner?”

“Oh no need, should be just about ready.” Bo said easily and Leslie was confused, “What is Vin already cooking or something?”

“Nope. You’ll see.” Bo said with a grin that made Leslie just a touch concerned but he didn’t pursue it further, the answer became clear once they had gotten his bag back from where they left it at the station and gotten to the house.

“We made up the same room you had last time.” Bo told him as he started to come inside and Leslie followed, Lester bringing up the rear and there was a call from the kitchen asking, “Hello?”

“Heya, we’re back.” Bo responds and there is a series of excited footsteps from the kitchen into the living room and Leslie sees you for the first time. Barefoot and apron on, dish towel over our shoulder you asked with a point, “Is this him?”

“Yes this is the guy I was tellin’ you all about, this is our guest, Leslie.” You came forward and shook his hand, “Pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard so much!”

Leslie returned the gesture before reluctantly pulling his hand away, “I wish I could say the same, this one hasn’t mentioned you.”

“You haven’t? Man, what am I gonna do with you?” You ask as you snatched the dish towel off your shoulder and playfully swatted at Bo who waved you off with a scoff. There is a beeping coming from the kitchen and you say, “Sorry, excuse me, that’s the oven.” You turn and flit back off to the kitchen and Leslie turned and asked, “Who is that?”

The story came out over the dinner you made. Leslie was regaled how you came to town alone, the chase, the hunt, the fight that turned to more than that, all of the struggle and eventually Bo deciding to keep you for a while before killing you off. That never happened. No instead you stayed, you fell and that was that. Leslie could not believe it. Of course he knew about Eugene and Jamie’s history, he loved them but he thought they might have been an outlier but to see it was possible for someone else? It’s everything.

Listening to the stories, seeing how you held Bo’s hand and looked at him, made him ache. He can see it so clearly from how you both talked about it, the initial meeting, the chase, the scuffle, my God. He loves this for you both but seeing it? It makes part of him hurt.

He thinks of Taylor. You remind him of her.

He tries to push that down and instead tries to focus on the rest of the conversation, how nice it is to be back here.

You were cleaning up the dishes, bringing them to the sink and Leslie was currently saying, “Thank you so much, it was amazing.”

“Oh good! M’ glad, I spent so long in the kitchen today.” You admit and he asks, “What? For me?”

“Yeah! I knew this was a big deal, is it so wrong I wanted to impress you just a bit?” You asked in a joking tone and Leslie asked Bo, “What did you tell her?”

“Nothin’ that wasn’t true.”

Leslie was unconvinced and turned to Vincent who signed without Leslie even having to ask the question, as opposed to responding directly he posed this, “Where’d all that confidence go?”

“Yeah, we don’t just hang round with anybody.” Lester insisted and Bo scoffed with a roll of his eyes, “Yeah we’re really picky about the company we keep.”

“You joke but 99% of the people who roll through here get gutted and waxed, in that order.” You say that so casually, so easily. It then comes out that you don’t just tolerate what happens, you help with the cause, luring, lying, cleaning up, whatever is needed. What a fucking dream were you.

To have a quality survivor girl who not only makes the change but becomes part of the business? Unthinkable but fantastic that it is possible.

The rest of that evening you made yourself scarce, you were tired and went to bed early with promises of spending more time with everyone tomorrow. Leslie and the boys have dessert and drinks on the porch and he tries to keep you out of his mind, instead trying to focus on what Vincent was trying to tell him about the latest art project.

The next morning he comes downstairs to find coffee brewed up and wrapped breakfast sandwiches, Lester was already in the kitchen and when questioned Lester said, “S’ Tuesday, she’s out workin’ on her art but she makes us all breakfast to go.”

You were an artist too? I mean it made sense you would have some sort of creative outlet but hearing it confirmed was a horse of a different colour. It was sweet you thought of Bo’s brothers but even more so that you thought of him, a relative stranger, you were very trusting of him all things considered.

This road trip was to celebrate, it was to get out of state, it was to keep things low key but also to try and forget a bit about her. Taylor was just so upset when everything came out, he was trying to keep his spirits up about their future but who knows what might happen, what if getting his own relationship shift like Eugene and Jamie or you and Bo had was an impossibility with her? He thought the distance would help and yet here you were reminding him of everything he really craves.

He goes out to the gore pit and does some work with Lester and loses himself a little in getting shown Lester’s extensive knife collection.

Leslie hangs around town with the boys but with you too, he starts getting closer to you and the more he sees you and Bo are together he wants and he aches.

He spends time with Vincent, getting shown the updated process of how he makes the figures as well, “So some of them are still technically alive when you coat them?” Vincent nodded and Leslie stood up from his crouching position with ample praise, “You sadistic bastard I love that!”

Leslie was also treated to seeing the other ways Vincent expresses himself, the paintings in particular are amazing. Leslie goes on drives with Lester talking up a storm and adds to the pit, he actually has to consider fighting off the urge to gag when they went by in the late afternoon, “Christ on a bike Lester! How do you stand it?” To which Lester laughed and responded, “C’mon Les, taint that bad.” Leslie fires back, “Yeah says you.”

He spends time in the gas station with Bo, fucking around with cars, listening to music too loudly and touring around the basement as well as sharing stories. “Sooo you’ve gotten into photography?”

“Vincent has the sculptures and paintings, Lester has his taxidermy and wood carving, I take pictures.” Bo said with a casual shrug. Everyone is so creative here, it makes Leslie want to work more on his next outing, bringing in more creativity to his work couldn’t hurt.

Leslie feels bad that you are putting in so much work with him around so he insists he helps out with cooking. He asks about your art while making lunch, he is genuinely interested and impressed to learn what you like to do and the answer is almost everything. Painting and doll making and sewing, some gardening, you dabbled in so many things to help fill your days and satisfy your creative urges.

“How do you do it?” He asked as you both were deep in a sandwich assembly line, him taking out slices of bread and putting on the spreads and you building the rest from there, and you questioned him, “Do what?”

“All of that. Have the time and energy for pursuing so many different creative things?”

You laughed, closing the current sandwich before telling him, “I have the energy and ability and fuck, the time, because of the guys. Being here affords me the opportunities to do all this. I have no one to answer to. I can just do whatever I want to, no schedule. Somedays I paint for hours, others I do not a damn thing and camp out on the couch, it’s great.”

It did sound great, you had a full and well rounded life here. He listened as you expounded further and it made his little problem a whole lot worse. You spoke about the inherent drive to create that you felt, this sort of pulling that came from deep inside that made you want to take nothing and make something. He understood that, related to it, the talk endeared you further to him.

“I love that.” He said quietly and you say, “I can tell.”

It’s quiet for a moment before you ask, “I assume you do what you do for similar reasons?”

“You want to know?”

“Uh duh-doy Vernon. Spill.” And so the rest of lunch prep and the meal itself was spent with him pouring his heart out, telling you all about why he did what he did, why he wanted it, what motivated him and it felt good. You seemed to genuinely listen, really give a fuck, you asked questions and engaged openly and by the time he was done you understood. You gave praise, commented and as he learns more and more you don't shy away from blood, guts or gore and that was so attractive. He wonders how much exposure therapy it took for you to get to that point.

“Oh I get it now.”

“Get what?” He asked, “I get why you look at me like that now. You are thinking about her.”

Shit. He focused so much on talking about her and in usual Leslie fashion when excited about a particular something he cannot contain himself, it is hard to hide his emotions at the best of times but when it came to her? It seems impossible. He tries to veer, to lie, “What? I don’t look at you any particular way.”

You give him an unimpressed look, mouth a flat line and he cuts in again, “What?!”

Your hand reaches out and takes his as you look in his eyes and say, “Les. You are…A very smart, passionate, capable guy. You are gonna have some fantastic days ahead and hopefully a long and successful career but you need to work on your lying skills.”

“I can lie! I lie all the time!” He insists and you scoff, “Not about her. I dunno if you can about how you clearly feel about Taylor Gentry.”

He knows you are right. Instead he says as he looks away, “Even if I do look at her in any particular way, I don’t think I look at you like that, it’s ridiculous because you…You aren’t her and I know that.”

You roll your eyes and drop his hand, “See I just complimented you and said you were smart but you make me regret it when you say shit like that.”

“Elaborate.” He asks and you say, “I know I’m not her, you know that I’m not her, that isn’t what is important. The idea is that I remind you of her and that is enough when the wounds are so fresh and so deep”

How did you see right through him? Your level of observation is nuts. “You make me sound pathetic.”

“Hardly. You are many things Leslie but pathetic is not chief among them, trust me. I’m not mad, I’m not upset, I think it’s understandable and a little sweet.”

He wasn’t expecting that, nor was he expecting what happened next, you got up and he thought it was going to be you collecting the lunch dishes and instead you are sliding into his lap. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Something I think you need.” Your arms loop around his neck, hands crossed at the wrists behind his head and his mind was reeling, “What do you think I need?”

“A distraction, an outlet, whatever you want to call it.” You said simply and he asked, “What about Bo?”

“This was his idea.”

“What?”

“He has eyes and ears too Les. He hears how you talk and sees how you look. We talked about it and it’s okay.” You shrug and then add on, “And it isn’t like he and I are tied down to just each other. The photo wall in the basement hasn’t stopped getting bigger since I came to town.”

“And that’s…That’s fine with you both?” He asks and you tell him, “Completely. He likes the aftermath.”

You don’t need to say the word “reclamation” but you don’t have to, he can see it as if it were painted all over your face. He is still thinking much too hard and you take advantage of that, you lean in, kiss him and it is like his brain turns off, instinct takes over instead and he returns it.

It feels wrong but right, you aren’t her but you are close enough for now, he touches, hands wander and he feels greedy as he drinks you in. He’s been so consumed with work for so long. When was the last time he was with anyone in this kind of way? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t care.

It’s rushed, clothes are hardly removed, mostly just pushed down or pulled aside enough to facilitate and satisfy the immediate urge and need you had stirred up in each other. He is caught between it all, in taking you in, enjoying this and you for what it is and you are but still part of him is with her, just as it always is. You know this and you don’t mind, you are getting your own enjoyment out of it, you aren’t totally selfless in this. Sureit is helping him but the strong hand around your throat as he fucks up into you, opposite hand on your hip, fingers caught between the space where skirt and shirt, blunt nails digging into tender flesh as he is panting is very, very much for you.

He is left a bit dazed when it’s over. You tell him that the others are probably wondering where their lunch is, you tell him to hang out here and on slightly unsteady legs you are off to go deliver Bo the food he helped you make.

Leslie is out of the kitchen and nowhere to be found when you came back, you expected that. He needed time to himself to figure this out.

Trying to make sense of all of this is one of the hardest things and after trying to figure it out for a few hours he ends up at the gas station and talking with Bo. “Hey there he is, havin’ a good day?”

The shit eating grin combined with the knowing look communicates that you told him already. The conversation is brief but it gets the point across. “S’ fine. Really. I trust you, s’ good for her.”

It is crazy what finding the right person and relationship can do for a person, he seemed to secure.

In between times with the boys he is with you. There are highs, being wrapped up in you, hot and needy, passionate, and times of lows, self hatred, angst, pain. He can’t bring himself to stop, he will tell himself to give this up but then you give him one of those looks where he ends up with you bent over the kitchen table while the roast for dinner is finishing in the oven.

He stretches his stay by another week but eventually he has to go. He knows he does when he has the briefest thought about running away with you and having you to himself but it is quickly forgotten. He could never betray Bo like that, he knows he is some fun on the side, not serious, you don’t want him like that and he is sure he doesn’t want you like that either, not really. It’s different with him and more than that, he wants what you and Bo have, what Jaime and Eugene have.

He wasn’t the whole package. He wants the investment, the history, all of it, he wants the complex relationship from slasher and survivor to a more equal and level playing field of partners. He hasn’t given up on Taylor and honestly all of this with you has reaffirmed that for him, he can still get her, he just has to try harder. He is saddened for how long it might take to get there but ultimately he is better and emboldened for the experience.

He really revels in the last time he has you the night before he goes to leave. He is incredibly selfish, the living room is dark, he can’t see your face, he is rough and almost as if you can sense it, when he starts to feel just a bit bad you gasp out, “S’ okay. Take it out on me.”

He does. Who knows the next time he will be with anyone, or if he will ever be with you again, if he will ever truly get to have Taylor the way he wants. It bleeds from rough to much more than that, his face buried in your neck, arms around you, fucking you the way he is praying to whatever messed up God might be listening in that he hopes to do to her one day. You know what it is, it’s a little too close, a little too intimate, you give into the fantasy and allow it to happen without commenting on it. When it’s over and your shared breathing has returned to normal, when the sweat has dried, you get up saying, “Should get to bed, you got a long drive tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’ll be up in a minute.”

He heads up five minutes after you do. Your bedroom door is closed. He stares at it for a minute before retreating to his own room that is already packed up.

Lester gifted him a knife, Vincent had made a small figure of Leslie in his slasher gear and Bo handed over a CD that Leslie from a band Bo introduced him to during his stay that he ended up loving. You gave him some packed food, you refilled the cooler that he brought and told him to, “Drive safe, have a good rest of the journey. It was so great getting to know you, I hope you’ll be back some time.”

“I intend to, promise.” He admits and once the van was loaded up and about to leave he leaned out the window and asked just Bo who was seeing him off, “Are you two gonna be okay?”

“What? Cuz of what happened between you two?” He laughs, “Yeah, we’ll be alright. Thanks for the concern but s’ not needed.”

“You are like, so, so lucky, you know that right?” He asked and Bo said with a glance over his shoulder in your direction, “Yeah, M’ aware.”

“God, you’re an asshole.” Leslie sighed and Bo said, “Hey you are too, she’s got a type.”

He has a point. When Leslie took off to go to a mostly abandoned summer camp in the same state for some camping you still lingered on his mind, he was sure, if the arraignment extended or not he’d be back to Ambrose sometime in the future.

#Bo Sinclair X reader #Leslie Vernon x reader #slasher x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #For you Lorde!#ENJOY IT #poly! slasher x reader #Thank you for asking for this!

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mariamariquinha · 2 years

Text

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Eight

Summary: *Daddy Issues by The Neighbourhood playing in the background*.

Word count: 4.6k (hell yeah)

Warnings: Bad words, daddy issues (of course), talks about paternity, mentions of violence, family problems, unprotected p in v sex, slight nipple play, kinda of copy mechanism (?), typos (I’ll try to check again if there’s something), very brief reference to country singers, allusion to historical events.

Author’s Note: Guys I’m really sorry that my links are not working, but I don’t know what’s going on and it’s kinda freaking me out. I still need to check on Tumblr to see what’s up, so I’m sorry for everyone who tried to reach the last chapters (that’s why I didn’t even linked the masterlist here).

Also, I’m sorry for being late with this one haha Things wasn’t working for me so I give myself a small break to go back in the mood, so... yeah, 4k words later, here we are! WOO-HOO!

