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peachesofteal · 4 months

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Simple Math / Part Seven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.8k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Brief suggestive content, sex dream. Mentions of domestic violence, stalking. Hospital setting, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Mentions of stress and weight loss. Soft dads. Little bit of flirting. Simon is... Simon. You get caught in a spell.

Johnny knows this is a dream.

It’s an odd thing, to be conscious of it, to know you’re dreaming but still unable to control your actions. It’s like watching a movie of yourself, but also being yourself, directing your body without having a say in what it’s doing.

He knows this is a dream, because you’re in it. You’re in their home, in one of Simon’s oversized sweatshirts, boy shorts rucked up over the little lightning bolts that arc across your hips, the underside of your cheeks. You’re smiling at him too, like you belong in there, like it’s yours too, and his heart swells, growing to a preposterous size.

“There’s my bunny.” He pulls you into his chest, mouthing up your neck and over your jaw. Your skin tastes like sugar, and when he gets to your lips, his hands shift, sliding down your back to grab two fistfuls of your ass with a groan. “Missed ye.”

“We missed you too.” His fingers trace the edge of your panty line, barely dipping into where you drip for him. “Come to bed, Si’s waiting.” You whisper, stifling a moan.

“Johnny.” Simon calls him, too loudly. He wants to hiss, snap at him about not waking the baby. “Johnny!”

His eyes blink open. White ceiling stares back at him, and he turns his head, finding Simon with a bemused look on his face.

“I was havin’ a great dream.” Johnny grumbles, latching onto him. Simon scoots closer, lifting the back of his hand to his lips with a secretive smile, dotting kisses down to his wrist.

“I know.”

“- and he has access privileges, as long he’s not interfering with care, he’s allowed to be in the room whenever he deems fit. Obviously, in cases where he shouldn’t be, like burn debridement, he’s fine with stepping out, but you should expect him to sleep here.” The nurse nods, nervously peeking over your shoulder at Simon, who’s lurking in the hallway, staring through the glass at the transport techs getting Johnny settled in his room. You catch her eyes, motioning to redirect her attention, and she mumbles a meek apology. “They have a daughter, who Johnny has been mostly separated from since he got here, and he’s hoping to see her often, since she’ll be allowed to visit more freely now. I told him it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Okay.” Her toes tap against linoleum, weight shifting from foot to foot, and you resist the urge to sprint back to her boss and demand someone else. Fuck. Why does Nora have to be on maternity leave?

“This is my favorite patient.” You warn her instead, dropping your voice low, pitching it brazenly serious. “I don’t ever want to see him back upstairs again, and that’s going to depend a lot on you.”

“Okay, okay.” Her work phone rings, and you jerk your head in dismissal, not quite finished, but not seeing a need to continue to harangue her, either.

Simon glances at you from down the hall, head turning once you’re alone. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t call to you, or say your name, but you’re helpless to the magnetic yank of his presence, a beam of gravity dragging you closer until you’re shoulder to shoulder, looking into Johnny’s room. He’s asleep, dark lashes feathered against his cheeks, blissed out and nearly snoring. “This will be great.” You say quietly. “He can see Penny almost as much as he wants down here. There are far less restrictions, and he’s doing so well, there’s nothing to worry about it.” He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with the x-ray vision that peels you open. Like he’s digging around in your head again.

“D’you have a minute?” You blink at him, graceful words dried out and missing.

“Uh, I… yeah, I’m technically off now so. Sure?”

“Have a tea with me? I’ll meet you outside the café, on the patio. Ten minutes alright?” Have a… have a tea with him?

His eyes are heavy. They’re lasered, locked onto yours, brows knitted together in something soft, some form of emotion that you don’t understand, framing his face above the mask. How can you say no?

“Okay, sure. Ten minutes.” You try to hide how your hands shake, tucking fingernail to palm, squeezing tight.

It doesn’t escape him.

You grow more afraid with each day, that nothing does.

The paper cup cradled in Simon’s outstretched grip is like every other paper cup you’ve seen before, drank from a thousand times, with steam wafting from its rim and aromatics spilling out into the air. “Sorry.” You blurt, reaching. His fingers brush against yours, warm contact momentarily stunning you. ‘Thanks.” You lift the tea to your nose, inhaling deeply.

Irish breakfast. With milk. Your favorite.

“How do you know what tea I drink?” You don’t mean for it to sound so suspicious, or aggressive, but it does. It’s nearly accusatory, but doesn’t affect him. He merely shrugs in response.

“I pay attention.” An engine turns over in the carpark, a small car sweeping across the lot as it turns out onto the street. You watch, feigning mild interest, trying to get a closer look at the driver without appearing too fixated. “So.” He sips, and then removes the lid, vapor rising from the top in a delicate little dance. “How long have you been at Addenbrooke’s?”

“A few years.” The answer is effortlessly supplied, like you’re under a spell. Your eyes go round. What are you doing? Crow’s feet crinkle at the corners of his own, and you manage a shaky smile.

“What brought you across the pond?” He jokes, velvet, soothing lilt in his voice.

“Work.” It’s easy to lie about this, the fabrication usually used in casual conversation almost every day with patients and new coworkers, people who are interested in you being from somewhere else, having a different accent, different education, customs, the whole lot. His jaw moves behind the mask, and before he can push the question further, you rush out your own interruption. “Simon, I want… I want to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.” He nods. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s… the other night Johnny said something about,” Your face is nearly scalding, embarrassment laden lump stuck in the back of your throat. “about you and him, and… me, I guess…” you trail off, eyes darting down into the tea.

“Go on?”

“He said that you guys think I’m special, and you- you said-“

“That we’re here for you.” He finishes, nonchalant.

“Right.” You breathe a little easier, knowing he knows what you’re talking about, words picking up steam. “I want you to know that it’s totally normal to feel this way. It happens a lot, you know. Patients and, or their family members, loved ones, they get attached. This affection starts to happen towards a member of the care team because we become that person who… provides care, twenty-four seven. So, you and… and Johnny, feeling like you have this attachment towards me, it’s very normal. Not a big deal.” You finish in one big breath, cutting your ramble short. His cheeks swell behind the fabric, like he’s smiling, eyes squinting again.

“That’s not what this is.” That’s not… what this is? What does that mean?

“What?”

“Transference. That’s not what is happening here.”

“How do you…”

“I’ve had years of therapy.” He sighs. “Are you uncomfortable?” Say yes, the girl in your head screams. Tell him you need it all to stop. That you don’t like them, that it’s inappropriate. You know how this will end.

“No.” You don’t know why you don’t acquiesce to your own good sense, why you ignore the very clear boundaries and rules that have kept you alive this long.

“Bunny, I need you tell me, honestly, if you are uncomfortable.” He levels you with an intense look, seriousness bleeding from his irises to yours. You press your palms flat on the table, quelling their trembling.

“It’s not… it’s not you. Or Johnny.” You whisper, eyes slipping shut. It’s easier that way, to just close them, to hide. To pretend you’re somewhere else, to block everything out.

What the fuck are you doing right now? Your brain screams, but your heart wails.

What is it like, to be loved like that? To be known like that? To be held in someone's heart, cherished and protected?

“Sweetheart,” Simon’s voice is low, calming, and when you don’t answer, one of his hands folds over yours. “are you with me?”

“Yes.” You peek at him, and then fully let yourself look around, steadying the rancid fear that permeates through your body. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” He hums, hand still over yours. It’s warm, and broad, big thumb stroking a slow circle into your skin. “Is today your Friday?” You nod.

“It is, yeah. I’m… I’m looking forward to catching up on some sleep.” He straightens in the chair, shoulders and torso so unbelievably wide, like a long forgotten mythological god. Or the trunk of a massive tree.

“Will you have dinner with us, tonight?” The last of the orange red dawn spills over the crest of the buildings, and the world spins, cold sweat breaking out down your back.

“What?”

“Dinner, with us. I’m picking up takeaway for Johnny from his favorite place as a celebration, for graduating the ICU. We’d love to spend some time with you. Get to know you, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, I…” Say no, you have to say no, shut this down. It’s too much risk.