(I love this gif so much, ugh)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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It was a cliché. A big one. Girl who had problems with her father, like… yeah, okay. Kick a bush anywhere and find five or six with similar stories.

He was born in Nashville, used to listen to Patsy Cline and Jim Reeves with absurd frequency, and disowned everything after the 70s, which included Alan Jackson, even if you've seen something about the guy in his record collection - not that the visits to his house were that frequent (or existent). Hillbilly, another cliché. Harsh personality, another cliché.

He didn't even have to hide so much in his astute personality to accurately trace what that past, filled with sermons, church Sundays and hay, would have done to the relationship that type of man developed with a female daughter. There was a cruel side to you, cold and even calculating, that personified itself as a consequence of the way things had been. How unhappy he was with his decision to move to Texas for work and then turned to be even more bitter at the idea of having a daughter with someone he'd met in a single night; how marriage was a bankrupt institution from the beginning and how it hurt you and your mother unscrupulously.

You weren't from Texas, though. Javier used to say that you still had a long way to go to be like that, even if there were certain remnants of the education your father gave you - if he gave you any. Your metropolitan Los Angeles style was something of your mother's and that only made the crumbling relationship turn to dust in the wind. Join the DEA? Stupid. But he would take credit, after all he saw the Department being created and felt 'honored' to have nurtured enough good fruit in you, making you a young woman in the field.

Firstly, when he walked towards you at the airport, you noticed that there was confusion on his face when he saw you. Whether it was your presence or you just looked more miserable, he was expressionless for a while. It was night, the trip from Bogotá to Medellín had been adjusted to a more strategic time, but you knew the Ambassador would offer lunch or something similar to create amenities.

“... I feel flattered.” Not a ‘hello’, or even a ‘how are you doing?’. He needed to tease. He needed it.

You rolled your eyes at him, keeping your arms crossed over your chest and rolling your head to the side.

“Don’t feel, you’ll still carry your own luggage,” Your tone was light, a little sharp but… light. “And it’s a long way to the car.”

“Oh, I'm sure that courtesy was a privilege reserved only for your arrival.”

Without an answer, he just followed your strides down the landing strip, the cool breeze making your clothing choice more valid than his, who opted for those tailored pants that were expensive in an unhealthy way financially. He was always bigger, stockier, better able to withstand cold breezes. If there were any complaints, it would be about the wind messing with his hair, but the time had made him bald enough that the effects of the breeze were nil.

“Where will you stay?” The question sounded stupid, at least for him, who replied with a bigger frown after getting comfortable in the passenger seat of the Ford Bronco you’ve been driving for quite some time. “What?”

“Where do you think I would be?”

“Not with me.” After a beat of silence from his part, your hand hesitated on the ignition and you looked at him a little desperate. “Or it is?”

“No, of course not.”

“Thank God,” You breathed with relief, finally giving life to the car in time to see the man scoffing a disbelieved laugh. Perhaps he reconsidered a little before giving his address, which was in a discreet hotel - this time you masked the relief in knowing that the stay would be temporary.

You didn't dare turn on the radio for much of the drive, opting for the natural silence of the streets and the car's engine instead of trying to fill the void of a conversation neither of you wanted to have (or so you thought).

“How’s everything going? I’ve heard a lot about your progress.”

Huh.

“Did you?”

“Since you don’t appreciate giving me any updates…”

“You seem to be having them just fine without me.”

“Or maybe you just didn't want me to know about your adjustment difficulties,” This made you gaze at him with a bit of annoyance, where he found enough encouragement to continue with that tone. “Which I understand, after all, the local police aren't always very cordial with us.”

“Do you think this is the biggest of my problems here?”

“No, but the name Horacio Carrillo may have caught my attention. I imagined he was patriotic enough to be averse… It must have been a fun experience, watching you two beating horns.”

The mention of Carrillo made you grip the steering wheel tighter and keep your eyes exclusively on the street so as not to give any suspicious reactions. That was one thing that had been probing your head a little bit, the idea that they had a past you knew very superficially. Your father wouldn't pay much attention to it if it was something forgettable, like most of the memories he never wanted to share from his time in Colombia, and it certainly wasn't something that boiled down to a simple soldier learning torture techniques to fight the ELN*. Plus, of course, there was the shadow of the fact that you hadn't even enjoyed the amazing time the two of you had together, especially with the great distance you both naturally established with your father's aura hovering there.

“Beating horns.”

“I know how tough and stubborn you can be.”

“It came from somewhere.”

“Me, I assume.”

“He had his reasons for not liking me right off the bat,” You gazed at your father again, this time for sure of your intentions. “Do I need to elaborate on this or do you also have more memories of Carrillo?”

“So you are no longer in the title phase, this seems to be progress.” The teasing way he mentioned it, not even amused by your provocation, made you clench your teeth in anger. Fucking bitch. “But how about Peña and Murphy? Good partners.”

“Why do I get the impression that you already have the answer to your questions?”

“I do, but I need to understand if you can still get a good shot at your targets knowing that a minute's delay could cost you your life.”

Again, you didn't give him the pleasure of sharing any reactions, focusing solely on driving the car, but the strained air gave away what he really meant by that.

Juan Marcos taking the knife. The pain of that cabinet breaking apart in your back. His weight beneath you as it made him pass out with a force created by the desperation of survival. Carrillo's face, the blood running down your forehead… It was the kind of thing you tried to forget, that you clearly didn't tell.

You couldn't deduce whether he had the right to be offended by it.

“We're not going to talk about it.” You decided.

“It’s because of this kind of behavior that bad things happen.”

“Well, you being here seems to be proof of that.”

“If that means you'll stop playing lone heroine around here, I'm glad I'm not welcome.”

“Maybe the problem is you're always more than content to be alone all the time, dad.” This abrupt harsh comment made him shut up. You sighed again, closing your eyes for a few seconds to compose yourself. “... As I said, we’re not gonna talk about it. It's always like that with you and... And we don't have time for that. Yes, I'm alive, yes, it was my mistake. And believe me when I say that my consideration kept you from worrying enough for me, so let’s prevent the drama.”

There was something else about your father that could have ambivalent meanings: his silence. He would be quiet to think, to anticipate a sharp response, to be surprised, or even to show offense. You could never tell which was which until the next reaction came.

When that didn't happen and the two of you made your way to the hotel in a new vacuum of utter nothingness, he just said he'd see you the next day as if nothing had happened. The frustration, however, was the same - he still hadn't learned to listen to what you had to say.

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

The tension was palpable, but no one dared to put a finger on it for the sake of that mission. Carrillo would look at you, then to your father, feeling a particular helplessness, as if being there was like watching a bomb about to explode without being able to do anything about it.

Javier had told him about the relationship, at least what he knew, which went almost unnoticed by Carrillo since at the time he didn't like him and there was no justification for it; not that what had been going on between you should mean anything, but a protective instinct surged through him at the memory.

“We met at that party, you know. Everyone could see that she didn’t want to be there or whatever,” Peña mentioned. “Maybe they don't talk to each other after what happened here.”

And Horacio knew that was a subtle cue to speculate on his motives for not liking your father, but the silence that followed was enough for no one to bring it up again. It took a while for the walls of rejection to come down - a little longer for him to understand that there was a cliff of difference between you and that brusque, hostile father figure.

You had a fire like him, but Carrillo would never be on guard with you for the same reasons he would be with your father.

It wasn't much, at the time he'd seen plenty of other guys like him walking around Colombia and taking up space as their own, wasting time and money on hookers and alcohol before going back to the grueling job of ripping a person's fingernails off in interrogation.

When he first met him, he was still a low-ranking soldier, limited to orders, with words of obedience on the tip of his tongue. The primal nature of always being ahead, of being number one, of... being the best, was something that pleased your father immediately, and the two spent more time in a closer relationship - which was not a friendship. There was a story about family; Carrillo had just gotten married. Your father laughed, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and said that he would soon find out that this would be a stupid decision.

When he found out that you and your mother were in the States, uncertain about the whereabouts of the man who was supposed to protect you two, there was a sense of morality in him, and in that aspect he was pretty strict about keeping his distance. When he saw your father bragging about the women he'd been paying at the brothel, Carrillo saw his respect for the guy completely drained from his body. When the training ended with one of his partners in the hospital almost dead, the decision to make him an enemy was already right.

It was strange to think about it at that moment, because since then he's been thinking about you. The woman who was there, in front of him, smoking a cigarette with the worst of expressions as she listened to the man without any dignity of his own talking about something with such propriety. Horacio wondered if you had feelings for the man, at least one that was good. If the two of you fought a lot, if you found out what was happening in Bogotá, if there was any connection of affection.

He suddenly felt bad for being hard on you at first, even though there was a part of him telling him that he wasn't the worst man you'd ever faced in your life.

“So basically the three of us are going to be playing with dolls while you guys do the work?” Your voice was so full of rancor that everyone was surprised, except your father, who just sighed with his hands on his hips.

“That was the deal.”

“The 'deal' was collaborative work. I know it may seem like a difficult term for you to understand, but no one here has been scratching their own ass all the time. You are here for what we achieved.”

There was a unique silence in space; everyone agreed with you, that was a fact, and the dissatisfaction was shared enough that no one tried to appease it.

You took more of the cigarette and looked him straight in the face, not hesitating for a microsecond with your defiant gaze. Tough girl, that was Carrillo’s thought while watching the scene - he needed to resist the urge to smile at it, to say you’re doing just fine right then and there, wearing the pants and giving your father shit.

“We don't have to go into that merit.”

“Oh, I think we do,” Your answer was sharp and fast. “What do you think we’re doing here, basically?”

“I can't risk putting agents unprepared for an operation of this size,” He crossed his arms over his chest, just as tough as you. “Considering the recent episodes of how your so-called great job led you all, I’m more than sure that this discussion isn’t necessary.”

There was a second silence, much stronger and more intense than the first time, because everyone understood what it meant and it was a subject no one wanted to discuss. It was his plan, after all, and he sure as hell used it as a weapon to disarm your aggressive behavior.

It sounded unfair. Carrillo couldn't be the only one to think that, mainly because everyone was involved and there were still the marks of the attack on your body. How could someone who wasn't there, who didn't know what you were doing with some competence, act like that? How could a father limit himself to calling his own daughter incompetent when she almost died?

“What happened with Juan Marcos was…” Javier tried to speak but you interrupted him right away.

“Say what you mean.”

“You know what I mean.”

“So let's be clear, maybe no one here has seen how cowardly you are to use this against all of us.”

“It's not a question of cowardice, it's a question of safety to make sure you don't get all lit up to do grown-up work and risk all the work trying to play heroin,” The tone your father used was bitter, full of anger and loud enough for everyone to listen. Carrillo clenched his fists at it; Javier and Steve looked between you and the man in silence. “So no, you are not going to make part of this and be thankful to have the right to be sitting here right now.”

Yes, there was a third silence, and even though there wasn't a hint of tears on your face, it was obvious that you were hurt by it. You held a disappointed expression, fingers fiddling with the still-lit cigarette between them, jaw clenched - it was like a bucket of cold water right in the middle of your face. Who was he to talk about incompetence? Who was he to treat you like that in front of everyone?

Carrillo once again resisted the urge to go to you when he saw you sigh, put out your cigarette in the ashtray on the table, and brush the ashes off your pants.

“... Peña and Murphy have experience in this type of operation. Technical knowledge doesn't trump field experience, at least not here, so consider the possibility for the sake of your team. If that's what you want.”

The colonel's mind and tongue worked before he could stop it.

“No.”

Everyone looked at him in confusion, including you, but since word was out, he stared at the table for a while before facing your father specifically.

“This won't work if we don't come to a consensus.”

“Colonel, the situation is more delicate than it appears.”

“I was there wiping the blood off your daughter’s face when they tried to kill her, and despite our differences I assure you that my trust is in every person in this room.” The decision in his voice made your father squint. “We're here to strategize, so be it, but with all due respect I'd rather have someone I know watching my back than a bunch of southern men who've only seen Colombia on postcards.”

To say that there was one more moment of silence was a bit obvious, but Carrillo could see the same feeling of anger emanating from his father as the time he had challenged him years ago, when his body was leaner and his confidence more precocious.

That time nobody said anything because it was an unusual attitude; not the retaliation, but the fact that he was defending you from an awkward situation and using as an argument the fact that he trusted not only you, someone he had reservations about, but Steve, who was hardly in his favor even afterward so long. Maybe that surprised your father too, maybe he knew the two of you didn't get along in plain sight, but that logic made the work dynamic in the name of the mission.

That didn't include the fact that you were sharing a bed with him at times. This was a secret justification that only surfaced in the exchange of glances you had as Carrillo watched everyone for a brief moment and saw you with a dumbstruck expression.

“By land and by air. We're going to need communication all the time,” He nodded at the map on the table nonchalantly, leaning against it to refocus on the plane and ignore the amount of stares directed at him.

If you squeezed his forearm gently and smiled discreetly after that, probably as a way of showing some sort of good reaction to what he said, Carrillo tried not to feel satisfied with his own self.

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

“How does it work?”

Horacio looked up in time to see your father with both hands in his pants pockets, looking at him with a curious expression. It was already night, a little late to have so many employees in the Search Bloc building, so he looked between the man standing in front of him and the door, ready to ask why he was there.

“This thing between you and her. What kind of strategy is there between you to make everything so smooth?” He talked about you as if you were a stranger, which made Carrillo particularly angry.

“My strategies are limited to my work. I do what has to be done.” The answer came politely, even as the colonel continued to stare at the revised plan on his desk.

“I know her well enough to know that she is not easy.”

“Me neither.” You neither, he thought.

“But she's not what you were when we first met,” This caught Carrillo's attention, and he raised his head again with a frown. “I brought her up to the strict function of doing a fucking decent job. Nothing out of the ordinary. What happens is that there is a difference between learning and putting learning into practice.”

“She handled the situation pretty well on her own, she's been doing it since she got here.”

“Being attacked by a narco three times her size isn't handling the situation pretty well, Colonel. You know this more than I do, we come from the same place.”

Once again, Horacio held his tongue so as not to say anything else he regretted; instead, he abandoned the focus of the documentation on the desk and leaned back in his chair, staring at your father as if the man's words were an insult - because they were.

“When your daughter arrived here, I almost committed the indiscretion of writing a complaint to the Embassy. I thought like you. I figured she would be a spoiled brat who came from the right place to the wrong fight and particularly that lasted longer than ideal.”

He paused just to remember you two on his bed sharing a cigarette, then your face while negotiating with the Montoya boy.

“I've seen too many men die to understand the weight of what these motherfucker narcos are putting on my country, agent, and I've come to recognize what I really value in a team that has the same ideals as I do.”

Dissatisfied and unconvinced by the answer given by Carrillo, your father moved with some discomfort and scoffed.

“And what ideals would those be?”

“Among other things, being ready to not pull the trigger.”

Which sounded very unusual to both of them. Not pulling the trigger? Did they really believe in this philosophy in the midst of the hell created by Escobar? Well, there you were, right? Talking to a boy sold into the drug trade, asking about a man you barely knew as you nearly died at the hands of Juan Marcos, giving up work with your father if it meant seeing your partners get recognition.

This was the kind of sense of morality that put both of them to the test of their convictions. Vocalizing it made Carrillo realize that he loved it about you - and that your father hated it.

“Balance then.”

“Yes. Balance.” Horacio nodded, already going back to his papers. “I would rest if I were you, by the way. None of us are in the physique of those years ago, we better be fine for tomorrow.”

With no direct response to the brief provocation, Carrillo smirked when he heard the office door close after a brief 'good night' and thought that, at least that way, your father had received a dose of humility he so deserved.

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

The idea was not for Horacio to show up at your apartment so late, or to show up there anyway. It wasn't part of the plan. But Javier and Steve weren't there in the building and he wanted to know how you were, which took you by surprise when you saw him standing there in the doorway.

“I thought you were going to stay in the office all night to check the details.” You said with a frown of yours, closing the door and standing considerably close to him in the small space of your corridor.

“Changed my mind.”

“... Why?”

“You know why.”

It was a thought that lasted half a second and you only had this delay because the whole situation with your father was stressful, like there wasn't a single obvious possibility for what you two could do alone in that apartment. God knew how great it would be to have a good distraction from all that shit.

Without further questions or doubts, he pulled you by the hem of your sleep shorts and grabbed your neck for a hot kiss. The first contact of your body with his made you sigh, considering he was still chilled by the night air and you had slipped out from under the covers. It wasn't so uncertain; Carrillo has come to know your body well enough to have an idea of where to start.

A hand on your neck, the other grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek without a single reservation. That would be the style of it: messy, intense, necessary.

“No panties?” He whispered against your mouth after biting your bottom lip, pupils dilating with desire as he used the same hand to massage your buttock.

“As if you liked me that much with it.”

“Remembering the important things... Really sexy, you know?”

You had to lead him to your room, so you took him by the hand to lead him to the more discreet and simple bed that adorned the small space. He'd already shed his shirts and boots by the time you climbed into bed, and the sight of his bare torso had you biting your lip before pulling him by his belt closer.

With a bite to his left breast, he growled; when repeating the process on the right side, he grabbed your hair by the back of your neck and pushed you away, which made you smile before having your mouth attacked by another kiss, this time more intense. You were two angry people, frustrated with the day, impatient with the lack of contact recent events had created, wanting more than what appeared to be just a glimpse of what you could do with the other.

This time you didn't let him rip any of your clothes off and he chuckled at your haste to get rid of the tank top you were wearing. When your hand stopped his motion to lean towards the bed, he lost some of that humor to confusion, but before he could ask, you wrapped your arms around his neck and draped your torso over his. The contact made him hiss, just to moan lowly at the way your nipples brushed on his, creating a delicious friction.

All that was left for him was to grab your waist and let you enjoy it as much as he did, while you watched every inch of the man's reactions with a smirk. It was your turn to pull him by the hair at the back of his neck, taking his attention from your breasts so he could kiss you.

The rest was improvised, he didn't even take all his pants off and you only pulled out one side of the shorts as soon as you both lay on the mattress; the garment was hanging from your leg as he put your knees on his shoulders and entered you in one fell swoop. That poor bed, miserable and cheap compared to his, creaked more than anything with the movements of his hips, the simple headboard hitting the wall with such force of the thrusts.

You were left to surrender to the moment, eyes closed to focus on the sensation of that moment and your mind lost in the pleasure he was providing you. He literally started to pound inside of you, making your voice weak in moans and whimpers, surrendered by that intercourse that took you to a strong and magnificent orgasm.

“... Where?” Was all Carrillo managed to say as he panted above you, pulling his face from your neck to look into your eyes as he asked.

“Inside,” You said with a mewl, legs still shaking from your high. “I want you inside.”

Perhaps on other occasions he would say something quite indecent, but hearing you say that seemed enough for him to spill his cum all over your pussy, groaning loudly at the sensation of filling you so good just like that.

It was like getting rid of a giant weight.

You and him, surprised as if the sex between you hadn't felt so good already, as if the weight of his body on top of yours was new. There was no other thought in that moment, just the certainty that that protective instinct could be a reality and he was making sure he would use his words and his body to make sure you were okay.

Dammit, you thought. It only took a man like that to appear in your life that you could already feel that idea in your fingertips, between the breath of post-sex and your mind coming back to reality.

That's what I was looking for.

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

Glossary

ELN: The National Liberation Army of Colombia (Ejército de Liberación Nacional) is a Colombian guerrilla organization,[1] of communist inspiration and political-military character, created in Simacota on July 4, 1964, by Fabio Vasquez Castaño, inspired by the successful experience of the Cuban Revolution.

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

No pressure tags

@cheesybadgers

@padbrookcottage

#horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo #colonel carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo fic #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #maurice compte

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sargeant-bxrnes · 2 years

Text

the inn.

࿐ ˚ . ✦ summary: even though you ‘don’t’ like him, you’d reluctantly agreed to accompany anthony on a trip— which ended with both stranded in an inn, locked in the same room. and guess what? only one bed too.

࿐ ˚ . ✦ warnings: anthony is a warning on his own, enemies to lovers (?) | smut: teasing, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, kinda rough sex, hate sex (barely)

࿐ ˚ . ✦ word count: 4K

my masterlist !!

Laughs erupted all across the table, everyone sharing looks and smiles, enjoying their time. A small breakfast was taking place in the Bridgerton’s Residence, and you had been invited by Daphne; one of your dearest friends.

"As pleasant as this morning has been, I must part now," Anthony said, standing up from his chair and straightening his clothes. "There are some state affairs I need to solve that cannot be ignored any longer. Is anyone available to accompany me on this journey? I must admit it’s quite long and it would be better in company. "

"Oh, I would love to, but I cannot, brother," Daphne said, looking around the table at all her siblings, and lastly, you. "I must go back home to my husband, we— well, we need to make some arrangements for the soirée."

"What soirée?" you questioned with curiosity, since your best friend hadn’t mentioned any soirée.

"The one we will host at Clyvedon Castle." she answered with one of her dazzling smiles.

"Alright," Anthony said with a sigh, focusing on the rest. "Siblings?"

"Oh, I am sorry, but I cannot accompany you either," Benedict excused himself. "I have an event with the art group and I cannot miss it for anything in the world."

"I must pay… Pen a visit. " With a grimace, Eloise said.

"Oh, I would love to—" Colin was saying, but a knock was heard and a grimace appeared on his face. "Ou, but I have this thing with… well, I am busy."

Everyone at the table turned to look at you, Anthony’s eyes followed as well, quickly both understood what everyone wanted.

"Oh, no thanks." You said. / "I will be far better on my own." Anthony was quick to say.

"Oh, come on!" Daphne said with a grin. "This enmity between you two cannot last any longer. I would say it is time for the two of you to grow up and find some common ground."

"It will be a good thing," Benedict added, agreeing with Daphne’s opinion. "Not only for the two of you, but for everyone. I am sure that I’m speaking for the rest when I say that we cannot stand your petty arguments any longer."

Eloise’s loud groan meant she agreed with her brother, and everyone nodded their heads as well, a silent way of letting you and Anthony know that they, indeed, were absolutely done with your attitude.

It is understandable. After all, Anthony and you have known each other for over twelve years, and you��ve yet to find a way to get along, or at least have a pleasant coexistence. You and Anthony do nothing but argue, contradict each other, and find petty little things to fight about.

To Anthony, you were spoiled, insufferable, and annoying. He could not stand you, but... It would certainly be better to have someone to accompany him than to be alone, even if that ‘someone’ was annoying.

"Then so be it." Anthony said, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to avoid showing just how annoyed he was by this.

"Ugh…" you mumbled, knowing you would now be between sword and wall. You certainly didn’t want to accompany Anthony, but it would be rude not to after he partially accepted your company.

Anthony noticed your hesitation, and instead of using that as an excuse to travel alone, he used it against you, to make you angry.

"Or does my presence bother you that much, that you will not share a carriage with me?" questioned Anthony, with a little smirk that made your insides burn. "What is it that you hide from me, Lady Y/N, is it anger still? Or perhaps... other feelings?"

Your mouth opened wide as soon as you understood what he was implying, and everyone's eyes widened, attentive to what was about to happen.

"Do not think yourself so important, Lord Anthony," you said, with a fake smile that he knew well enough to recognize. "I was simply pondering whether you’re worthy of my presence after your attitude this week."

"If I– my attitude?" Anthony sounded almost offended, but you knew he was upset by the fact that you exposed his attitude in front of his entire family. "You are no better than me. Get off your high horse."

Violet, the Bridgerton's mama, let out a gasp at that, "Anthony! Be more respectful. She's a lady, I raised you better than this."

"Have her act like a lady, then."

"And you should act like a man, not a boy." you argued.

Everyone's gazes moved from Anthony to you, back to Anthony, and back to you again. These types of arguments were not new, so everyone hoped that someday, preferably soon, these silly arguments would have a... positive outcome.

Everyone knows that what you and Anthony feel for each other is not hatred... not exactly.

“As a man, I should not have to prove anything to you, but as a token of my sincerity, I cordially invite you to accompany me on my business trip," Anthony said as solemnly as he could, avoiding smirking as soon as your expression became annoyed. "Lady Y/N, you certainly would not turn down such a kind-hearted offer, would you?"

Son of a...

"Certainly not, Viscount Bridgerton," you said reluctantly. "It would be my pleasure to keep you company on your journey.”

The smirk on Anthony's face after his ungracious comment made you roll your eyes.

You regretted having said yes, having given in to accompanying him; but your pride wasn't going to let him get away with it, you were a decent lady, and of course you wouldn't turn down a gentleman's offer, even if that gentleman was one you felt like punching— in the most... ladylike way possible, of course.

When Anthony said the journey would be long, you did not believe him, for you supposed he was saying it to discourage you from accompanying him; but it was not so. It really was a long journey.

It had been three long hours sharing the same carriage and you hadn't even covered a quarter of the distance, the only thing you had managed to do was to argue. Argue about the route, the clothing you were wearing, even about the shade of the grass outside... in other words, you argued about EVERYTHING.

As if dealing with an Anthony ready to infuriate you wasn't enough, it began to rain at the beginning of the fourth hour of the journey. And it wasn't the kind of rain that could have lulled you into calmness, no... it was a thunderstorm. A bad one, at that.

“Wonderful, could this day get any worse?” Anthony complained, looking through the window and observing the dark sky being adorned by lightning every few seconds.

“My lord?" Said the horseman through the front window. "I'm afraid we will have to make an immediate stop, it is impossible to continue the journey in these conditions, it is perilous."

If it had not meant that you were stuck with Anthony for longer than planned, you would have laughed, celebrated and danced at the sight of his frustrated, annoyed expression on his face.

His day was going badly, and you were enjoying it.

"All right," Anthony said reluctantly. "But we are halfway there, what proceeds in this situation? We cannot stay out here in the open."

"It seems to me that there’s an Inn a few miles from here, Lady Y/N and you could spend the night there, while the storm abates, and we will continue on our way tomorrow, when the weather is more amenable, my lord."

Anthony looked at you to be sure you were okay with this, he couldn't stand you and wanted you away from his presence, but he wasn't going to leave you here alone, and he wanted to be sure that at the very least you were on board with the plan.

"Sounds better to me than risking an accident." You agreed, trying to be as 'understandable' as possible.

“Alright then,” Anthony sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “The INN it is.”

Getting out of the carriage in the midst of the storm had been a challenge. Anthony got out first, and almost slipped in the mud, you merely giggled at that, for which he refused to hold your hand to help you down, being as petty as he is.

You got out by yourself and almost slipped as well, thing is, Anthony reacted quickly and wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you on your feet, which puzzled you both so badly, that the rest of the way to the INN you walked separately, so apart, that it didn't even look like you arrived together when you got in.

"Good evening, I would like to book two rooms." Anthony said to the burly man behind the counter.

"One room." said the man, checking his book.

"Two." corrected Anthony.

"One," said the man firmly, picking up the key and putting it on the counter. "INN full, storm. One room, yes or no?

“Good heaven..” Anthony said in exasperation, running a hand through his hair again. “One room will suffice then.”

Great. One room. ONE.

Anthony walked back to you and raised a finger before you even got the chance to open your mouth to protest. “I do not want to hear you complain, you heard me, I tried to get two rooms and I could not.”

“I thought you were a viscount.”

“I am, but I am not God to stop a storm, nor the Queen to order everyone to leave,” he said, starting to walk towards the room. “I guess you will be stuck with me for the night, Lady Y/N.”

Wonderful. Just magnificent. Expectacular.

"Do not look." you said firmly, sinking deeper into the hot water of the bath, trying to hide your body from Anthony, who was sitting on the bed, freshly bathed.

"You wish I was anywhere near interested." he replied, turning his head completely the other way, which is the only reason you were unable to see his expression.

You wouldn't be bathing now if it wasn't absolutely necessary to keep you from falling ill, but that didn't make it any easier. With Anthony in the room, bathing wasn't as enjoyable as it usually is, let alone now that your dress is soaking wet and you don't have anything to put on other than your corset and knickers.

"I will lend you my shirt, so you do not sleep so indecently tonight." he said, as if he had read your thoughts.

"What will you wear? Your jacket is soaked."

"I suppose no harm will come from sleeping without a shirt," he replied, still not looking at you. "Though if that makes you uncomfortable, then I can find somewhere else to stay."

"No, do not worry," you said, perhaps a little too quickly, making you more nervous than you already were. "You are being kind enough to lend me your shirt, and I will not not be so cruel as to send you away."

Anthony raised his eyebrows in surprise at your response, but didn’t say anything about it. “Fine then.”

You hurried out of your bath, put on your uncomfortable corset and knickers, and put on Anthony's dry shirt, buttoning most of the buttons to cover most of your body, although there were still parts that were exposed, such as your legs and part of your chest.

While you had stopped arguing because you were in a peculiar situation, the silence that enveloped the two of you was uncomfortable. The kind of silence that exists when there are so many things to say, but none of them are said.

“Why–” “How–” Anthony and you managed to interrupt each other after having spent around 10 minutes without uttering a word, an awkward coincidence.

“You first.”

“Well, since we are long past formalities…” Anthony began, signaling his lack of shirt and your indecent clothing. “Tell me frankly, why is it that you despise me so much?”

The question caught you off guard. You never thought Anthony cared what you thought of him, or why you chose to feel this way, but this question changes everything.

It was a good question, why indeed? Was it his insufferable attitude? His deadpan comments? The damn smirk he gave you when he knew he was getting on your nerves? The way he looked at you? The way he made you feel?

Why do you hate him at all?

"Would you believe me if I said I do not hate you?" you replied, not often do you get the chance to be honest with him.

"No,” he said bluntly and you raised both eyebrows in surprise. “Because you act like you hate me."