“No pressure. Just, hanging out, talking. As friends, if you like.” Butterflies thrash in your stomach so violently your knees bounce, and your heart leaps, pitching itself off a cliff like it wants to die.

“Okay.”

“Great. I can pick you u-“

“No! No, I’m fine. I have some errands to run after I get up for the day so, I’ll just meet you here.” It will be just like going to work. No harm, no foul. You can hang out with them, and go home, just like you’re at work. It doesn’t mean anything. It won’t.

You barely sleep. You pace, you nap, you thumb through endless craigslist listings in faraway cities for apartments, you read. You take the long way through the city back to your flat and slowly sift through pieces of your life that you want to keep. Your quilt from home, that’s been tucked away on a shelf. A sentimental trinket that belonged to your mom, also hidden in a drawer. These things that can be removed, without being noticed.

Not that it matters.

He hasn’t been here. Not since the sick shit he pulled with your underwear. It makes you curious when you inspect the undisturbed tape on the back side of the door, the light dusting of baking powder on the bedroom carpet, but not surprised.

It’s not unlike him, to make himself known and then suddenly disappear, the endless mind games partially intentional, and partially something not even he can control.

After all, duty calls.

He could still be in the city. He could still be watching. You don’t know anything for sure.

“Three things you cannot outrun in this world, babe. Death, taxes, and… me.” You mumble it to yourself, the same words that live in your head, in his voice, repeated, pulling a pair of scrubs from your dresser.

But you had been running, and still had your life to show for it.

It doesn’t matter, you know how this will end.

You’ve changed your clothes five times. You hem and haw in front of the mirror, trying not to look too closely at any one piece of yourself, switching shirt and pant combos until you finally settle on your usual, a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. They’re high waisted, because low rise is not even within the realm of possibility for your hips, and you appreciate how they fit, even if they may sit a little loose right now, given your recent stress levels.

You look fine, you decide. You look professional. You don’t really look attractive, in any way, but the scars on your torso are hidden, and with a little bit of make-up, you think you look presentable. At the very least, you don’t look like you’re half asleep, which is exactly how you feel.

Not like it matters, you chide. This isn’t a thing; it’s just hanging out. You’re going to put an end to this entire charade, tonight.

The train is quiet, and you’re extra watchful. Every face, every movement is logged, every jacket or hat or hood is inspected. Posture, skin tone, height, of every person you pass or see is tabulated and run through your mind. Your brain, a supercomputer in its own right, does it all, seamlessly. It wants to protect you, it keeps you on guard, it can look at a crowd of twenty people all facing the opposite direction and locate a potential threat, just by the shape of the shoulders.

You don’t see him, you don’t feel him, your skin doesn’t prickle, and you let the lack thereof bring you peace, if only for a few moments.

Johnny’s floor is bustling. You wave hi to those you know, checking in with his nurse for a moment, letting her know you’ll be hanging out for a bit. She doesn’t even bat an eye, thankfully, and you try to settle yourself as you turn down the hall.

You’re not prepared for what you find when you knock on his door and slide it open, breath catching for a moment, and you scramble to cover your initial balk.

Their daughter is here. She’s cuddled up on Johnny’s good side, the one without the burnt tissue or recovering surgical wound. She’s asleep, wearing a black onesie covered in skulls, her head tipped back and mouth open, chubby cheeks and sweet little face perfectly content. She’s got her entire fist wrapped around one of Johnny’s fingers, holding it right under her chin like she’s afraid he might vanish while her eyes are closed. “Hey, bun.” Johnny whispers, smiling so wide, two fingers stroking through the wispy curls on top of her head. “We snuck in a visitor tonight.”

“I see.” Your heart trembles.

“Fell asleep right away, next to her Da. Been missin’ him these past few nights.” Simon chuckles, patting Johnny’s leg gently, affectionately. There’s a bag of take out on the table behind him, as well as what looks like an overnight bag, a purple duffel stuffed full. “Price is on his way to pick her up.” Penny gurgles, eyes blinking open in a sleepy daze like she knew they were talking about her.

“Ye’re alright, sh-shh, wee lamb.” Johnny coos. She’s half soothed by his words, but the lights in the room are far too bright, and her small noises waver into a cry, frustrated and tired. He tries move her, cradler her higher up his chest, but his face falls with pain, and Simon swoops in, pulling her into his arms. “Bunny, could ye-“

“Would you-“ They both try to ask at once, and you flounder once you realize the intention, a cranky, sleepy Penelope being pushed into your arms.

“I-“ she wails, interrupting you, bending you to her will without fuss, and you hold her closer, rocking side to side, humming above her ear. Just like the NICU, like a patient, like your stint in L&D, it’s fine, it’s-

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Not fine. It’s not fine. Heat burns in your belly. He can’t call you that, not when you’re holding their baby. “Thank you.” Simon says over his shoulder. He’s moving Johnny, lowering the bed slightly to help reposition him, and they speak quietly to one another, voices low enough you can’t make out any of the words.

“I can help you with him, if you want.” He waves you off.

“I need the practice, won’t have you around all the time anymore, yeah? And once he gets home…”

“Ach. ‘m not paralyzed. Jus’ uncomfortable.” Johnny glowers, pouting, and you roll your eyes, rhythm steady, gently bouncing, letting Penny cuddle into your chest, snuggling her face against your arm and side. She’s beautiful, precious and sweet, cooing herself back into a light slumber, and you smile despite yourself, still rocking after her eyes start to shut. “Knew she’d like ye.” He says softly, and you glance up, surprised by the intensity of their focus, heavy gazes fixed on you.

“She’s very sweet.” Your lips twist.

“She is.” Simon agrees. “We were happy to get her some time with her Da. Good for both of ‘em.” His fingers find Johnny’s cheek, and then their hands meet, a palm pressed to lips, a whispered a I love you.

An intimate moment, as you stand there with their baby in your arms.

“Alright, now that ye’ve done the hard work by gettin’ her back down,” Johnny gestures, urging you to step forward, and you carefully place her back in his arms. For a moment, your faces are level, and you get caught in his eyes, nerves strung so tight they could be a tightrope. “I’ve got her.” Weeks in the hospital, and he still smells like cedar and oranges, woodsy citrus that envelopes you, your lashes fluttering on the inhale. “She likes ye.” He murmurs, breath warm and tickling over your cheek.

“Well, she’s...” you straighten, hands smoothing down the front of your top. They’re moist, somehow, and you tuck them behind your back. “She’s a good judge of character, I guess.” Simon’s phone vibrates, Johnny’s plush smile turning dour, and he sighs.

“Okay baby girl. It’s time.” She cries a little, readjusting to Simon’s hold, and he slings the purple duffel over his shoulder, promising to be right back. Johnny nods, eyes downcast, and his face twists once the door shuts, cheeks turning red, staccato, hiccupped breaths coming fast.

“Hey.” You whisper. “Hey, Johnny.” The chair at his bedside creaks under you, and you lean forward, fingertips lightly caressing the tape residue that still sticks to his skin. You should clean that off.

“’m alright.” His shoulders roll, chin jutting out, brilliant blue gleam in his eyes returning, like storm clouds rolling off after rain. He’s silent for a beat, pinky finger folding over yours. “How was yer day?”

“Oh, it was… fine.”

“Simon said ye were goin’ to catch up on some sleep?”

“Yeah, I didn’t.” You laugh, and he smiles. “I feel okay though. Still awake at least.”

“I’m glad… ye came. I’m sorry if the other night, I was too… forward.”

“That’s okay. You’re just… so flirty, I don’t even know what to do with myself.” You tease, expecting to get a lighthearted quip in response, or a laugh, but he gives you neither, only a serious, sympathetic expression.

“I didnae mean to make ye uncomfortable. Felt terrible, when ye ran off, I-“

“I’m fine, Johnny. You… you didn’t. I mean, it was just… confusing, this is… this is a lot.” He nods.

“I know it is.”

“And you don’t even know me.” His brow creases, focus narrowed in so tightly on you, white walls, white hospital blanket, white everything falling away in a spiral of color.

“I know ye better than ye might think." He cracks a smile. "We want to, if ye’d let us.” No, you don’t. You almost say it. Almost promise him that knowing you would be the stuff of their nightmares, that they have no idea what they’re trying to bite into, or bite off, a near guarantee that it would be than they could chew.