"I do not hate you, you just…” you sighed and looked down. “Anger me."

"Because you anger me first."

"Then it seems to me the proper question would be, why do YOU hate ME?" you questioned, raising your tone only slightly.

"I never said I hated you."

"You act like you do." you replied as he did, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

All calm seemed to leave Anthony's body with those words, he let out a growl fit for an animal and ran his hands through his hair.

"See what I mean? You are aggravating!"

"Because I act like you?" you questioned him, raising an eyebrow.

"You do not act like me!" Anthony raised his voice slightly, and took a step towards you. "You act like… like YOU! Insufferable, with that sharp wit of yours, those charming remarks that make me want to… to... UGH, you drive me crazy, woman!"

Anthony had been so focused on letting you know how much you despair him, and you on listening to him; that neither of you realized how close he was now to you.

You could feel his breath brushing against your lips, one more inch and his nose would touch yours, his chest yours, his lips yours.

“Show me you do not hate me, then.” you dated him one last time, looking at his deep brown eyes and down at his lips, then back at his eyes.

The moment your lips pressed against his, his partially calm demeanor faded away. It was all lips, teeth and tongue, a mess that quickly turned heated, your hand holding the back of his head as one of his hands found a place in your hip, pulling you closer to his body.

Out of impulse, you opened your mouth, allowing him in. And it seemed like he suddenly remembered he was arguing with you, because he bit your lower lip and pulled, to then run his tongue over it and push you away slightly.

Even though he pushed you away, he never let go. He kept his hands on your hips as he looked directly into your eyes, searching for the same feeling he felt. And he found it.

Without another word, you kissed again, but this time the kiss was unrestrained, filled with desperation, hunger, desire, passion and something more. Anthony held you as close to his body as he could, but it seemed to be insufficient to quench his thirst for you.

Slowly you began to walk to the bed, the back of your knees collided with the mattress, so you fell backwards and Anthony quickly followed, not taking his lips off yours for a second, even as your bodies begged for air.

From there, you lost all shame, your hands caressed his smooth back, his muscular arms, even ran down his chest, you wanted to feel him, to convince yourself that this was really happening and was not a dream.

His lips moved from your lips to your jaw, and he began to make a trail of kisses down your neck, slow, wet kisses that made you burn for him. He kept moving down and down, down your collarbone, and the part of your chest that wasn't covered by his shirt.

Through the open shirt, he found access to your abdomen and kept kissing, biting sometimes and licking after to ease the pain. He looked at you and asked quietly, you knew where he was going, and you wanted him there, so you nodded your head.

As he roamed your abdomen with kisses; he slid his hands under your shirt and grabbed the edge of your underwear, sliding it down your legs until he got rid of it.

You threw your head back as soon as he leaned over where you needed him most, his big soft hands squeezed your thighs while his lips left little bites and small kisses on the inside of your thighs.

He paused for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, and you sighed nervously, waiting for his caresses. The tip of his nose brushed against your clit, causing you to inhale suddenly, and at this he continued his kisses on your area, getting more gasps from you than he could count.

“For future reference, I am not against being begged for and having my hair pulled, I like it.”

Your eyes rolled at his endless arrogance, though his arrogance itself made you realise that you need him more than ever. He began to kiss gently all over your thighs, clearly avoiding where you needed him most, to tease you one last time.

Without warning, Anthony wrapped his lips around your clit, and sucked. Immediately, and knowing you would react like this, his hands roamed up your body to hold your hips, as he moved the tip of his tongue in circles and up and down.

"I must admit, for the first time, I like what you are doing with your mouth." you dared to say.

Anthony gave you a little slap on the inside of your thigh, causing you to unconsciously tighten your legs around his head.

"Do not tempt me to stop, woman."

"As if you wanted to."

"No, I suppose I don’t really want to." he admitted, before continuing his ministrations.

You let out a small moan even though you tried to hold it back, as Anthony moved his lips and tongue skillfully up and down your centre, never neglecting your clit as he used his thumb to rub quick circles. The intensity, speed and rhythm of his tongue and thumb were giving you more pleasure than you had ever felt before.

Until he suddenly stopped.

"Anthony-"

"I will make you feel so good," he said, and you felt his breath on your pussy. "For the first time in your stubborn life, trust me."

He removed his thumb from your clit, so he could slide two fingers inside you. You let out a louder moan this time, and threw your head back. You heard a chuckle from him, but Anthony didn't move his fingers.

His hot breath against your area sent shivers all over your skin, as did his voice as he said. “I feel like I ought to teach you some manners.”

“Anthony, I swear to you by all the gods…”

“Beg for it, darling.”

Fuck your ego, you need this release.

Letting go of your bottom lip, you decide to surrender and murmur, "I need it. Please, Anthony.”

His tongue soon returned to your pussy, and this time, his fingers began to slide in and out of you slowly, menacingly slow. Desperate, you grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged lightly, causing Anthony to grunt and send vibrations into your sensitive body.

“Good girl.”

The rhythm of his fingers increased as your breathing quickened, you couldn't control the way the moans left your lips without shame, nor the way your hips rose steadily, trying to chase his face.

It was so erotic, downright filthy and forbidden, but still you felt that this is the place to be. With him between your legs.

The sounds that left your lips embarrassed you at times, but it seemed to only encourage him more, and you didn't know if the heat in your cheeks was from your rapid breathing or the way Anthony was looking at you. He smiled against your skin and began to leave wet kisses before speeding up the movement of his hand.

“Cum for me, my dove, do not hold yourself back, let go.”

And that's what made you come.

For a few seconds, you see nothing but black, as you closed your eyes as pleasure courses through your body, all while he cleaned up the mess. There is a moment's pause before he rises from between your legs, looking down at you with parted lips.

And of course— Anthony being Anthony— was going to keep teasing you. And he succeeds, by wiping the corners of his lips with his thumb, licking his lips and sucking your ecstasy from his fingers.

“As sweet as I imagined, truly.”

“You imagined?” you inquired, sitting on the bed to get a closer look at his face.

“Is my devotion not enough proof to you?” he questioned, licking his lips. “I have desired this for a long time, my lady.”

“Is that so?” you questioned, biting your lip.

“Allow me to enlighten you just how much I want this.”

He gave you a little push and you fell back to the bed, he helped you remove the corset from your body, leaving little kisses across the newly exposed skin, one of his hands travelled between your legs again, knowing full well what he had to do. His thumb circled over your clit, his fingers teasing your entrance.

"I think you are ready for me now," he assured, standing up to remove his trousers, leaving you puzzled at his size. "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely."

He let out a little smirk and quickly got on top of you and without further ado, entered you.

“Bloody hell, Anthony..." you murmured, accidentally leaving scratches on his back, as his hips moved at a fast, rough and above all, deep pace.

Anthony said nothing, but gasped and left a nibble on your shoulder as you tugged lightly on his hair, and he sped up the movements even more, his dick hitting your spot with each and every thrust, the pleasure was almost uncontrollable, as he, who was insatiable. He couldn't get enough of you.

You knew that in addition to the sexual satisfaction this brought him, it was also feeding his ego to be on top of you, making you moan after fighting for so long.

And you certainly wouldn't let him win.

As best you could, you placed your hands on his chest and pushed him off you, causing him to pause for a second, when you pushed him back to lie down, and straddled him, that's when he understood.

You lined him back up with your entrance, and lowered your hips, making both let out a loud moan.

You began to move at a pace that was satisfying to you, but not satisfying enough for him, which was making him desperate and even more so when he knew you were doing it on purpose.

"Do not tease me."

"Oh, where is your playful spirit, Lord Anthony?"

"Here it is." Anthony placed his hands on your waist, also moving his hips up and down, intensifying the depth and speed.

The moan that left your lips did not go unnoticed as he increased the speed of his thrusts even more, hitting your spot again and again and again. Determined not to let him win, you began to clench your walls around him, just as he moved his hips down.

“I'm going to... I'm going to cum.” He said, tightening his grip on your waist.

One last wickedness, for the sake of the rest of the night.

You suddenly stopped moving, which made him look at you with confusion, and some anger too. Slowly, you began to move your hips in circles, causing his dick to have different sensations and reach even deeper, and that's what made him finish.

And the sensation of that, plus the sight, which was him closing his eyes and biting his lower lip, while the muscles in his abdomen tensed, was what ended up making you finish.

You fell exhausted a few seconds later, pulling him out of you and lying down next to him, aware that you must clean up, and above all... talk, but you were so tired that you didn't even want to move.

Anthony got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, taking a wet towel, wiping himself and then you, carefully. He threw the towel to the bathroom and returned to the bed, lying down next to you.

"Can we put this absurd enmity behind us? It seems pretty obvious to me how we really feel about each other," he commented calmly. "While it's fun, I do not want you to think of me and have it be a negative thing, Y/N. I am tired of it. I think it’s time we face our feelings as they are, would you not agree?"

“And what exactly are those feelings?”

“Quite the opposite of hate, it seems to me,” he said with a smirk. “There is adoration, admiration, certainly a bit of devotion, a sprinkle of exasperation, but lots of…”

“Love?”

“That precisely, my lady.”

“So, are you saying that—“

“Yes.” he confirmed, not quite saying it, but you knew what he meant.

“I love you too.” you blurted out, the truth that had been eating you alive for years now.

He kissed the top of your head and sighed. Anthony remained silent for a few seconds but you knew he had something else to say.

“I cannot believe I got you to say it out loud first.”

“If it’s a game to you, I will take it back, for you have not said it back.”

“You were never and shall never be a game to me, my lady. And you cannot take it back now, it’s etched inside my mind.” he placed to fingers under your chin, softly lifting your head so he could look at you in the eye. “Also? I have loved you since I met you, since the very first time you challenged me, since you smiled at me for the first time. I just wanted to point that out.”

“Good. You ought to own and earn my love from now on, my lord, no more dick-ish behaviour.”

“No more, my lady, I promise.” Anthony pulled your body over his. “I shall treat you like you deserve.”

You smiled widely, proud of him and yourself. Anthony began to hum a song that, along with the rain, slowly lulled you into a deep sleep.

Who knew that an INN away from everyone would be the answer?

(Probably the Bridgertons, who planned it all.)

#bridgerton #bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton imagine #fic rec #alina writes #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton icons #sargeant-bxrnes

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 3 years

Note

Hi!!! Congratulations with your 4k followers!!! You deserve them and more! Here's to the next 4k followers.

For your 4k followers party I was wondering if you could do the fluffy prompt "Person A and B playing laser tag (on opposite teams). Person A then pins person B to the wall, kisses them, and then shoots them with the laser gun." with Marcus Moreno.

And again, CONGRATULATIONS!!!

aaaaaaah I was hoping whoever got this prompt would request it with Marcus Moreno. Thank you SO much

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x f!reader

Wordcount: 919

Warnings: fluff and more fluff (and a very unfair win)

Dating was always complicated to you. You were too awkward for your own good. That you ended up getting married to a man you truly fell in love with was more than you could have imagined. And even though after 6 years of marriage and a son when you decided to get a divorce you still loved him. Probably always would.

Dating got only more complicated after that. What man would date a single mom in her mid thirties?

The answer to that came almost two years after your divorce in the form of Marcus Moreno.

You had been out with your son Jack in the park when he ran after his ball, ignoring you as you ran after him, screaming for him to stop as he was getting closer to the street. In the last possible moment a man jumped in front of your son, stopping him from running to the busy street. This was how you met Marcus Moreno. He saved your son's life.

Today, almost a year later, was Missy Moreno’s birthday.

“Stop it,” you scolded Missy with a grin and she sneaked away, only to try it from the other side. You were putting the icing on her birthday cake.

Marcus, you and the kids were in the middle of a test trial of living together under the same roof. It was day 4 and everything was going better than expected.

“Please? I just want a taste?” Missy pouted and made those big eyes that her Dad had already perfected and used to his advantage to persuade you to do almost anything.

“Ugh you Moreno’s and your pouting,” you rolled your eyes playfully before you let her have some icing.

“Happy Birthday Missy,” you said with a smile before you hugged her close.

“There are my two favorite girls,” you heard Marcus behind you. Looking over your shoulder you still couldn’t believe that this man was yours.

Today he was wearing the black vest he normally only had on during missions. “Preparing for war,” he had joked this morning while getting dressed. You had just kissed him a little more intense than usual, leaving him moaning against your lips.

Something about him in his tactical vest was making you have thoughts that definitely didn’t belong on a kids birthday party.

“Can you help Jack with his shoes, Missy?” Marcus asked, knowing that Missy took teaching Jack how to tie his shoes very serious.

“On it. Everything for my baby brother.”

You smiled after her. Jack was only 3 years old when he met Missy for the first time. They’ve been inseparable ever since.

“Mhhhh… This looks delicious,” he hummed, attempting to also steal a taste from the icing. You slapped his hand away.

“What is it with you Moreno’s and cake icing?” you asked with a chuckle.

“We like sweet things,” he grinned before he almost tackled you against the kitchen island, peppering kisses all over your face. You giggled, your arms flying around his back, to keep yourself from falling backwards.

“You’re lucky I love you Moreno,” you said out of breath, tears of laughter in your eyes.

“So lucky,” he hummed before he kissed you properly.

An hour later you were wearing a vest yourself, a laser gun in your hand.

“You’re going down Moreno,” you grinned at Marcus. You heard Jack laugh, sitting on your Mother’s lap, all the other kids Missy invited somewhere inside the laser tag area.

“Gotta find me first,” he winked, before he turned around. You waved to Jack before you slowly followed Marcus. He may be a Hero but you would get him first, and if it’s the last thing you did.

You chose a more secluded area. It was dark and the neon lights didn’t do much to help your mission. Slowly you pushed yourself forward, close to the wall. You could only hair faint laughter from down the bigger part of the area. Narrowing your eyes at a shadow you brought the laser gun up, about to shoot what you thought was Marcus when you felt a hand around your wrist, pulling you in a darker corner, lips crashing down on yours.

You gasped against his lips, feeling him smile as he pinned you against the wall.

“Been waiting to get you alone all day, sweetheart,” Marcus rasped, sucking your bottom lip in and you whimpered quietly. The game forgotten you brought one of your hands up to his hair, pulling him closer so you could kiss him again.

“Marcus…” you whispered, as his lips wandered down your jaw to your neck only to be interrupted when you heard the sound that someone had been shot. Marcus looked down at you sheepishly as you noticed the gun he had pointed against your side.

Opening your mouth in shock you gasped.

“Did you seriously just shoot me?”

“Told you I was preparing for war this morning,” he smirked and you rolled your eyes.

“Not fair,” you pouted and he chuckled.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“I hate you,” you groaned and he laughed.

“I love you too. And if I remember correctly the winner gets whatever he wants.”

“I guess…” you shrugged, still a little mad at his unfair win. He knew you couldn’t think straight when he kissed you.

“Well I guess it’s good I asked your Mom to take Jack and Missy for the night, huh?” he winked before he kissed you again.