“Well, no harm in making new friends, right?” You entreat weakly, and his eyes flash, ethos of an entire life that you have no knowledge of slipping through, and the dark severity rumbling in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

“Aye, bun. Especially when they look like ye in a pair of jeans.”

Dinner is an idyllic affair. Johnny’s favorite takeaway turns out, is Indian, like yours, and the three of you talk for hours, trading bites back and forth, laughing and listening to stories, discovering little bits and pieces about their lives while running interference on personal questions about yourself, allowing them to dip in skin deep, skimming off the top but never getting further. They tell you about themselves, Penelope, their jobs, how they met, and Johnny confides in you about his sketchbook collection, pages upon pages of charcoal and pencil line work, portraits of Simon and Pen covering each page, landscapes, and the occasional cartoon. Your spine eventually starts to wilt, muscles liquifying into goo that can barely hold you upright, and you curl up in the armchair, chin on your palm, listening to the ebb and flow of their voices as they tell you a particular story about how they came to find their current home, a near slapstick comedy about an interaction with the previous owner. Their voices soothe your restless mind, wrap you in a cozy embrace that feels so safe, so comfortable that you can’t fight the languid, siren call of sleep, eyes drooping into darkness, drifting away on their melodies, content and too tired to rationally put together what’s happening. At some point, something covers you up, knit warmth that is tucked in around your shoulders, your feet, a tender touch on your neck and cheek. A whisper of affection soothes the unease that lurks in the background of it all, and you fall into it lazily, farther into the hold of sleep, something your brain and body are desperate for.

When the lights go dim, you don’t even realize, already lost to the sand of slumber.

Around midnight, you wake with a start. Your heart is racing, triple timing in your chest, and you squint in the dark, trying to parse together where you are, what happened.

Oh no. Oh god, did you fall asleep on them? Did you fall asleep in Johnny’s room?

Simon calls your name. He’s settled in a recliner, head turned your direction, mellow light from the little lamp spilling across his features. “Are you alright?” Your mouth is dry, the web of sleep that holds you in suspension finally starting to wane, fuzzy clouds in your head trying to clear without much luck.

“How long was I out?”

“Four hours.”

“I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head.

“Wanted to let you sleep. I know you were tired, and Johnny was out almost immediately after you.”

“Th-thanks.” Your back groans, muscle and bone grinding together, stiff from sleeping in a cramped position for hours, and you’re surprisingly unsteady on your feet. Simon’s out of his chair in a second, turning around the end of Johnny’s bed to offer you a hand, his other lightly resting between your shoulder blades.

“Easy.”

“Sorry… just… think ‘m more tired than I realized.” It’s dark, and you’re disorientated, woozy, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, limbs and lids still heavy and desperate to fall back asleep.

“I’ll drive you home.” His keys jingle, and you know you should reject him, refute this presumption, push him off, but you can’t string the right words together in your mind, can’t bring yourself to truculently pull away.

So, you don’t. And to your surprise, your shock, it feels… nice. You let him open the door for you, get you settled, you listen to his music on the way, city flying past outside the window, quiet hour of the night crawling by. You let him help you out of the car when you pull up to the curb, and when he asks if he can walk you up, your rational pugnacity is nowhere to be found.

“This is me.” You gesture to the door, fumbling in your wallet for your keycard.

“How long have you been in the hotel?”

“Oh, not long. Reno just started so…” His head turns, surveilling the hallway. You’re in an end room, far from the elevator but close to the stairs, as requested, and there’s a camera that sits on the ceiling, green dot consistently blinking. He glances at it, then back to you, head tilted.

“Are you safe here?” The world goes cold. Your stomach roils, blood draining from your face, and you try to hold yourself steady, mind turning over a million times. You’re overreacting. He’s just asking in a general sense. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t. Breathe. Deep breath.

“I uh, yeah. It’s got a deadbolt.” Along with a door stop alarm, and a security bar. He steps closer, so close that you can smell him, fresh laundry and musk, something spicy lingering there, something dark and enchanting.

“Are you in trouble, little bunny?” You’re in his shadow, beneath the stretch of a mountain, shielded by it, by a monolith so large it could blot out the sun. It overwhelms you, slows the racing pace of your mind, and you try to sort through the merry go round of feelings that are all trying to push their way out of your mouth.

You’ve never felt this. Never felt this… desire, to entrust someone with your life. Never felt this… attraction, this hold that the two of them have on you.

It makes you want to trust them. Makes you want to lay it all out and beg them to help you. Makes you want to close your eyes and leap, praying they’ll catch you.

It’s wicked. It’s dangerous. It’s a fool’s errand.

It’s unfair.

“No.” You whisper. You can’t look at him, and time slows in the silence, your anxiety piquing. Of course, he would assume something is wrong, after witnessing the panic attack. Don’t read too far into it.

“But you wouldn’t tell me if you were, would you?” He’s pragmatic, yet still kind, watching you with intent. It doesn’t allay any of the stress that’s building up the back of your throat and closing it, cutting you off from the oxygen you desperately need.

After an eon, he sighs.

“Okay, sweetheart. You can keep your secrets. For now.” You choke.

“I… I should probably-“ you jerk your head towards the door, half turning away to swipe your keycard.

“Alright.” He moves carefully, dipping low, and you stand immobilized, confused and quivering as his cloth covered mouth presses a slow kiss to the top of your head. It’s like he’s bewitched you, cursed you, and you can’t do anything but stand there, stunned. “Thanks for coming tonight.” You’re a deer in headlights, a rabbit in a scope.

“Simon.” His name is the only thing you know right now, and it comes out reedy, almost a squeak.

“Get some rest. We’ll text you tomorrow.” He pushes the door wide, arm snaked behind your shoulders, and when you don’t move, he urges you forward, an encouraging hand on the small of your back. Your feet blindly stumble through the motions, searching for the light switch, for your sanity. “Goodnight, bun.” He hums, and the door clicks shut, leaving you alone, staring at the beige-yellow paint on the wall.

The afternoon trains are packed. It makes your skin crawl, not because you dislike busy or hectic places, but because there are too many eyes. You force your head to stay up, casually scrolling past the faces that are turned every which way, keeping your back to a corner or window as often as possible. You’re not sure you even needed to take this route, the one where you loop around and change trains twice, but… old habits die hard.

You’re lighter today, mentally. It’s in your steps on the stairs, the way you tilt your face up to the sun, how you bounce and bob a little along to the rhythm in your headphones.

You try not to read into it, too much. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with the good morning text messages from Johnny and Simon, or the hilarious back and forth between them after Simon sent a god-awful joke to the group chat. It has nothing to do with the heat that spreads through your fingers to toes when you think about Simon last night, kissing your forehead.

You slip inside your apartment, popping your headphones free, glancing at the tape and the door jam, before setting your bag on the counter. You idly sort through some mail you left out the other day. Junk, junk, junk, nothing taxing or important, nothing work related or-

A shadow moves. It flickers against the wall by your bedroom, growing larger, stalking closer to the kitchen, to where you stand, frozen, heart pounding in your ears.

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

“Hey there, sugar.” He croons, the thick, Texas accent unmistakable, and you breathe his name in horror.

“Phillip.”

#peaches writes #simple math #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #simon riley #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x reader

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jobean12-blog · 2 months

Text

Aftermath

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 2,318

Summary: Bucky has kept you safe for as long as he's had you but the first time you don't follow his orders is definitey going to be the last.

Author's Note: These new pics are giving lots of mob/mafia vibes and I love it! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: some angst in the beginning and illusions to violence, mentions of a gun, Bucky is soft and there are lots of fluffy moments but he's pissed you didn't listen and he needs you.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing heavily when Nat doesn’t pick up the phone. She only called you two minutes ago. Right after she sent you a text telling you she needed to talk. Under any other circumstances you would never leave your perch at the bar. Never leave the safety of Bucky’s club and go against his orders.

However, your best friend needs you. She just had a bad break up and things are still rocky so any time she calls you were sure to be there for her. So here you are, standing on the sidewalk outside Bucky’s nightclub, phone pressed to your ear and your foot tapping rapidly against the concrete.