Okay. Okay maybe you would have let him have this win.

Taglist:

@ladyreapermc / @cherry-gemz / @melchills-j / @justpedropascal / @raspberrymama / @parkjammys / @novicepearl / @perropascal / @hotspacepilots / @sleep-tight1 / @freeshavocadoooo / @princess76179 / @pumpkin-stars / @evyiione / @princesssterek / @palaiasaurus64 / @turkish276 / @maciiiofficial / @re-reads / @trippedmetaldetector / @liviiii98 / @greeneyedblondie44 / @darnitdraco / @tobealostwanderer / @gracie7209 / @rosiefridayrogersunday / @dindjarinneedsahug / @autumnleaves1991-blog / @sharkbait77 / @elegantduckturtle / @marvelousmermaid / @stevie75 / @dihra-vesa / @idreamofboobear / @peoniarose / @anaaaispunk / @paintballkid711 / @castleamc / @just-here-for-the-moment

#steph's 4k celebration #my writing #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x f!reader #pedro pascal #fanfic #fanfiction #drabble #fan fiction

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inkandpen22 · 3 years

Text

Permanent Chaos (4/?)

Pairing: MGK x Female!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: mild swearing, mentions of underage drinking

Part Summary: Sam hosts a party and Y/N makes a not-so-great acquaintance of a certain rock star.

Masterlist

Sam’s house is filled with people. I know the majority of the partiers, the rest I can recognize from whatever field of entertainment they’re in. The music is blasting over the speakers and the voices fill the remaining space.

I search around for him. I manage to find him in the family room on the couch. He’s chatting with a group of people, including Penelope. I make my way over, shuffling between bodies. When I appear out from within the crowd, Sam gleams.

“You made it!”

“I did!” I giggle.

We hug and he introduces me to the girl beside him. “Y/N, this is Cara.”

As if I don't know who Cara Delevigne is, I may be busy but I don't live on Mars. I smile at her kindly. “Nice to meet you!”

“You too! I’m a huge fan of your work on TSL!” She gushes, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

The Seasons of Life is often shortened to TSL, just a side note.

Cara’s accent is so pretty! She’s already a model then she has to have a British accent as if she wasn’t perfect enough!

“Aw, thank you so much!”

Sam slips by me. “I’m going to go get us a drink!”

"Oh wait, Sam!"

“I know what to do!” He shouts back without stopping. I should know better. With how much time we spend together, he would know my order.

“That kid,” I sigh to Penelope and Cara.

The two giggle and we go on to talk about this and that. Fun enough, Cara leaves for Paris tomorrow for a fashion show. Must be exciting to travel so often and to wear the most amazing clothes. She’s quite funny. Her personality is so vibrant and warm. I can see us being good friends.

A loud voice echoes through the house and the three of us look toward the archway to see who it’s coming from. Bodies block the view so I turn my attention back to the girls. Penelope and I discuss the photoshoot in two days and Cara talks about her experiences with Vanity Fair.

“Hey, Cara!” A voice greets behind me.

I don't turn around, but I can feel their energy hovering over me. They shuffle to stand right beside me. I glance up, but can't recognize them.

Cara stands up to hug them. “Good to see you! How are you?” She keeps him in an embrace.

“Great, great!” The guy, who’s back is to me for some reason seems familiar. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“You know Sam?” She questions as they part.

“Not really, I came with a few friends.”

I look over at Penelope for a hint as to who it could be. She shrugs and watches the two interact.

“Speaking of, have you seen him? I should say hi.” The man asks.

“He went to the kitchen to get a drink for him and Y/N.”

The man turns around and he peers down at me on the couch. I should’ve guessed it… MGK. The hair and a million tattoos should've been a dead giveaway. That bright blonde mess of a hairstyle.

“Colson, this is Y/N Voss,” Cara introduces us.

He glances down at me with a smile. “We’ve met actually,” he claims.

My head tilts, I can’t recall when we've met properly.

“Today after I performed on James’s show,” he describes, towering over me.

“Oh! Awesome!” Cara sits back down next to me.

All I can do is stare at Colson in confusion. “If you count glancing at one another from across the room once as meeting,” I reply a bit snarky.

He gives me a toothy grin and eases down onto the cushion ottoman right across from me. “It was more than one glance,” he argues.

“You would know, you’re the one that never looked away," I fire back.

Cara and Penelope exchange a glance, snicker, then leave the scene together. They offer their goodbye before giggling away. They're smart.

Colson seems to have not noticed or at least doesn’t care. He moves to take Cara's spot on the cushion next to me. “You would’ve had to been looking to have noticed that I never looked away.”

My head rolls back, with a mocking laugh. “Well aren’t you a genius!”

He rests his arm on the back of the couch behind me. “I like to think so.”

“One vodka tonic.” Sam interrupts, holding out my drink.

I take it bitterly. "Thanks."

“Sam huh?” Colson stands up and the two shake hands. “I’m Colson, nice to officially meet you, man!”

Sam treats him like an old friend which annoys the heck out of me. Colson so far has only shown his arrogance to me. “You too! Great seeing you today at the show. Your performance was amazing.”

“Thanks, your interview was hilarious!” Colson fakes charming better than some actors.

“You watched?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I stuck around just off-camera. You two are great!”

Watching these two talk each other up is a bromance waiting to happen.

Sam gestures to me with his glass. “Y/N here is the real comedian. There’s never a dull moment with her."

“I'm sure.” Colson peers down at me with a bright smile. "We’ve only just met and she’s already sparked a debate with me.”

I narrow my eyes at Colson, what’s he trying to start?

Sam settles down on the ottoman where Colson was. “What about?” He is all for the conversation and is jumping headfirst into the tiff between us.

Colson smiles but I see the mischief in his eyes.

“It wasn’t a debate” I rise to my feet in front of the boys. “If you would excuse.” I step away from the couch a little irked.

“Oh come on now Baby, I’m only joking,” Colson calls not bothered.

“Oh no,” Sam laughs behind me. “Best not call her that or any pet names for that matter. She hates them!”

I don’t even acknowledge them on my walk out of the room. Cocky, annoying, ugh! It’s been maybe five minutes and he’s already managed to irritate me. Maybe all the things they write in the tabloids about him are true. A spoiled, arrogant, womanizing jerk. A piece of the worst parts of the industry. I'm going to go find the girls and stay far away from Colson Baker.

________________________________________

On the set of the Vanity Fair shoot, the atmosphere is lively and carefree. The theme is an 80’s vintage style and since it’s coming back the magazine is mixing old with the new. Sam and I are in an old-fashioned record store and it’s wicked! The walls are teal and remind me of an old Taco Bell. There are rows and rows of just vinyl records. My hair is teased in an 80’s rock band kind of hairstyle. 80s music has been playing on set all morning to set the mood. I'm living for it!

A lady approaches me with a huge light wash denim jacket.

“No way! I get to wear this!” I gush.

She helps me put it on and I’m dying from how awesome this shoot is.

I immediately go to Sam's trailer. “Sam! I’m rocking the denim on denim look!” I show off my high-waisted light wash denim shorts with a black bulky leather belt around my waist.

He laughs. “I appreciate the denim on denim but I have to say my favorite part is the old Bon Jovi T.”

The photographer, Adam, comes up with this brilliant idea for me to stand on the crates of records. Where the two rows in the middle of the store meet, there’s enough room for me to stand. Once I’m up there and I can find the balance in these red heels, they have Sam join me.

“Sam, grab her leg and look up at her as though you’re keeping an eye on her,” Adam instructs.

The camera flashes and between snaps, I change my facial features.

“Good! Good! Let’s get some shots from the counter!”

Sam helps me down from the crates and I hop down. We get a shot of me laying across the counter with a red sucker in my hand and Sam hovering over me. This shoot is incredibly fun and I can’t wait to see the finished product.

Sam and I change outfits and Adam asks if he can get a video for the website and YouTube channel. Of course, we said yes. It’ll be a montage of an interview of us individually and then of us just messing around throughout the store with 80’s music playing in the background. Adam has me sit on an 80’s style floral couch they set up in front of a backdrop in the back room. The whole setup is very comfortable and intimate. Only us, a few lights and a camera with the radio playing. Sam is in makeup and dress for the part of the video of us being candid.

“You can sit however you like!” Adam instructs, meaning I’m sitting too formal with my posture straight and legs crossed. “Act like we’re just hanging out or something.”

I adjust myself and crisscross my legs, slouching a bit.

“Much better!” he compliments, staring down at the camera. He hits up on a stool and positions his camera on the stand. “What’s it like to be on the cover of Vanity Fair?”

“The whole experience is unreal! I remember having a subscription to Teen Vogue growing up. My friends and I loved them!”

“Would you describe your style as modern or classic?”

“Classic for sure!” I gush.

Adam snickers. “What’s your favorite decade for fashion?”

I laugh and gesture down at my outfit. “The 80’s.”

“Does anyone from the 80’s inspire your style in particular?”

I tap the tips of my fingers together and hum. “That’s a toughy! I guess I would have to say Demi Moore for the hair. Specifically, her haircut from About Last Night… that’s where I got the style for my hair actually. Another big one would be Cindy Crawford, such a fashion icon!” I could talk about fashion all day and the icons idolize.

“Heels or sneakers?”

“Depends on the occasion. Sneakers for everyday things, I could never live without my trusty Converse. Yet, I would wear heels if I’m dressing it up a bit.”

"Are you more of a girly-girl or tomboy?”

“People who know me well would say I’m a girly-girl but I also don’t mind downplaying it from time to time. I’ve gotten better lately at relaxing and no being so “on” all the time.”

“Hair up or down?”

“Half up, half down,” I wiggle my eyebrows playfully looking into the camera.

Adam chuckles behind the camera. He changes topics. “You’re from South Carolina originally...”

My heart sinks a little at the mention of home, but I hide behind a smile. “That I am.”

“You haven’t been back in almost a year, do you miss it?”

I play with the ends of my hair, examining my lap. Avoiding the camera lens. I look at anywhere but there. “If I were to miss anything about South Carolina, it would be the gorgeous landscape and southern food."

“You have three siblings, correct?” Adam asks next.

“I do, an older brother and sister, then a younger brother.” I list.

“What do they think about the show and your career?”

I nod. “They support me but the distance is hard. As you said, we haven’t all been together in almost a year.”

“Do you have any plans to go visit home soon?”

I sigh, “sadly no, my work keeps me quite busy.”

The interview goes on and we discuss how my style has evolved since I was a teen starting out in the business. I’ll admit, the topics about home and family sucked. Work and personal life are two separate jobs, my worlds can’t collide. I never bring South Carolina into it.

______________________________________________

After the shoot, I received a call from Cara when we were finishing up the photoshoot. Last night, Cara, Penelope, and I had a blast! I completely forgot about the whole tiff with Colson once I reached them in the kitchen. Since then, we’ve been three peas in a pod. While we were talking on the phone, she invited Sam and me to dinner at The Ivy.

“A small gathering of friends,” she told me and asked for us to be there by seven.

Jump ahead to now and Sam is parallel parking the car. I hop out and wait on the sidewalk for Sam to walk around. Our hands' interlock and the paparazzi take notice of us when people on the sidewalk pull out their phones.

“Y/N! SAM! SAM! OVER HERE!”

“HOW’S FILMING GOING?”

“It’s good to be back on set!” I cover my eyes with my clutch.

“YOUR INTERVIEW WITH JAMES CORDEN WAS GREAT!”

“SOCIAL BLEW UP AFTER THE INTERVIEW!”

Sam asks for the guys to make a path so we can get through without issues. He releases my hand and presses his palm to my lower back protectively.

“WE’VE ALREADY SEEN Cara AND PENELOPE GO IN!”

“A FEW PEOPLE ACTUALLY!”

“ARE YOU ALL MEETING UP?”

“Maybe, maybe not!” I look into one of the video cameras and wink.

The guy behind it gets a hoot out of my expression.

Sam and I reach the restaurant and the men let us go in unbothered.

“WE’LL LEAVE YOU ALONE TO YOUR DINNER!”

“Thanks guys, see you later!” I wave to them and their cameras shoot rapidly.

The noise dies down when we go back further into the restaurant. Sam spots Cara in the back and guides me back there. Tables are lined up in a long row and the majority of the seats are filled.

Cara, cool as a cucumber pulls me into a hug. “Hey Y/N! So glad you two could come!” She sits Sam and me across from each other near the middle. She insisted that I sit by her so we could chat. We get to talking about the Vanity Fair shoot today then she’s pulled away when another guest arrives.

The waitress comes up behind me and requests my drink order.

“I’ll have a sweet tea please.”

“We only serve unsweetened.”

I hate it when they say that. “That’s fine, thank you!” Sam eyes me and I pout about having no sweet tea.

“You realize there’s sugar right here.” He slides me the packets of sugar.

“Yes but it’s not the same. There’s sweet tea at every restaurant where I’m from and I come here boom! Sweet tea is nonexistent!”

"What’s the drink that’s carbonated?” He’s asking to be annoying because the west coast and the midwest disagree on the name.

“Pop!” I glare at him.

“That’s right! Pop! Sounds like you’re saying pot every time.” He laughs at his own joke, finding himself humorous.

“It’s soda by the way," he corrects.

“Uh uh,” I refuse to change my ways, “it’s pop.”

The empty chair next to me slides back and when I glance up to see who’s doing it, an instant headache hits my brain.

Sam greets Colson warmly with a handshake. I shoot Sam another glare. He’s acting neutral but that shouldn’t be a choice in this case. He was my friend first!

Colson removes black Ray-Bans from his face and positions them on top of his head.

“Hello Y/N.” Colson sends me one of his charming grins so many teen girls swoon over.

“Hi,” I reply, not attempting to hide my disinterest. I curve my body away from him and towards Cara, legitly giving him the cold shoulder.

The dinner goes on without a hitch surprisingly, considering the circumstances. Penelope leans down over the back of my chair to say our goodbyes.

I turn around in my chair to face her. “See ya tomorrow.”

“See ya,” she rubs her hand up and down my arm.

She and I exchange kisses on the cheek. “Love you!” We say in unison as we part.

“Later Sam!” She wiggles her fingers at him in a wave.

Sam and I stick around a while longer since Cara and I have gotten into a deep conversation about our shared love for vintage things. A conversation about our collections of records alone went on for twenty minutes. I hadn't noticed that it was just four of us now. Sam and Colson have been talking most of the dinner.

A pair of hands rest on my shoulders and steal my attention away from Cara. “Y/N, you ready to go?” Sam asks.

“We’ll head out too!” Cara announces with her sights directed behind me.

I look over my shoulder and Colson is standing beside Sam. The four of us walking out together… how convenient.

I grab my clutch, sticking close to Sam to dodge Colson.

The four of us walk toward the front of the restaurant and right when we reach the steps leading outside, Cara announces that she forgot her purse.

“I’ll be right back!” She urges us to go on without her.