Bucky told you about the heavy tension building between him and a rival boss trying to impede on his territory. He told you that your safety was his first priority. That’s why you were with him at his club right now. He didn’t want you out of his sight.

But you were only just right outside the door…

You’ll try Nat one more time then go back inside and wait for Bucky like he asked.

The phone starts ringing and you hold your breath, hoping she’ll answer. Just as you hear her voice on the other end a car pulls up at the curb and with one glance the occupants have you swiftly turning on your heel and heading back toward the doors of the club.

“Nat,” you say quietly. “Are you ok?”

“I’m having a rough night,” she sighs. “I need your opinion on something.”

“Of course.”

You’re walking at a brisk clip, realizing that during your musings you had wandered farther from the door than you intended to.

Nat is still talking but the sound of your blood rushing through your ears starts to drown out any other sounds.

Four men get out of the car, none of which you recognize. You need to get inside quickly. One of them, carrying a baseball bat, twirls it lazily in his hand as he saunters closer, looking you over appreciatively.

Apprehension shoots up your spine, intuition guaranteeing that they’re here to start trouble.

“Nat I have to go. Call Bucky.”

She starts to reply but you hang up before she can, hoping she heard the trepidation in your voice and does as you asked.

Before you can reach the entrance, two of them lunge in front of you and block your progress.

“Where are you goin’ so fast beautiful?” One of the men asks.

“Excuse me,” you say.

A third man circles up behind you.

“Let me by,” you tell them.

The man holding the baseball bat ignores you.

“You belong to Barnes don’t you?”

Your suspicions are right. These are bad men and they are definitely looking to cause some trouble for your husband. And you.

You shrink back on purpose, appealing to their inflated arrogance and hoping they will underestimate you.

“Please. Just let me go.”

The man with the bat laughs as he runs the coarse wood along your bare calf.

“Think your man will miss you?”

Before the bat reaches your thigh you smack it away. Even though the attempt is most likely useless you’re hoping to pass more time. One of the men behind you snakes a hand around your elbow and yanks you toward him.

“Get in the fucking car baby,” he sneers. “It’s for your own good.”

The fourth man, still in the car, pushes open the back door and lets out a whistle.

“Come on gorgeous. I’ll keep you warm for Barnes.”

You take a deep breath as they propel you toward the car and only put up a small amount of resistance. As soon as you sense they are under the false impression that you’re coming willingly, the hand on your elbow weakens and you act.

With sharp and quick movements you reach for the baseball bat now dangling loosely from the leader’s hands and grab it, swinging it in a large arc to buy yourself some room.

Two of the men jump back, having been caught off guard, but it connects with the leader’s rib cage and he let’s out a vile curse, falling to his knees.

You back up as the other two men approach. Unfortunately, it’s in the direction away from the doors.

“He should have locked this one up,” the man closest to you laughs. “She’s full of fire.”

“And I’m going to enjoy that,” he leader says as he stands, still holding his ribs.

You bring the bat down hard as he lunges for you, but he dodges the weapon and barrels himself closer until he can wrap a strong arm around your waist.

The bat is ripped from your hands and your back is plastered against the man’s chest, his hand creeping up between your breasts to wrap around your throat.

He squeezes hard, tight enough to cut of your air and reflectively your fingers claw and try to pry his hand away.

You try to focus, getting ready to go limp and convince him you’re out cold, so you can somehow disable him.

Just as you’re about to put your plan into action the front door of the club flies open, hitting the side of the brick building with enough force to crack the metal.

Through your dimming eyesight, you can make out several men, including Bucky, before his ferocious growl of denial echoes through the air around you.

It startles the man choking you enough that he eases up on the pressure, allowing you to suck in precious oxygen.

Guns are drawn just before your knees hit the concrete and your stomach twists with renewed fear.

“Bucky,” you whisper, getting to your feet and stepping closer to him.

His haunted gaze makes you swallow hard and you can see the emotional battle written all over his handsome features. With his long finger poised on the trigger, he clearly wants to end the man who had his hands on you.

Without a word he tears his attention away from you, indicting your captor with a nod of his head.

“Steve.”

Steve, his own gun held in a tight grasp, moves in front of Bucky and toward the other man.

“He doesn’t go anywhere,” Bucky seethes.

The other two men from the rival group, still outside of the car, lower their weapons, watching with no emotion as Steve wrestles their leader to the ground with the gun to his head.

Finally, they let out a string of curses and hop back into the car, leaving their ‘friend’ behind as they peel away from the curb.

Bucky motions to Clint and Sam. “Follow them. This ends tonight.”

As Clint and Sam rush off to follow Bucky’s order he slowly saunters forward, the open collar of his shirt blowing wider in the light breeze.

He picks up the bat with a nonchalance that contradicts the tightness of his body and swings it deftly in his metal hand. When his fingers close around the handle you hear the wood crack under the pressure.

Bucky comes to a stop directly over the left-behind leader, and his gaze meets yours for a brief, heavy second, before he raises the bat high and brings it down with enough force to make you gasp.

Your heart races out of control, breathing shallow in your ears. The bat connects with the sidewalk next to the man’s head, sending shards of wood in every direction.

Your relief is short lived.

Bucky crouches down and looks the cowering man straight in his eyes.

“You. Are a dead man.”

Slowly and purposefully he rises to his feet and holds his hand out for you. You swallow the hard lump in your throat and place your fingers in his. In a split second you’re swept into his arms and tugged against his hard chest.

He drags you toward his car and tucks you into the passenger seat, buckling your belt and then slamming the door shut.

Through the closed window you can still hear him shout to Steve. “You know where to take him. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The silence stretches long and thin through the car and you can almost feel Bucky’s rage. You open your mouth to speak but promptly shut it when you hear his huff of warning.

He hates the feeling of fear so instead he welcomes the anger, focusing on it, wishing it’s enough to block out the image of you being choked, your feet scraping at the ground and hands clawing at your neck.

If he dwells on it too long his whole word will collapse and he has to get you home. To safety.

At the reminder of what he saw as he walked out of the club, his grip tightens on the leather steering wheel, almost making the car swerve.

When he pulls up in front of your house he checks his surroundings before driving in through the gated driveway. He looks to you, a silent demand to wait, before he gets out of the car and does another sweep of the area.

Once he deems it safe he opens your door and helps you out of the car.

When you’re safely inside the house he leaves you standing just inside the door, inside the large and opulent foyer, as he flies around the nearby rooms and checks every window and lock.

Your gaze follows him the entire time, trying desperately to draw him in and away from the rage. He staunchly defies it and after he feels satisfied the house is safe he takes you by the arm and leads you toward your shared master bedroom.

He walks to the nightstand and opens the drawer, reaching deep into the back to retrieve a gun.

“Bucky, please. Will you just talk to me?”

He can feel you standing close.

“You will stay in this room, with the door locked, until I come back. Anyone tries to get in that isn’t me, you shoot them. Understand?”

When your silence becomes too much he turns to you, keeping his eyes steady as he pleads.

“Tell me you’ll listen. That you understand.”

You take a deep inhale but still don’t speak.

“I’m waiting for my answer doll.”

You move closer and everything inside him tenses up.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

You lay a hand on his chest, immediately making him tremble from head to toe. His eyes close defensively as your hand moves higher and sneaks under the open buttons of his shirt then to his neck and finally into his hair.

Your lips press to his neck.

“Please Bucky. Don’t leave me. Stay.”

He shakes his head, unable to speak and it only makes you drag your lips higher, along his jaw until they hover just above his mouth.

A groan leaves his parted lips before he can stop it.

“I’m scared. I need you.”

Your lips brush over his, once, twice. The hand in his hair runs smoothly along the back of his neck and then coasts over his broad shoulder and down his chest.

“I have to go doll.”

His words are gritted and tortured before his name leaves your lips in a soft whisper.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“You know where I’m goin.’ Don’t make me say it.”

When he notices the glossiness of your eyes it strips him bare and he falls back a step, ready to fall to his knees for you.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”

He’s shouting now.

“If I hadn’t gotten to you in time? One minute later, baby. One fucking minute!”

Your fingers tremble as you reach for him.

“I know, I…”

“You would have been gone. How can you expect me to survive that.”