The cameras waited for us as I assumed they would. They’re capturing every minute of us waiting for Cara.

I place my hand on Sam’s shoulder, “would you go help her?”

“You sure?” His eyes flicker between me and Colson.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him and he promises he’ll only be a second.

“Go to the car so you aren’t bothered,” he refers to the paparazzi.

“I’ll walk her,” Colson offers.

Sam gives him the go-ahead as he goes off to help in the search for the purse.

I’m left with the one guy I was avoiding. I grip the keys in my hand and walk down the brick steps to the sidewalk. I hear Colson behind me and stop to address him. “I can walk myself to the car.”

He raises his arms mocking a surrender. “I don’t doubt your ability to walk, just helping out.”

“I don’t need your help,” I scoff, starting to walk again.

“I never said you did,” Colson sassily replies.

*Click* *Click* *Click*

A man runs around me to get a photo of me straight on.

“Y/N! Y/N! WALKING IN WITH SAM AND LEAVING WITH MGK, ANY EXPLANATION?”

I pause for a moment, making eye contact with the man behind the camera. Is he honestly trying to start drama? What lies are he going to sell? I’m only going to the car because Sam requested. The only reason Colson is even near me is that he’s so freaking persistent.

I push back the aggravation and force my lips into a kind smile. I can’t have a single moment of weakness. I can’t give in to my emotions like others. “Sam is helping Cara with something inside. Colson was kind enough to walk me to the car.”

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU GUYS KNOWN EACH OTHER?”

I purposefully answer quickly so Colson doesn’t even have the chance to think of a response. “Not long, we met the other day backstage at The Late Late Show. We have a lot of the same friends and had no idea!” I peek over at Colson and he gives me a knowing look. I dismiss it and go on with my charade. I will not let this jerk mess with my career.

“ANY CHANCE OF HAVING COLSON GUEST STAR ON THE SHOW?”

“That would be great!” I lie my butt off, “having more friends on set would be fun!”

“COLSON, HOW’S YOUR NEW ALBUM COMING ALONG?!”

“We’re in the recording stage right now. Should be released sometime this summer," he answers.

“FOLLOWING UP WITH A TOUR?”

“Of course!” he chuckles.

I unlock the car and move around the guys to reach the door.

“WE’LL LET YOU GUYS GO ON. ENJOY THE REST OF YOUR NIGHT!” One of them departs.

“Thank you! You too!” I wave goodbye.

Some stick behind to get a few last pictures but for the most part, they all disburse. The ones remaining, however, keep their distance.

I yank on the handle of the door and Colson holds it for me. As if he's a gentleman. I begin to climb in, prepared to yank it shut in his face.

“Friends huh?” Colson chuckles.

I turn around abruptly and check around the general area of the sidewalk for any cameras. Seems the remainder of the guys have left. I shut the door and Colson removes his hand in a rush.

“No, not friends! I only said that to please the public," I huff.

“Ouch!” he acts offended, placing his hand on his heart. “I did find it interesting that you claimed we met backstage the other day so I was right!” He chuckles, believing he caught me.

“No, no, no, no!" I shut that thought down quickly. "The only reason I made that up was that it’s not good for my image if I admit I was at a party. People tend to assume that heavy drinking and drugs occur at parties. I can’t be associate with that scene!”

“Oh, so it’s alright to lie?” He crosses his arms and snickers, glancing down the street toward the restaurant.

I roll my eyes, of course, he doesn’t understand, why would he? “You don’t get it” I scoff, dismissing him. I turn and reach for the car handle again.

“So what if you were at a party? People drink, if some have a problem with that, that’s their problem. Oh! I forgot! You're America's Sweetheart! The perfect angel princess with a spotless record,” he mocks.

I slam the car door shut, having hit my limit. I keep my voice hush. “It’s not that simple! I'm not like you! I can't be caught partying! If the country, the world, sees the truth then my image is ruined! I've been doing this since I was a teenager! I worked way too hard for far too long to lose everything over a stupid mistake!”

Colson’s face falters from his usual carefree expression to one of seriousness.

“Found it! Let’s go!” Sam announces loudly to the whole block.

I toss him the keys and glance back to Colson who stands there in a stillness I have yet to see from me. His stare makes me want to hide. I feel as though I’m under a microscope being studied.

“Toodaloo Y/N! ‘Till next time my pals!” Cara strolls down the sidewalk.

It’s evident she’s had a couple of drinks. She sways further down the sidewalk and comes to a stop once she notices Colson isn’t following.

“Later Cara!” Sam shouts over the top of the car behind me.

Colson and I stare at each other I’m guessing for different reasons. He appears lost in thought and I’m desperately trying to figure out why. If I look away, I fear he’ll break to pieces or something.

Cara pauses. “Colson? You coming?”

He holds out for a moment but finally breaks eye contact with me. "Yeah."

When I’m no longer staring into those black works of art I regain my ability to move. I hurry into the car and Sam says his goodbyes again over the top of the car. I buckle my seatbelt when he climbs in. Watching strangers walk up and down the sidewalk, I’m perfectly aware of Sam starring me down.

He pulls onto the street. “Are we gonna talk about it or are we doing silence?”

I reach over and turn up the radio.

“Of course you make your own option.” Sam watches me, waiting for some sort of explanation.

We come in at the end of a song and the next one is oh too recognizable. The classic rock sound that is a part of all of Colson’s music plays through the car speakers. His vocals enter the soundwave and I groan loudly over the music before turning off the radio.

"No music then!" I snap.

__________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @canyoubuymetoast @bri-3530 @asil1652 @andstilltryingtofindmyself @nadia2021 @olafsidehoe @mgkobsessed @fairywriting101 @ferrell-cat @naylanae-0308 @tonystarkswife10 @alexsa5 @brocksbabyyy @stormrider505 @magnificenthumancopangel @sarcasticfangirlus @lilramencup95beech @missyviolet123 @skeleton-gxr @glitterybearllamaflap @margaritaville20 @amoresix @thysagclub

#mgk smut #mgk fanfic #mgk imagine #mgk #mgk x reader #mgk aesthetic #machine gun kelly #imagine #fanfiction

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Sugar and Coffee [22]

Chapter 21 - Chapter 22 - Chapter 22.5 OR Chapter 23 [Finale]

➜ Words: 4k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

There’s quite a few things that you hate. You like to say you’re a somewhat well-mannered individual who wouldn’t use such a strong word, such as hate, to describe objects, people, and things in general. But there’s a number of things that just absolutely grind your gears. One of such examples are small spoons used to eat ice-cream or crème brûlée where you can never get a satisfying mouthful. And another is— “Fuck this yeast. Seriously.” “Hey, what did yeast ever do to you?” Jungkook laughs, finding your rage all the more amusing. “It won’t foam up.” You tap the measuring cup with a long sigh. Sure, the mixture is bubbling, but it’s nowhere near as good as you want it to be. “It’s been five minutes too.” “Did you put in sugar to feed it?” You scoff. “Who do you take me for?” You hate making bread, hate making laminated dough, hate anything that has to yeast. It’s just horrible to work with and you don’t understand how anyone can like bread in the first place. No one can eat bread on its own. It’s bland as hell. It’s boring. But aside from your personal vendetta, it just didn’t make sense — you and Jungkook have the same dry active yeast but when he proofs it, it’s perfect. You wonder if these tiny organisms hate you. “I hate yeast and bread and everything to do with it.” “Quit whining.” While Jungkook brushes past you, he taps your bottom. “Less complaining, more working.” “Easy for you to say.” Jungkook continues the recipe. He whisks together three tablespoons sugar, a tablespoon of salt, and three cups flour. In the meanwhile, you stand there, tapping your glass and wondering if you have to re-do the entire process. But then another thought comes into mind. And you slyly switch yours with Jungkook’s. “Whatever, we’ll see what happens.” You clear your throat, discreetly shifting past him to grab the salt. “Who knows, it might end up fermenting properly,” he says and a noncommittal sound is made at the back of your throat. Quickly, you make your dry mixture and pour the yeast in with some oil. It forms into a soft dough, bouncy to the touch, and just the right texture. At the same time, Jungkook returns to grab the yeast and immediately frowns. “What the fuck is wrong with my yeast.” He brings it up to eye level, frowning. You shrug. “Yeast is finicky. Was your water too hot when you poured it in? Might’ve killed it.” “But it was fine befor—” Jungkook’s voice halts. His eyes dim. He redirects his gaze towards you and deadpans, “You switched it, didn’t you?” “What?” You laugh. “No, I didn’t.” It’s frightening how he figured it out in an instant. You ponder just how much Jungkook can see right through you. “You took it, didn’t you?!” Your boyfriend playfully throws his arm around your neck and pins you under his armpit in a choke hold. You giggle, grabbing onto his forearm. “I didn’t!” “You’re still trying to lie to me now, brat? I expected better from you!” He laughs and you squeal. “Jungkook!” Finally, he lets go of you, but not before huffing out in frustration. You’re unable to recover when he ruffles your hair roughly, disheveling your entire head and sighing again. “Now I have to re-do mine.” You pout, watching him grab the container of dry active yeast. “I have to make sure my bread rises.” He smiles softly. “So now you admit stealing from me?” You dust off the flour from your hands and approach slowly. When the opportunity is right, you grab Jungkook’s arm and loll your head to one side, fluttering your lashes. “You wouldn’t be upset with your wonderful girlfriend, right, Kookie?” “Don’t try to act cute with me.” You lean against him. “I’m not. I just love you.” Jungkook scoffs, but a tiny smile still lifts on his features. The corner of his mouth is timidly quirked and you know you’ve won. The dough is kneaded until it’s elastic. Then the bowl is covered with a damp cloth and put in a warm place where it rises for an hour and a half. Afterwards, you punch the dough down on a lightly floured counter, shape it, and bake it in greased loaf pans. For hating everything yeast, you must admit that the smell of fresh bread filling the kitchen is mouthwatering. “It rose!” You peek through the oven in its last minutes, observing the way the crust is turning golden brown. “It looks so good.” Jungkook looks over your shoulder. “Not bad. We’re going to have to do it again though. Or at least you do.” “What?” The oven closes and you whirl around. “Why?” “You can’t use my yeast during our exams.” Your boyfriend’s expression is impassive and you open your mouth to retort, but end up closing it. There’s no way you can argue against that. “Ugh!” Your feet stamp childishly. “But I hate it!” He smirks and brushes past you. “Should’ve done it right in the first place.” “Shut up, Jeon.” The scent of bread baking in the oven only serves to mock you now. Jungkook tears his teeth into his bread, having lightly buttered it before eating. It’s still steaming hot and looks soft inside. You’re jealous, but also thankful when he stays around and watches you try a second batch all on your own without stealing any of his yeast. “Too much salt or sugar could slow down the yeast,” Jungkook says. “If the water is too hot, you’ll kill it. If it’s too cold, it won’t activate.” You sigh. “Why is it so difficult?” “It isn’t. Just keep trying. The best upcoming pâtisserie chef isn’t going to give up on something as simple as bread, right?” Your boyfriend smiles when he sees you can’t even feign a pout, that your mouth twitches at the compliment. Motivation flares through you. “That’s right.” You check water twice, ensuring that it’s the perfect amount of warmness and after you add the godforsaken yeast, you measure out sugar carefully. There’s little agitation before you set up a stool to watch it move. You pray these microbes will do your efforts justice, that they’ll release their carbon dioxide and ethanol, that they’ll bubble and ferment and make your dough rise later on. “Are you going to sit there and watch it?” “Shush,” you hiss at Jungkook as if the yeast could be scared to death. He smiles, plops a kiss at the top of your head and walks away to clean up his pans and bowls. In the meantime, you wait for five minutes, and then another two just to make sure. By then, it’s bubbling. “Is this good?” You bring it to Jungkook, not sure anymore. He peers inside the bowl. “Looks okay to me.” “Then I did it!” You throw yourself at him for a big hug and the yeast mixture nearly sloshes above the rim of the bowl onto the ground. “We can go now, right?” Jungkook snorts. “You still need to make the bread, sweetheart.” You pout. It’s such a pain. But it’s worth it when dough rises, the bread bakes perfectly in the oven, and Jungkook claps for you. When all is said and done, you feel lucky that Jungkook’s here for you, a personal cheerleader of sorts, always rooting you on. You didn’t know bread could taste so sweet.

“Jungkook.” “Hmm?” He’s nodding off, head rested in his palm, elbow on the counter, slumped on the stool. He’s trying hard to keep his eyes open, but he’s been dozing, hair flopping around as he tries to keep himself awake. It’s painful to watch him. “Go to bed.” “’t’s okay.” Jungkook straightens his spine and stretches above his head with a yawn. “I’ll wait for you.” “I’m not going to be done my cakes for a while. Just go back and sleep. Aren’t you tired?” “Only a little.” He slides off his stool anyway, oddly obedient when he can’t be bothered to put up a fight. Still, Jungkook comes over and you instantly know what he wants. He leans down, propping his chin on your shoulder, and you hug him as he folds over you. His body is nearly covering your entire frame like a blanket, but it’s warm and comfortable. “I wanted to wait for you,” he mumbles sleepily into your shoulder. “You’ll see me tomorrow, you big baby.” He makes a disgruntled noise, eyes shut, squeezing you before letting go. You smile at him. “Here.” And you help Jungkook undo his white apron. He turns around so you can undo the strings and once it’s free from his body, you haphazardly toss the apron on the counter. You press your hands against his cheeks so his mouth puckers and you place a brief kiss to his lips. “Okay, now go back and sleep.” “Okay.” Jungkook relents and retreats away, barely dragging his legs along. A soft smile finds its way on your face, but right when the door of the kitchen closes, your nose scrunches. There’s a smokey smell in the air. Immediately, you whirl around to where you’re working and a gasp rips from your lungs. Jungkook’s apron that you tossed, the one he once told you was precious and lucky to him, is caught on fire. The cloth is curling right on the stove, burnt off, red flames engulfing it. After a delayed second, you finally lurch forward and grab the edge of it to dump it in the sink. The smoke rises as you turn on the tap and you watch, completely stunned and speechless. “Shit. Shit!” // You’re at a loss of what to do. You’ve stuffed the dirty thing in your bag, went home and tried to recover it. But the white apron has a huge gaping hole right at the center and there’s nothing to be undone. You tried to read the tag too, to find the brand, to find where it was manufactured, but it’s been worn and faded. So you consult help. “Jimin, do you know where Jungkook’s apron is from? The one he usually wears.” “No idea,” the boy says and you’re flooded with complete disappointment. “Didn’t his grandpa give him that thing before he passed away? I think it’s why Jungkook started baking in the first place.” Blood drains from your face. You feel worse than you did before. Jimin notices the way your expression crumples, how you’re on the verge of tears and his eyes widen. “Are you okay?! What’s wrong?” “Don’t tell Jungkook….but...I…..I accidentally burnt his apron.” There’s a quiet pause. “Oh shit.” “What do I do, Jimin?” Guilt and remorse eats you whole, chewing and spitting you out to leave you nude and mortified. “I just took it off of him and threw it on the counter. I didn’t know it would land by the stove!” “You can’t read the tag?” When you shake your head, the boy sighs and his voice softens in sympathy you don’t want. “I’m sure Jungkook won’t be upset with you, Y/N. It was an accident.” But you can’t come clean with him. You can’t bear seeing Jungkook’s disappointed face. The inevitable expression that’ll arrive if you tell him you destroyed a precious belonging. If you tell him you ruined his late grandpa’s last gift. If you tell him you wrecked what started him on this journey. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen something like this before.” Aeri holds it up, studying the pathetic piece of cloth in the light and ignoring the giant hole in the center. She’s the next person you turn to and perhaps your last one. Yoongi would just laugh in your face and call you an idiot. Taehyung can’t keep a secret for his life. And Hoseok has more than enough on his plate than to deal with your antics. Jimin and Aeri are the ones who are understanding and kind enough to actually help you in your dumb crisis. “Have you tried searching online?” “I found one similar on amazon but it’s not the same. The pockets are placed differently. He’ll know.” “Doesn’t Jungkook have the standard one from school?” “It’s...not the same.” You exhale in defeat and fall back onto her bed. You cover your face with your hands to shield away the sunlight that comes through the windows. The nice, autumn weather felt like it was mocking you. “What should I do? What if Jungkook breaks up with me over it? I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.” The girl laughs. “He wouldn’t. Jungkook’s not that kind of person. I’m sure if you just told him, everything will be okay, Y/N.” That’s what everyone reassures, and in the back of your mind, you know he can’t be upset with you for that long. But Jungkook trusted you with a personal belonging of his — something so special and you burnt it to a crisp. You feel guilty. There’s no amount of apologies that can bring the apron back to how it was. You’ve ruined it like how you ruin everything else in your life. // “Hey, have you seen my apron?” Jungkook’s digging into his belongings a few days later, having searched his locker and is now looking into his drawers and into his closet. You swallow hard, knowing that this was imminent. “N-nope.” “Weird. I swear I had it here….” You glance at your backpack. There’s a new apron that you bought, had it shipped to you in a day’s time. You picked the nicest gift bag to put it in too, but you haven’t had the courage to confront him about it. You wonder what Jungkook would do if he decided to end the relationship over this. Maybe he’ll cite that he’s done with your shit, that you’re irresponsible and too clingy. That you’re too emotional, how he can’t trust you with anything, and perhaps he'll say he needs space. You’ll survive — you know that much. You’ve been through enough in your life to know you’ll make it out, but surviving is not the same thing as living. Jungkook’s become such a big part of your life — your boyfriend, partner in crime, best friend — you don’t know if you’ll ever be ready to be without him. You love him, more than you’ve ever loved anyone else before. “What’s the matter?” Jungkook’s suddenly squeezing your face together, the cheesiest grin painted across his own visage. “I’ve been calling you for the past five minutes. Are you thinking about someone else when you’re with your boyfriend?” You blink at him, eyes becoming glossy. Jungkook’s confusion takes over when you don’t make any snarky comebacks, when he realizes you’re not in the mood to joke around. He slowly lowers his grip and sits down on the edge of his bead, concern taking hold. “Is everything okay?” Your breath staggers out from your mouth. “Don’t be mad.” His brows furrow deep. “What’s wrong?” You open your mouth, but realize that you can’t say it. So you lean down and grab the gift bag from your backpack. You hand it to him and he takes it in his bewilderment, peeking inside. You tear your eyes away. You can’t bear to see his face. “I’m sorry. Really. I am, Jungkook. The….the other day when I took off your apron, I threw it on the counter without looking and it caught on fire. I was trying to look for another one, but I don’t know where it’s from and I know it’s special to you, and I’m so sorry.” There’s silence. Then the noise of his chuckling. You lift your head and you’re instantaneously engulfed into Jungkook’s arms, hugged by him. “I love it, thank you.” You’re stunned — and it takes a moment for you to snap back to reality. “You’re not mad at me?” “No.” Jungkook scoffs lightly and pulls away with a grin. “I was wondering why you’ve been so quiet the entire day. I was more worried than anything. You didn’t get burnt, did you?” “No.” “Good. Then that’s all that matters.” He’s humming happily, unfolding the new apron and pushing out the folded wrinkles. Then Jungkook stands up while holding it out on his body, checking how it looks in the mirror. You can’t comprehend how he can be so forgiving. “Wasn’t the other one from your grandpa? You started baking because of him, right?” “Kind of. He cooked a lot and told me I should find something I love to do and make it my job. It was a bit of a whim.” The boy turns around, doe eyes twinkling. “But that old man gave me a whole box of stuff, not just the apron. And honestly, it was kind of getting old and worn, so I’m glad I have a new one now — plus it’s from my amazing girlfriend, so how can I not love it?” It takes three seconds. Three seconds and then you burst out crying. You’re not sure exactly why and it causes Jungkook to be alarmed. He tries to comfort you, but he’s obviously uncomfortable as he pats your back and caresses your hair awkwardly. It’s only when you’ve calmed down a bit where he wipes your cheeks with his thumbs and asks if it was something he said. When you tell him you’re not quite sure, the next question he asks is if you’re on your period — and you almost slap him. The pair of you don’t talk about your meltdown again, but in the middle of the night while you’re still awake, you’re finally able to pinpoint your emotion. It wasn’t that you were afraid of Jungkook being angry or breaking up with you — you were afraid of disappointing him, of breaking his heart, of hurting him. You know anyone else in your life would’ve been let down. But not Jungkook. And for that, you feel relieved, reassured, comforted. You feel fortunate that he loves you, and most of all, you realize just how much you cherish the boy named Jeon Jungkook.

In the middle of your bread and viennoiserie class, while your floured hands are folding laminated dough, Taehyung looks up from the counter with a sudden question. “What kind of wedding cake do you guys want?” “The hell did that come from,” Yoongi grunts beside him, his beloved silence now broken. “Well I was just thinking salami and prosciutto would be so delicious with bread, because I love myself some deli meats and there’s this super cute girl at the deli I go to, but I’m pretty sure she has a boyfriend. Anyway, I started to remember the cakes they had on display at the bakery section and there was a funfetti one with a cartoon rabbit on it that looked a lot like Jungkook.” “What?” Taehyung keeps rambling, literally thinking out loud, “Then I realized he and Y/N are probably gonna get married someday, and I wondered if I was going to be a groomsman at the wedding and what kind of cake they were going to have, so yeah. What kind of cake do you guys want?” Yoongi's expression is disconcerting as if he’s wondering how Taehyung lives peacefully with a brain like his. “Do you ever get tired being yourself?” “Hey, you asked.” The tall brunette is unbothered by the insult and turns to the two of you for an answer. “What kind of wedding cake are you guys going to have?” Your mind is reeling. Getting married to Jungkook seems so far away from now. The pair of you are barely in your twenties, and you’re not particularly inclined to get hitched so young. But in terms of cake — your own specialty — you’ve had one in mind since the beginning of time. “Well obviously, we’re going to have chocolate.” — “Fresh strawberries and cream.” You and Jungkook both answer at the same time over top each other. Your heads turn, eyes meeting, stares connected. “Of course we’re going to have chocolate.” “Aren’t you sick of it? I make chocolate for you all the time,” Jungkook argues. “And you eat some every other day.” “I could never get sick of chocolate.” You frown. “Since when did you like fresh strawberries and cream?” “Always.” He shrugs. “And when we worked at Kim's cakes, that flavour always tasted the best to me. It’s fresh, but still sweet. I think everyone would like it. It’s versatile.” “Yeah, but what matters is that we like it.” “I like it.” “Yeah, but I think chocolate is just more fitting for us.” Yoongi sighs, looking over at Taehyung. “Here they go again.” “What?” You direct your attention to the sleepy man, a sharp bite to your words. “What do you mean ‘here we go again’?” Taehyung’s eyes widen and he begins to slide away from the counter, not wanting to be in the face of your wrath. Yoongi, on the other hand, has never been intimidated by you in the least bit. “The both of you are always fighting.” You glance at your boyfriend. “No, we’re not.” “First it was about cookie dough and then pineapple on pizza, soufflés and now this.” Yoongi spits straight up facts without sugar coating it and you’re left stumped. You didn’t realize how it looked to outsiders. You know there’s never animosity between you and Jungkook — it’s just debates, but you suppose the arguments happen frequently. You stare at Jungkook and he smiles tenderly at you. The man turns back towards his friends. “I like getting Y/N riled up. Isn’t it fun to watch her?” “Excuse me?” you scoff, not expecting that kind of response. “Ugh.” But Taehyung takes his words in a completely different meaning and his face scrunches. “So this is a kink you guys get off on? Making other people suffer by listening to your bickering?” Jungkook doesn’t say anything and merely wiggles his brows. It makes your face hot and Yoongi appears disgusted as well next to his baking partner. Your boyfriend looks off at you. “How about chocolate strawberry cake then? We can have chocolate cake layers and alternate between cream and ganache in between. We can frost it in strawberry buttercream with strawberry roses as decoration — and of course, a pile of chocolate strawberries as the topper.” You grin at him, leaning in to press a kiss on his lips. “Brilliant. As usual.” “Ugh.” Taehyung groans even louder. “Nevermind. Go back to hating each other. I can’t handle you two being sappy and gross.” “Well get used to it,” you tell him proudly while Jungkook drapes an arm over your shoulder, approving your message. It’s only when the teacher brushes past all four of you and reminds all of you to continue kneading your dough do you remember that you’re in class with everyone eavesdropping in. But you don’t mind shamelessly flaunting your relationship with Jungkook — you’re proud of him and of loving him. // It’s later that night when you’re snuggling while watching some show playing on his laptop, that you verbalize some doubts that Taehyung’s snuck into your mind. “Do you think we argue too much?” “What?” Jungkook turns his head. “Not really. I like arguing with you — well, not in any way that makes any of us upset or anything, but I like our heated debates. Why? Don’t you?” “I do,” you hum. “I was worried you didn’t. I don’t want to make it seem like I’m always picking fights with you.” He laughs and the sound is melodic to your ears. Jungkook’s grip on you tightens, making sure he’s holding you close. “You are. But I don’t mind. We don’t need to agree on everything to be together.” You lean into his warmth and a content sigh escapes your lips. Of all the things that you disagree with Jungkook on, you think he would agree that the both of you cherish being with one another. Future wedding or not, you want to savour every moment and all the antics you have together. That’s all that really matters.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenario #btsboulangerie #jungkook x reader #jungkook baking AU #jungkook baking!AU #sugar and coffee #ONE MORE CHAPTER GUYSSSS

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moonlit-imagines · 3 years

Note

Congrats on 4k! 💖

-For the shipping event-

name: Meredith

fandom/movie/show: marvel

extra choice: mentor

gender/pronouns: female, she/her

sexuality: straight

likes: watching movies, listening to music, animals, math, learning new things

dislikes: rude people, spiders, needles, close-minded people, misogynists

hobbies: singing, acting, playing the clarinet (concert + marching band)

extra info: I'm a morning person, I'm extroverted and I've being around people, plus I'm very friendly. I'm an ENFP and a Hufflepuff.

thank you!!

s/o: loki laufeyson and you met when he ended up on sakaar. you were an actress that the grandmaster adored, so he’d invite you to his parties quite often. loki was a fan of theater, as well, and you quickly caught his eye. grandmaster noticed your looks at each other and decided to quicken the process by shoving the two of you together and demanding you get to know each other. and it worked!

enemy: grandmaster was a hard person to get along with, but you were stuck on sakaar and he was the highest authority, so you reluctantly put up with him and his nagging and whining. he was just exhausting to put up with and all he wanted to do when you acted was “give you advice” and have you put on more shows. very annoying.

best friend: valkyrie and you became roommates, actually. being the grandmaster’s two favorite people, he wanted you to be each other’s favorites, too. you did get along quite well, though. she was tough and hard to handle, but you cared for her like a sister and fought like it, too.

mentor: grandmaster, again, loved giving you unsolicited advice. so much of it. he was no actor, he only acted like a child. it was excruciating trying to deal with his antics and constantly calling for you to come entertain him with a “new piece” or some kind of twist on an old one, then he’d tell you how to do it better and to run the scene once more. ugh.

#i wish i knew what i was #ask #shipping event #4k event

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bisexual-horror-fan · 3 years

Note

PLEASE omg if you have open requests could you do a female reader x Charles lee ray (in his human form) where he hires her for the night *wink wink* but ends up being kinda smitten by her so he keeps coming back to her?

Heyyyyyy! Alright this took a while but I poured a lot into this, I really loved this prompt and wanted to make it hit! This is my first time writing a full solo one shot for him so I really wanted to do this right. So I hope you like it, deff made Charles pretty soft in this and am very happy with it so let's get into this!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 4K. Charles Lee Ray X AFAB! Sex Worker! Reader. Warnings. Sex Work (Obviously We Respect Sex Workers In This House As Always.) Some Complex Feelings. Mild Angst. Charles Being Soft. Vaginal Sex. Blow Jobs. Fingering. Hair Pulling. Dirty Talk. Fingering. Interesting Relationship Dynamics. Smoking. Mentions Of Murder. Blood And Gore.

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Reminders Of Her.

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She left.

She had been gone for months and he just wasn’t doing good. Nothing felt right. She finally had enough of his shit, he thought it was another stupid fight, he stormed out and when he came back home the next day all her essentials were gone, packed up and she left him a note. A fucking note for Christ’s sake. He was so fucking mad that he ripped that dear John letter into pieces.

He was mostly angry at himself. For being so blind to the signs, for thinking he could keep doing whatever, whenever and that she would always stick around, for foolishly taking her for granted. She was the best thing that ever happened to him and he ruined it. Had no one to blame but himself and that pissed him off even more. The fact there was no one to pin the blame on made it hurt worse.

He knew that he was really fucked up over her leaving when he was attempting to tape the note she left back together. The fact he saved the shreds of torn paper was already embarrassing enough. When he was sitting at the table and halfway through taping it together it hit him and he said quietly, “What the fuck am I doing?”

He snatches his coat and scarf up on the way out of the apartment. Keys and wallet in one pocket, smokes and a lighter in the other. He needed to get out of there, the apartment felt too big, too empty without her. He kind of hated how much she had gotten under his skin, caring so much about someone, relying on another person, ugh, when did he get so soft?

To say his feelings were complex on Tiffany and her up and leaving like this was an understatement. He was walking aimlessly downtown through the cool night air, hands stuffed in his pockets, mind unable to stay still, pouring over it all over and over.

He was so cold to her, he should have noticed her pulling away, how she was less excited to see him, wouldn’t engage the same way. That fight they had, her asking him not to go and the last thing he said to her on his way out the door, pulling his arm out of her grip as he spat, “Get the fuck off me.”