He breaks off, not able to put the horrifying thought into more words.

“Fuck. I’m so mad at you doll. So mad. But all I can think about is how I need to be inside you. Need to feel you wrapped around me. Feel you everywhere.”

You tightly grasp the lapel of his jacket and drag him closer. He comes easily. Willingly.

“Bucky,” you whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just thought I’d be outside for a second. Nat needed me…I never thought…”

Every word you speak continues to topple the reinforced barrier of anger he’s built. The only thing keeping it standing is that there’s still some physical space between you both.

But then you take a step closer and curl your fingers in the hem of your dress to draw it up over your head, the whole time letting your knuckles and hands brush along his heaving chest and every ounce of his self-control vanishes.

His heated gaze rakes over you and his hands fist at his sides.

You press yourself against him and deliberately untuck his shirt, slipping your hands underneath the lush fabric and running your fingernails up his rigid stomach. His muscles contract beneath your fingers.

“I need you baby doll. So badly.”

You unhook your bra and drop it to the floor, tingles racing over your skin as his jaw grinds with his devouring stare. You lower your hand to palm and squeeze his straining arousal.

“You can have me now Bucky. Now and always.”

His expression softens long enough for you to catch the brightness in his eyes and then his mouth is on yours, his hands frenzied as they grasp and smooth over every inch of your bare skin. He never breaks the kiss as he walks you backward toward the bed, letting you gently fall to the soft mattress before he settles himself between your spread legs.

“I can’t touch all of you at once and it drives me crazy,” he whispers against your lips as his hand slides down between your legs. “I need everything, always.”

@hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @lizette50 @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #mob!bucky barnes #bucky x reader #mob au #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

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trendywaifus · 2 months

Text

thinking about boxer! stelle’s who is pretty much emotionless and just likes to fight. she’s basically an amateur boxer who’s popularity quickly grew because of her innate ability to adapt to seemingly anything. there’s so many gyms wanting to recruit her, even pro gyms that amateur boxers would do anything to get accepted to. stelle ends up going to ‘set your trail ablaze’, a very promising gym with plenty of aspiring and famous boxers.

she meets you there and oh boy, you gave that girl so much color and shine to her eyes as her relationship with you develops. a lot of the members, esp the coaches (himeko, herta, welt, & etc), was pleasantly surprised about stelle’s transformation! at first, she barely spoke and attended practice without interacting with anyone, and everyone was trying to get her to talk to them but to no avail. then you, a newbie trainer to the gym, who’d give her company despite her nonchalant looks and side glances towards you. you were unbothered by her stoic nature.

“ that’s good, stell’ but your jab’s a little wide—which is fine since you have long arms but because of that, you tend to come back a little slow. you gotta be a tiny bit faster and quickly go back into stance like—. “ before you could step up and show her, she sliently does it, swiftly jabbing and snaps back into her boxing stance with perfect execution. she then looks at you expectedly.

“ yeah, atta girl. that’s perfect, geez, i didn’t have to demonstrate for you! “

“. . .” she nods at you before waiting for your next instructions, ignoring the fluttering feeling in her stomach.

you became stelle’s unofficial personal coach and trainer, helping her improve as both a boxer and a person from your strong support. she grew more comfortable around you and others, becoming a little more vocal and expressive. she now has a habit of following you around like a puppy whenever you’re present in the gym. she’ll visibly sulk and become a little distracted when you’re not there. it was clear to everyone except you that she has a crush on you. you also have a crush on her, i mean, she reminded you of a adorable raccoon with claws! the obvious romantic tension between you and stelle was so agonizing, it was driving the fellow gym members crazy.

it was until stelle’s first pro boxing match where she was getting surprisingly overwhelmed by the other opponent. she looked completely beaten up and worn out, it broke your heart. during the one minute resting period, you were so full of frustration that you splashed water on her bruised face, aggressively patted her cheeks, then squished them together and pulled her into a searing kiss that left everyone in the ring and the audience speechless.

“ i fucking love you stelle but, if you don’t get your tall ass up and win, i’ll take it upon myself to be your sparring partner in every sparring match you do. “

spoiler alert, she indeed got her ass up with astronomically high spirits. a dark shade of red staining her cheeks, an odd, dopey grin plastered on her swollen, busted lips—yeah, she’s ready to kick ass in the name of love.

she totally did.

#trendy #honkai star rail women x reader #stelle x reader #new auuuuu guys #i’m cookin againnnn #boxer! stelle can dom me #boxer! au

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shina913 · 3 months

Text

Bitter(Sweet) | JWW

Bitter(Sweet)

Pairing: Wonwoo x Fem!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: Infidelity!AU; exes!AU; angst; smut; some fluff

Warnings: cussing; sexually suggestive language; clit play; protected sex; questionable morals; open conversation about infidelity; hurt without comfort

Word count: 4.8K words

Summary: You and Wonwoo reunite to celebrate a special evening.

A/N: If you don't like reading about cheaters - you are free to skip! Thank you, Sim @/roaminginthenights for your notes. They added more depth and nuance to the story in so many words. I appreciate you, my friend!

A/N2: Originally posted on my SVT sideblog but I've decided to merge everything on main now. I also have a version of this fic with BTS' Namjoon, if you choose to read it with that character.

You’re sitting in the airport parking lot, tapping your fingers happily to the beat of the song playing on your car radio. You glance at the time, it wouldn’t be too long; he’d be walking out of those doors soon. Until then, you continue to hum to the song.

Tonight is special. A night you didn’t think you’d ever celebrate again. Yet here you were, in a rental car, in a town you’d left years before.

Other than one particular overnight reservation, there are no other formal plans. You’d order takeout and perhaps pick up a bottle of wine or two from the corner store.

Your phone rings. You bring it up to check the caller ID and smile when you recognize the name flashing on the screen.

“Hi, honey!”

“Hi mom,” your daughter greets you on speakerphone.

“Is everything okay?”

She goes on to ask permission to do a facemask with her cousin. While she rambles on about other activities they have planned for their sleepover, you distantly hear the passenger door open. You quickly turn your head to smile at him then bring your pointer finger to your lips signaling him not to say a word.

“Mom? Helloooo? Are you listening to me?”

You scramble to get back to your call as your passenger shuts the door. “Uh–sure, honey. That all sounds great. Just make sure you get some sleep and listen to auntie, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And you know I told you that I have a late-night meeting so no phone calls but you can always text–”

“I know, mom.” She’s exasperated in a manner that only middle-schoolers who know it all would be. You exchange ‘I-love-you’s’ before she ends the call.

And now, you can properly greet your new arrival.

“Hi,” Wonwoo says.

“Hi,” you greet him with a smile. “That was Yuna.”

“So I heard,” he smiles. “Is she sleeping over at Emma’s?”

You nod. “She’s thrilled. It’s a school night and she gets to stay up late with her favorite cousin.”

He chuckles. “I don’t know if I can top organic facemasks when she comes over next week, but I’ll try.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy with whatever you’ve got planned for her.”

“Right. As long as she’s happy.”

You nod then let out a long sigh before telling him, “You know, at some point, we need to stop meeting like this.” That’s what you also said last time. And the time before that. You’re fully aware of it and you think that if you say it enough times, you believe it and actually stop.

“I know,” he breathes out before cupping your nape to bring your face to his, sealing his lips over yours. You don’t pull away or give any hint of protest. You melt right into him, your mouth parting to let his tongue savor you.

You miss this. You miss him.

Somehow, you find the willpower to wrench yourself away from him. “Easy there. We’re still in the parking lot.”

You can see the mischief in his eyes even through his glasses. “So? It’s not like that’s stopped us before.” His hands trail between your legs, cupping your heat.

“I know but,” you gently push his hand away. “We have a reservation and it’s late so we should probably get going.”

He sighs, relenting. “Okay.” He reaches back for the seatbelt then stops short of buckling in. “By the way, happy anniversary,” he grins.

You feel a flutter in your chest and your cheeks warm up. “Happy anniversary,” you reply.

******

Wonwoo scrolls through his phone, scanning for the email confirmation that contained the security code and instructions to unlock the rental.

“Are you sure you have it?”

You are both standing on the front porch of your Airbnb, using your phone's flashlight to help him see his phone better. He was nearly blind as a bat, especially in the dark, even with his glasses on.

“I’ve got it! Trust me.” He scrolls some more until he exclaims, and finally sees the coveted email.

He carefully punches the code on the door’s keypad until you hear it chime, confirming that you’ve gained access.

You walk through the door and into this place that is known to you. But seeing it again after so long, makes it feel unfamiliar.

The first thing you notice is that the foyer has been redone. The divider wall that used to separate the kitchen and living room has since been knocked down to give it a more ‘open’ layout.

The furniture is all generic. Not much thought was put into picking them out. The colors also don’t provide much contrast to the equally bland walls. It all blends in but not in a good way.

“Why is everything so white?” You remark.

“It supposedly gives the illusion of a bright and open space.” Wonwoo sets your bags at the base of the staircase.

“Feels more like a hospital to me,” you reply dryly, to his amusement. He moves into the kitchen, helping himself to the contents of the cupboards.

You follow behind, wandering over to the counter, where there is a binder listing the ‘house rules.’

“No parties, no loud music,” you read random bullet points out loud. “Quiet time at 10PM. Interesting.”

His arms circle your waist from behind, and you feel him nuzzle into your neck, planting a soft kiss. “Can you stay quiet after 10PM?” He murmurs against your skin.

“Shut up,” you giggle and break out of his hold and playfully pinch him on his side. “Only if you keep your hands to yourself after 10PM,” you tease him back, making him burst into laughter.

You walk around the place some more, scanning and assessing. You’re surprised at how many more modifications have been made. Gone were the warm, earthy tones that you painted the living room and the kitchen.

What was wrong with the way things were before? The interior designer you hired found a great way to marry modern and vintage concepts!

You shake your head in mild irritation.

The upstairs bedrooms feel just as desolate with the plain white, sanitized walls. At least the new owners attempted to break the monotony with a few framed watercolor prints and scenic photographs, no doubt purchased from a big-box store.

You find yourself standing in the midst of your old master bedroom. You see hints of the old furnishings layered with the new. It certainly wasn’t how you remembered it.

“Huh.” Wonwoo says when he walks in. “Why didn’t we think of putting the bed against that side of the room before?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Because you get up to go to the bathroom more often than I do so that’s why we put it on the side that was closer to the en suite.”

His mouth drops slightly with a soft ‘ah,’ in sudden realization. “Well, I’ll have to admit, you were right. You should have ignored me and gone with your original plan.”

“I appreciate you acknowledging that, years later.” You roll your eyes and brush past him on your way out. “But as you know, marriage is about compromise,” you call past your shoulder.

“I’m ordering the pizza!” Your voice echoes down the staircase.

Wonwoo spends a few more minutes in this room, allowing himself to reminisce before finding the strength to tear himself away and rejoin you in the kitchen.

******

You’re sitting at your old kitchen counter, eating pizza and sharing a bottle of wine that Wonwoo ended up stealing from the owner’s kitchen. When you question him as to whether the alcohol was included in your AirBnB reservation, he shrugs and promises to replace it instead.

“So, are you seeing anyone?”

You stop mid-bite, taken aback by his question. “Wow, already?”

“What? I’m just making conversation.” He says casually as he takes a sip of wine. “And I’m nosy,” he snickers.

You giggle at his admission. “Nope, not seeing anyone. I had–what I thought was a connection a month ago…but that was a false flag. I’ve decided to hang back, take a break…be alone for a bit, you know? I’m not really looking for anything serious anyway.”

His expression turns sullen. He clears his throat before saying, “I thought you had a connection with Seojun. Things looked pretty serious.”

The reminder of your fatal mistake doesn’t sting as much as it did before. And he wasn’t as angry and bitter when he brings it up.

“Seojun was…” you sigh, collecting your thoughts so as not to create unnecessary ripples in this still water. “He was good for me at the time. He was who I needed at the time. But long-term?” You scrunch your face and shook your head. “I didn’t think that far down the road.”

He used to always ask ‘why.’ Why did you do what you did? Why did you make those choices?

You were together for five years before you married. Two years later, you had Yuna and everything seemed picture-perfect. You thought that you were doing well and that you might really have a knack for marriage and monogamy. It was a point in your relationship when you thought that nothing could ever break you.

But it turns out that anything and everything can break you.

Seojun came along and it was as if something that had long been dormant ignited within you. You thought it would be a one-off, but it wasn’t. For months you thought Wonwoo would suspect whether anything felt off. It wasn’t like you were trying to get caught but maybe some part of you wanted him to catch you. But that didn’t happen. Instead, he seemed happily blissful in his own world, seeing everything through rose-colored lenses.

You pick up your wine glass and tip the contents into your mouth, emptying it. When you set it back down on the counter, you look at him, staring at you.

“But you loved him, right?” He asks between mouthfuls of pizza.

You pause for a few long beats before responding. “Sure. In a way, yeah.” Your answer is noncommittal but the truth was, you didn’t know for sure if what you felt for Seojun was love. It certainly wasn’t the same as what you felt for Wonwoo. He was in his own category.

“I don’t get it though. Why would you want to be alone?”

You scoff and straighten in your seat, feeling the urge to be defensive. “I don’t get why you’re suddenly concerned about my choice to be alone.”

“No, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He switches tact, sensing that your walls start to go back up. “I remember back then, you used to say that a lot…that you like being alone and that you didn’t believe in marriage or lifelong partnership. And yet–you still agreed to marry me when I asked. So no, I don’t believe that your ultimate desire or goal is to be alone.”

You pour yourself another glass. “You were different. Being with you, what we had–it made me want to prove myself wrong. That perhaps I do have the marriage gene in me and I can make it last.” You pick at a piece of pepperoni on your slice. “I’d like to believe that I did. I tried to keep things together to make things work for us.”

Wonwoo reaches for your hand and brushes his fingers over your knuckles in an attempt to console you.

“Turned out well, right?” You remark sarcastically, throwing your free hand up in defeat. “I failed. So, I conclude that I just don’t have it in me.”

“The marriage gene?”

“Uh-huh. I’m doomed!” You laugh darkly.

You were happily resigned to that fact. Wonwoo was a beautiful anomaly. While your time may have been short-lived, it still added meaning to your generally doomed perspective on marriage and relationships.

His fingers curl around your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I thought you were great at it.”

You smile wistfully and bring his hand up to your lips to kiss it. “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

******

You were in the upstairs bathroom washing up when Wonwoo excused himself to retrieve a couple of things from his jacket pocket downstairs when his phone starts buzzing.

“Hello?” He answers.

“Hey, how’s it going? I’ve been trying to reach you. How was your flight?” the female voice says on the other line.

He clears his throat and hides away in what used to be his office. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, sweetheart. You know how it is at my dad’s house. The reception’s shit.”

“Why are you whispering?” She asks.

“Dad just fell asleep. You know how he’s such a light sleeper.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re right. Do you think you’ll be able to finish up whatever you need to over there? I have some miles on my card and fly out tomorrow to come over and help?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Wonwoo tells her calmly. “Dad and I are just about done packing up some of his old things here so, he’ll be ready to move into the facility. He’s really looking forward to it.”

“Is he? That’s great.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I have to go. I’m trying to sort through a few more of his things here while he sleeps. I work faster when he doesn’t stop to admire each item and talk about what it meant to him.”

“Okay. Just call me if your flight changes. I love you!”

He hears the floorboard creak and looks up from his seat to find you leaning against the door frame, dressed in nothing but a black lace teddy. Biting his lower lip, he says, “I love you, too.”

As soon as he hangs up, he tugs at your wrist and ravishes you.

******

“You think she’d ever suspect anything between us?” You wonder out loud while you both lay naked in your former marriage bed, basking in your post-sex high.

He shakes his head adamantly. “I think ‘you and me’ is the last thing on her mind.”

You laugh at how confident he made that sound.

“I’m serious!” He says firmly. “This is not even remotely on her list of possibilities! She knows what happened between us so this is highly unlikely for her.”

You sit up against the headboard and stare at him in disbelief. “You told her about us?”

He shrugs, not seeing the problem with it. “It was all part of my therapy and healing process so…yeah. I told her everything.”