She looked so hurt and he should have stayed but he left. And when he got home he realized that she left too. Guilt and regret weren’t emotions he usually indulged in but she always had a tendency to pull all sorts of things he didn’t think was capable of feeling. Too many fucking mood swings but he finally settled on thinking that she deserved better. Hell of a lot better than him.

He let out this small laugh, a sad and broken thing, seriously, when did he get like this? He felt like a total idiot. He should really just let her go.

He had some misguided thought that she would come back. Was even a little confident and cocky about that but as the days turned to weeks he realized that no, she must really be done. He felt sad, he felt lonely, he felt a lot of things.

He didn’t want to be.

He had been taking walks like this out of the house more and more often, desperate for something to distract himself. He had been walking for God knows how long, well over an hour at least.

What was he supposed to do with himself now? He felt the pack of smokes in his jacket pocket and decided a cigarette was as good enough a place as any to start. He dug the pack out and stopped his stride, pulling one out and putting it between his lips, pocketing the pack and pulling his lighter up. He clicked it, nothing, clicked it again, still nothing.

Annoying. He clicked it again and still nothing, “Fuck.” he rolled his eyes and after nother few unsuccessful clicks he threw the lighter away from him, pissed and just wanting a damn bit of relief and then you spoke up.

“Need a light, stranger?”

It startled him a little, had no idea that you were there, eyes immediately looking over to you and hot damn. Look at you. Leaning against a brick wall, and the first thing he thought, couldn’t help it, you reminded him of her. The shade of purple you were wearing was something she would wear, and the lipstick you had on, the black heels, even the look in your eye, just something there that screamed her. You were looking at him expectantly, a small smile, holding a metal zippo lighter out, offering it up to him and before he realized it he was stepping closer to you, hand out to take it as he said, “Thanks.”

He was still a bit thrown, trying to subtly look you over and just it was wild the feeling you gave him that reminded him of her, he took the lighter and you responded, “No problem.”

Another click and the flame came alive on the first try and he lit his cigarette with a deep inhale and that felt better. Relief personified, whether he meant the cigarette or you was still up for debate. He flipped the lid closed and handed it back over and you asked, “Long night?”

He pulled his smoke back with a laugh and exhaled, “How could you tell?” You gave a non-commital shrug and said, “Not the first person I have seen with that look. Won’t be the last either.”

“So you see it a lot?” He asked as he watched you digging into your own pocket, you pulled out your own pack and fucking hell, of course you smoked the same brand she did. “In my line of work? Absolutely.”

He looked a little harder, another inhale of smoke, letting what you said hang there before he asked, “And what is your line of work exactly?”

You were looking him up and down, a wide smile before you asked, “Oh want me to open up and share?”

A nod from him, a bit unsure, he was wondering why you were being so cagey about this, and you said, "Alright. Might be willing but it depends. Are you looking for a good time?”

Oh.

Well shit.

The meaning obviously was not lost on him.

He thinks why the fuck not? What has he got to lose? He is sad, lonely, feeling rather pathetic and this might help him feel a bit like his old self. He was dying for a distraction and this seemed too perfect to pass up. The long and short of it is he didn't want to be alone. You asked what he wanted, started to talk about prices as you both smoked and he asked, “How much for the whole night?”

The whole night? Well fucking hell that sounded good to you. You weren’t sure if he had that kind of money, clothes were kinda nondescript, he wasn’t dressed shabbily or anything like that but if he did have the money to back that up he didn’t show it through how he dressed. Either way if he did have the cash to burn you were in for a good night. You told him and he didn’t blink at that, just agreed. If only you knew it was because he killed someone the night previous and got a hearty stack of money off him. On the way to the hotel you couldn��t help noticing that he certainly wasn’t bad looking, okay that was underselling it, he was pretty attractive, different then the usual clintell you had.

On the way up names were exchanged, he assumed it wasn’t your actual name and didn’t press, why would he? And he was unlocking the door as you said, “I’m curious, and normally I don’t ask this, but have you done this before, Chuck?”

Chuck? Huh. He wasn’t sure how he felt about you calling him Chuck so he decided to leave it for now and he pushed open the door, “Does it matter?”

“No, suppose not.” You mused with a smile and soon cash upfront was in your hand and then it was tucked away and the night got started.

Any small lingering doubt was washed away easily and quickly. You just made him feel so at ease, conversation was light and fun, you were absurdly hot and obviously very good at what you did. Your mouth wrapped around him felt heavenly, made so much of the stress and tension he had been holding release from his muscles, your enthusiasm was too good, the way you pulled off of his wet cock, lipstick smeared and damn that was a good look on you.

His back to the headboard of that hotel bed, you in his lap, rolling your hips, riding him, hands threaded in his hair, tugging as your hips rose and fell, enveloping him again and again, he couldn’t keep himself quiet. His hands on your waist, helping pull you down to meet him, hard breathes and sounds of pleasure spilling from his mouth alike, unbidden. He asked you to keep talking, he wanted to keep those pesky thoughts at bay, fill all of his senses with you and you did as asked right away.

Dirty talk was a strong suit, a frequent request and you gave it to him as you rode him, your nails raked over his skull before you wrapped his long hair around one hand, a hard pull as you uttered filth to him. Another roll of your hips that almost made his eyes roll back with a quiet, “Fuck.” Oh yes if all of that was anything to go by he liked it very much.

It was a good night. Like a really fucking good night, more than worth it, the head you gave and the way you fucked just fantastic. In between rounds you and he would talk, both smoked on the hotel room balcony, even ordered some food at one point, some late night movie on the tv. The lights were off, just the light from the tv illuminating you both as you shared fries, he caught himself looking at you as you watched, riffing off the bad movie, making some joke and fuck this was nice. He knew he had felt lonely but didn’t realize just how much until getting to spend this close more personal time with someone. It was the best night he had in a while.

In between the sex and conversations and the rest he eventually fell asleep. He woke up to see it was light out, checked the time, it was ten in the morning. He rolled over and the bed was very empty, the other side was cold, you were long gone. It wasn’t like he expected to wake up with you, actually he wasn’t sure what he expected, he sat up and snatched up his pack of smokes from the nightstand and found it empty, shit that is right he finished it last night.

He leaned over and threw it in the trash and in doing so noticed something on the opposite nightstand, folded paper. He picked it up and unfolded it, a note, a much different one then the last one he had received, not just that as he unfurled it a cigarette fell out, you left one for him.

He couldn’t help it, the smile that spread across his face as he lit it, still in the warm bed sheets as he read what you left. You told him it was a good time and that he was more than welcome to call you and hire you again anytime, left a number to reach you at, and shit he might just have to take you up on it. He reclined in that hotel bed and enjoyed that smoke you left him, reluctant to leave the room he spent that great night with you, knowing he’d have to go back to that lonely apartment. The note you left smelt like the perfume you wore and he carefully refolded it and when he checked out and headed back home his hand was on it in his pocket.

He thinks he got too invested too fast. It was a one time thing, a bit of fun, a distraction and it was a hell of a good one. So even though he held onto the note, even though he thought of it, he didn’t call you.

Well. He didn’t call you for two weeks. He tried to last longer, he really did but fuck even that? Meaning to last longer? Instead of never ever fucking calling you or seeing you again? He was in trouble. He raionalized it that he just needed to fuck you again, get you outta his stystem, yeah that made sense, he tried to tell himself as he called you.

You were happy to hear from him. He was a fun time, you didn’t have many clients who wanted to have you for the whole night, not because they didn’t like you, far from it, but you just knew your worth and charged accordingly. You were damn good at what you do and knew it, were confident in yourself.

You agreed to meet him up. He only wanted an hour this time and that was more than fine with you, while he apparently had money to back himself up not having enough to blow on a full night every time he saw you which made sense. You made easy conversation on the way to the room, a very different one than the last, the kind that you could have a deal with to book it for an hour at a time. As soon as you were both in the room he was on you. Seemed he was really in need. You didn’t complain as you were bent over the bed and the obscenely short skirt you had on was pulled up and you panties pulled to the side, rushing, he was rushing and the second he was inside you the moan of his name left your mouth, rushed and sounding almost full of reverie. How did you fucking do that? So well? It was utterly intoxicating.

Which was a massive fucking problem.

He tried to get his fill in that hour. Fucked and touched and took, really fucking took, and hoped and prayed this would be it, that he would be able to stop thinking about you.

After parting that night he felt good, really fucking good about it. Thought it just might have worked. It didn’t. It really, really didn’t. He still kept thinking about you, still kept wanting you. He was lamenting it one night and then the thought struck him, “Who fucking cares?”

Like legitimately who cares? So what if he keeps wanting to see you? Why was that such a problem? Again he was trying to rationalize to get what he wanted, and what he currently wanted was you, and so even though he should definitely be questioning all of this he wasn’t, couldn’t bring himself to.

So he kept seeing you. Here and there, spending his extra money on getting to be with you and it just kept getting better, you liked seeing him, happy he became a regular, the conversation was nice, the shared cigarettes and the vibe was just good with him, he could be pretty funny too. Not to mention the physical stuff you got up to was definitely a fucking hell of a lot more enjoyable than some people you had visiting you.

And so it became a regular thing, and faster than you would like to admit he became your favorite client, a little routine and schedule was formed, it was great. It had been weeks upon weeks of this, he was on top of you, fucking into you and the view of you below him, it was impossibly hot. Looking at the way your head fell back and exposed more of your throat, lips parted and your hands on his shoulders, just looking at you, shit. He was struck with this feeling, this longing ache in his chest, this deep and visceral want.

Not the usual want he experienced with you, one to let go and have fun, to losing himself and forget his actual life outside hotel rooms, to fuck. This want was one he hadn't felt in months, since her. At first this was about the fact you reminded him or her but now? Oh my God now it was because he actually liked you.

The compulsion to indulge himself was too great, he ignored every reason why it was a bad idea and made his move.

He leant down and you caught on immediately and put a stop to it. One of your hands dropped from his shoulder and came between you and him, two fingers pressed to his lips and prevented him from kissing you, stopping him short, you teased him. “You know that costs extra Chuck. You sure you can afford it?”

The sound he made, one of disgust and he rolled his eyes, he grabbed your hand and ripped it away as he spat, “I can fucking afford it.”

You wanted to laugh. You recalled the first time he hired you and you were talking all about what you offered and when you told him kissing cost extra he scoffed with a laugh and said, “Yeah that won’t be necessary.”

You were fine with that and let it go. Not everyone had such a rule but you liked to, kissing could be such an intimate and personal thing, you felt like it helped keep more of a barrier between you and your clients, keep some of the risk of them getting too attached at bay. He apparently has since changed his mind.

So you taunted him, looking for proof for him to back up his claim that he could to quote him, “-fucking affored it.” and you said looking up at him, all hot and defiant, just how he liked it. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t hesitate after that, leaning down, his mouth meeting yours, kissing you hard and you returned it with ample enthusiasm. It felt far too good, his mouth sliding against yours, he didn’t stop, was still fucking you this whole time, but now the pace picked up. Getting to have this after all this time was absurdly good, getting to kiss you after fucking you so rough well over ten times, it got to him terribly, he kissed you harder, his hips slapping against yours, balls deep, his hands slipping behind your knees and pushing your legs up.

He gripped harder, pounding into you, his mouth never leaving yours, heavy breathes and tongue and teeth and it was the best fuck he had with you so far. “God! Chuck-” You breathed against his mouth. Shit it elevated it and made him finish so much quicker.

He came so fucking hard, unable to stop the moan he let into your mouth, hips stuttering, pace faltering as he hit his peak, holding all the way inside and even though you thought of it you decided to not tease him about how he trembled during his orgasm.

He lingered, untangled and pulled himself away slowly, like he didn’t want to yet and you picked up on that. Neither of you commented on it and it wasn’t weird, it was all fine, a shared smoke and more easy conversation before he and you parted ways again. A casual wave with a smile and you vocalizing that you hoped to see him again soon.

Too deep. He was in far too deep. He knew that but he couldn’t tear himself away from you, just couldn’t bear it, so he decided to keep it going, continually throwing himself into this, losing himself in you. He was still trying to be careful with who he killed and took money off of, you on his mind and consuming his thoughts as he used some poor sap as his own personal ATM to continue to feed his habit of spending time with you.

Normally all that would be on his mind was the kill as it was happening but even as he watched sharp steel slide into that man's throat and the thick warm red pour out all he could think of was burying himself inside of you.

The next time he visited you and he told you what he wanted is when you realized he had feelings for you. More than just friendship or wanting to fuck and relieve stress, it was more, deeper than that. But what made you realize this? It was him, sitting on the bed and looking over you, something a bit vulnerable in his gaze but still laced with unmistakable heat as he told you what he was craving, “I want to get you off.”

You were a bit confused by that, not exactly a very usual request you got. You were about to try to question it but he was still going, “Want to know what makes you feel good, show me?” He wanted to fucking pay to make you cum? Again you liked him, had a good time but usually, other than the last time you hooked up, was rough, rushed, filthy, and that was fine with you. This was very different but not unwelcome. You agreed, excitedly.

Clothes stripped away and you were on your back, leading and letting him touch you. He took direction well, on his side beside you, hands roaming until one of his hands settled between your legs. His fingers slowly starting to work you over, fingers finding your clit easily, pressure even and steady and more importantly, consistent, once he had it just so and you gasped out, “Chuck! Just like that.”

When you first started hooking up he wasn’t sure how he felt about you calling him that but it has grown on him immensely, and how could it not when you moaned it like that? Just so sweet, every time he got to have you he couldn’t peel his eyes away but now especially, wanted to commit every little sound and move to memory. He didn’t let up, fingers kept pace as your hips started to squirm, as you got more vocal, he paused only momentarily, his hand came up, he wet two fingers in his mouth and fuck did you enjoy that particular view.

No time to linger on that, hand back down, those two same fingers inside of you making your hips roll as his thumb pressed to your clit. Fingers rocking back and forth inside of you, pressing to that sweet spot, thumb drawing circles onto that most sensitive part of you, and that urge was back, overwhelming and he kissed you again which caused you to moan against his mouth. You lost track of time after that, fingers in his hair, kissing him back, your tongue made the first move that time and that pulled a hum from him, hand not slowing and it felt so good. Pleasure making you feel almost boneless, totally at his mercy even with you breaking apart at points to give directions, and before you knew it you were breathless panting out his name, over and over until you came. Pleasure washing over you as your thighs tensed and walls clenched around his fingers, clit throbbing under his thumb as your head fell back with a curse.

Christ it was good. You were catching your breath, reveling in the afterglow and he pulled his hand away, and when you opened your eyes back up, looking up to him, taking in his expression, something warm in his gaze. “How much do I owe you?” he asked and you gave a small hum before tugging him to you with the hand that was still tangled in his hair, kissing him.

He was a bit surprised by that but returned it, after a minute of luxuriating in the shared affection you tugged him back and answered his question with a smile. “That one is one the house.”

Least you could do for such a loyal client.

#Charles Lee Ray X Reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #Here it is!#Enjoy it all of you

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