“So, does she think I’m, like, the devil incarnate or something?” You try to mask the pang of guilt in your chest by making light of it.

“Nah. She doesn’t really think about you.” Then he immediately adds, “I’m not saying that to be hurtful or dismissive. I think at the time she thought she was somebody who could, I don’t know, put me back together or something.”

Even though you’ve both said your pieces over the years and talked things over, traded apologies, and accepted them, it still felt inadequate.

“I’m sorry,” you say instinctively.

He sits up to mirror your posture and dips his head to kiss your bare shoulder. “You’ve said that already.”

“Yeah but–” He cuts you off mid-sentence with another kiss, his lips lingering over yours.

“No buts. We’re good, okay? I’m good.” He reassures you.

But you press him anyway. “Okay, I’m sorry to keep dropping the reality check here but what if she finds out?”

He sighs, a wry smile on his lips. “If she does…” he trails off without finishing his thought. He straightens his posture, turning serious. “I guess you could say that I’m no longer scared of being labeled the bad guy. I spent a good chunk of my life trying to do the right thing and being a good person. Always doing what is morally acceptable.”

You tilt your head at him in curiosity. He’s changed a lot, but just like your old house, even though the fixtures have been replaced, walls knocked down and repainted, and furniture layout rearranged, you can still see hints of what it used to be.

He’s still the same Wonwoo you fell in love with, beneath this new cynical, detached exterior. He wasn’t always open about his emotions but in the rare cases that he would wear his heart on his sleeve, you saw and felt it.

Right now, he was baring his soul to you.

“I’m not saying that I’m proud of it. You know, the affairs. I have needs that she can’t fulfill,” he shrugs. “There’s acceptance on my part. I’m not trying to claim righteousness or hide behind morals. And that’s okay. I’m okay with that!”

You’re silent as you take in his ruminations. In a way, it saddens you that he’s adopted this perspective. You always knew him as an idealist–someone who, as he said himself, ‘always did the right thing.’ Which was why it crushed him when you confessed your infidelity.

He stares at you for a minute before breaking into a chuckle. “What?”

“What?” You echo, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Say something!” He laughs.

“I mean, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know! Anything. Scold me or, I don’t know…tell me that this isn’t right. ‘Your wife doesn’t deserve this! You’re a terrible husband!’” He says jokingly.

“I am the last person to judge, okay? If it doesn’t keep you up at night…” you trail off.

He nods at that.

But then you cock your eyebrow at him, picking up on what he said moments ago. “So, ‘affairs?’ You mean, there’s more?”

“I had some fling a few months ago. It was meaningless,” he add quickly, as if that contributed to anything. “And there were a couple of one-night stands but I don’t think they count.”

“Mm…” you hum vaguely.

******

Wonwoo cracks open another bottle of wine and brings it upstairs, where you both drink in bed and continue to trade stories.

“I didn’t really want to get married again. We were having a good time and she’s great,” he recounts the early days of his new relationship. “Sometimes it’s easy to confuse great sex with love.”

“Mm-hmm. Speak for yourself,” you remark.

He smirks at your comment. “But…there she was, down on one knee, asking me to marry her. And so I did. We’ve been living together anyway so, might as well, right?” He shifts and changes his tone, feeling the need to clarify that he’s not a complete asshole. “I hope you’re not taking this the wrong way but she and I are good. We’re comfortable. It’s like, we speak the same language.”

He’s tipsy and babbling but you let him. “That’s great,” you smile softly, taking a sip of wine.

“The sex is not.” You nearly choke at his revelation. “A month after we got married–phew–” He makes a whistling sound and makes a quick, swooping gesture with his hand. “Out the door, it went.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you say with all sincerity.

He shrugs. “It is what it is.”

“But don’t you love her?”

He purses his lips and tilts his head from side to side. “In a certain way, sure.” He mirrors your answer from earlier this evening.

You nod vaguely, letting the words hang in the air while you both fall into a comfortable silence.

After a few beats he says, “I’ll never love anyone the way I loved you. That’s a fact.”

This isn’t the first time he’s told you this. He’s declared it several times, at least once during one of your clandestine meetings.

“When we were together, I never thought we’d split up. That never occurred to me. So–what I have with her it’s…it’s an entirely different kind of love. But if or when she suddenly comes to me and asks for a divorce, I’d give it to her. I feel like that’s where this is headed anyway.” He downs the rest of his wine before setting it down on the nightstand. “I would compare it to a piece of tape. You stick it on then peel it off and try to stick it someplace else. It might take, if you tried hard enough but…it’s never quite the same.”

You lick your dried-out lips and let out a shaky breath. “God, that sounds really sad,” your voice cracks.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not sad about it so you shouldn’t be!” He maintains his lightheartedness. “I think it’s perfectly fine to have different types of love, different types of relationships. Mine happens to be unconventional.”

“Unconventional, yes. But the way you speak about it, it’s as if you’re saying that you’re totally comfortable with the fact that you’ll never truly love again. That’s what saddens me.”

“I never said that,” he says in defense. “I never said I’ll never truly love again.” Then he looks you in the eye and says matter-of-factly, “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

The look he gives you sends an involuntary shiver down to your spine which makes its way between your legs. “Yes, but what we have is different. We’ve both gone through the worst possible thing that could happen in our relationship; which is why when you’re with me, there are no surprises. No unrealistic expectations. There’s no fear lurking around because it’s all laid out for you.”

His expression is steady and unchanged. “And I’m saying this is what works for me right now. This is what works for us–”

“Ugh, Wonwoo…” you groan, sinking back into the mattress and turning on your side, facing away from him. “That’s such a fucked up way of looking at the situation. You know how fucked up we are! We’re still reeling from how our marriage ended and…” You bury your face in your palms and groan in frustration again. “Who would have thought even after we signed those papers, that it didn’t really mean the end…Like, right that second? I wish that somebody told us that breaking up takes much longer than that.”

You feel the bed dip behind you as he scoots closer, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you flush against him. “It’s like we said, it just takes time, baby.”

“But it’s been five years!” You whine petulantly. “I just want to be done with it! You said that after we’re divorced, we’d move on and start fresh.” You turn your body around, his face is so close to yours. “Now, we’re just in this endless cycle of grief and trauma.”

You close your eyes and you feel him press his forehead on yours in silent agreement. You don’t remember how long you hold each other like that. He quiets your whimpers with the softest kisses until you both drift off to sleep.

******

“No!” Wonwoo cries out, jolting you both awake. He sits up abruptly, with his head in his hands. His back is covered in sweat and his heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest.

“Hey.” You sit up and rub circles on his back consolingly. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Yeah,” he sniffs and wipes his tears away.

You offer to get him a drink of water but he declines. He gets out of bed and paces around the room.

“Do you want to talk to me about it?”

“Uh…” he breathes before sitting back down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah. I’m…trying to remember bits and pieces.” He takes a minute to regulate his breathing while simultaneously collecting his thoughts. “We were walking down the street, coming back from a dinner party or something. And then, we needed to cross the street for whatever reason.”

You hug your knees to your chest while you listen to him.

“I was holding your hand so we could go together but you went on and darted out into the dark road. I kept calling out to you but you kept moving farther away from me. I tried so hard to run after you but it was as if my feet were sealed into the concrete.” A tear rolls down his cheek. “I felt so helpless because I wanted to get to you and–I couldn’t see you. You were gone.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. C’mere,” You open up your arms and beckon him to come back to bed.

He obliges and nuzzles into touch. “I couldn’t get to you,” he cried.

“It was just a dream, baby.” You whisper calmly into his ear, rubbing his back to console him.

He burrows his face into the crook of your neck. “It’s not the first time I had a dream about losing you. I’ve had different versions of that dream where you disappear into the dark and I can’t move my body to reach out to you. It’s like–I’m perpetually stuck or something.”

All you can do is listen. This was his trauma talking. You continue to rub his back and rock him gently.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if…if I’ll ever love anybody. Like, truly love them. Or maybe I’ve never been truly loved before. Maybe…maybe that’s what it means. I’ll never be able to have the ability to–“

“Hey,” you interject. You pull his face away from your shoulder and cup his cheeks. “Listen to me— I love you. In my own… twisted way. And I know that you love me. In your own way.”

He smiles ruefully, his eyes welling up with emotion.

You gaze at him, brushing his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. “I will always love you,” you say reassuringly before bringing your lips to his.

Your gentle kisses turn hungry and you can’t help when your body responds to him instinctively. Your need for him is unrelenting.

One moment he’s telling you about a nightmare and the next, you’re wrapped up in each other’s arms, your legs on either side of his hips. It doesn’t take him long to be ready for you, especially when you’re naked and bare for him.

You undulate your hips, grinding your slick over his length. His hands gripping your waist, guiding you while you pleasure yourself with the delicious friction.

“Mm, you’re so wet for me,” he whispers, reaching between you to rub circles on your clit.

“Mm-hmm,” is all you can muster.

“You ready for me, huh?” He nips at your bottom lip.

You give him a nod and he manages to pause his ministrations to reach across the nightstand. Once he sheaths himself, he takes one swift move and slips right into your center.

Each thrust is purposeful. Your fingers grip his hair as you moan into his shoulder. He gently sinks his teeth into your tender flesh, groaning. You're both floating and it’s a special kind of high.

One look at him and you heat up to a fever pitch. You take comfort in the deep baritone of his voice, goading you, whispering his naughtiest fantasies about you when you’re apart. You feel him touch you and you know it’s what you’ve been missing. He completes you.

You move in perfect sync as if you never separated. When you’re intimate like this, the questions and doubts fade when your bodies close in, filling every gap. Your connection is unrivaled.

He pulls back. “You close?”

Not that he needed an answer but he just loves watching you come undone. He ups the ante, cupping your ass cheeks and combining deep plunges with swivels, thrusting sharply and retracting slowly. Your head lolls back, dizzy with pleasure and at the same time awed by the heights he takes you to. Places where you can simultaneously forget and remember. Where nothing and nobody else exists except you and him and the mutual passion you share.

The sweat misting his brow glistens in the dusky light, his face beginning to strain as your release crests and finally crashes down. Instantly, you shudder, the tingling becoming too much to bear, your skin too sensitive. He is attuned to your body, because he stops his movements and applies pressure where you need it, keeping your hypersensitivity at bay, as his own climax hits him hard. His growls are suppressed, his face crimson with the rush of blood to his head. Your walls squeeze him greedily, prolonging your pleasure as he empties himself into you.

Wonwoo drops you both onto the mattress, collapsing in a heap of exhaustion. He is glued to your slick chest, where he will remain for the next ten minutes, snoozing, nuzzling, and kissing your neck. You hold him and savor the moment before you part and return to the alternate realities you both worked hard to establish.

Deep down, you know you’ve ruined him. You didn’t mean to. He was nothing but an innocent bystander in your own path of self-destruction. Perhaps, as your lifelong penance, you’d spend the rest of your days assuring him that he’s not broken and that he deserves unconditional love.

You breathe into his shoulder as you settle, holding him as close as you possibly can. In your own quiet way, you're telling him that you're happy to remain like this.

Main SVT Fic Masterlist

You’ve reached the end! Thank you so much for reading!

If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜

#svt fanfic #svt wonwoo #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you #wonwoo smut #svt smut #wonwoo angst #svt x reader

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speaknowworldtour · 24 days

Text

“help me hold onto you” // “pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away”

“i’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me” // “stop trying to make him laugh stopped trying to drill the safe”

“how long could we be a sad song til we were too far gone to bring back to life?” // thinking “how much sad did you think i had, did you think i had in me? oh the tragedy”

“you know i love a london boy” // “so long, london”

“you’ll find the real thing instead” // “you’ll find someone”

“don’t put me in the basement when i want the penthouse of your heart” // “i’ll get your longing glances and she’ll get your ring” // “i didn’t opt in to be your odd man out”

“i can’t find a pulse my heart won’t stop anymore” // “i stopped cpr after all its no use. the spirit was gone we would never come to”

“give you my wild, give you a child + our coming of age has come and gone” // “and i’m pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free”

“is this the end of all the endings? my broken bones are mending” // “stitches undone”

“you had to kill me but it killed you just the same” // “two graves one gun”

“i’m gonna find someone someday who might actually treat me well” // “i’ll find someone”

“i’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night” // “and when i was shipwrecked i thought of you” // “and so the battle ships will sink beneath the waves” // “and you say i abondoned the ship but i was going down with it”

“is it really your anxiety that stops you from giving me everything or do you just not want to?” // “holding tight to your quiet resentment” + “every breath feels like rarest air when you’re not sure if he wants to be there”

“wondering which version of you i might get on the phone tonight?” // “my friends said it isn’t right to be scared everyday of a love affair”

“and i wouldn’t marry me either” // “you swore that you loved me but where were the clues? i died on the altar waiting for the proof”

“don’t want no other shade of blue but you, no other sadness in the world would do” // “is it insensitive for me to say ‘get your shit together so i can love you’?” // “you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days”

“my face was grey” // “i’m just getting color back into my face”

“i’d never walk cornelia street again” // “i’m just mad as hell cause i loved this place for so long”

“i once believe love would be black and white. but it’s golden.” // “a moment of warm sun but i’m not the one”

#this one is so long and there are so many more #ttpdminutes #ttpd parallels #ttpd lyric parallels #taylorswift #taylor swift #lyric parallels #ttpd

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 3 months

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Baby-Sitting Duty

Part of my Birthday Bash!

Request: “You look your cutest like this” and Roy.

Roy Kent x Reader

0.6k words

Warnings: Language, fluff, Phoebe in a little food coma

This Saturday night was supposed to be a date night. That is, until Roy’s sister called, begging her brother to take Phoebe for the night. Not that much begging was necessary; he’d never say no to time with his niece. His apologies and promise to make it up to you were also wholly unnecessary. You adored Phoebe, and honestly, you relished every opportunity to see Roy with his precious little niece.

And so there the three of you were, spending Saturday night with a table full of unhealthy snacks, bowls of ice cream on the kitchen counter, and the latest Disney movie on the television. Phoebe was long gone, having eaten far too much candy, despite your hisses to Roy to tell her to slow down. Your boyfriend had playfully rolled his eyes at your suggestion, mumbling something along the lines of, “She’ll be fine. If not, she’ll learn her limits.” You rolled your eyes back and told him that this was a child with sweets, not a twenty-year-old with alcohol.

Sure enough, that little girl had gorged herself into a candy coma, barely making it to the second musical number of the cartoon that still lit up the big screen. She was nestled between the two of you, under Roy’s arm, eyes closed and soft snores coming from her sugar-coated mouth. You had tugged a blanket over her, earning a soft look from Roy.

He loved seeing you with Pheebs. You took on the role of ‘aunt’ in stride, and you did it well. You knew all of her likes and dislikes, kept up with the latest classroom drama, took her side when she demanded Roy be the princess in Princess and the Dragon, and attended every single one of her football games. It warmed his often too-cold heart and always had him wondering about the right time to pull his grandmother’s wedding ring out of his nightstand.

Someday, he thought, flashing you a small smile over the top of Phoebe’s head. Someday.

You returned his smile with a shy grin of your own, shaking your head as you watched his fingers absently play with his niece’s blonde hair.

“What?” he whispered, checking to make sure he wasn’t too loud for Phoebe.

You shrugged, turning your body to face him properly. “I just like seeing you like this,” you answered quietly. “Doting on Phoebe, cuddling with her. You look your cutest like this.”

Roy put on his best scowl, hardening his face playfully. “’m not fucking cute,” he growled.

“Oh yes you are,” you teased as you threw a stray piece of popcorn at his nose. “Roy Kent is the cutest man in the world,” you declared. “And I love him for that.”

His face softened, your words making it hard to keep up his charade. “And I love you for not fucking telling anyone how cute I am,” he conceded. He glanced down at his little niece. “Her neck’s gonna get all stiff if I leave her like this,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna go tuck her in.”

You shook your head and stood. “I’ve got her,” you assured him. With that, you bent down and scooped the girl into your arms, offering loving shushes as she stirred. “Be right back.” As you walked down the hall to the guest room that was really Phoebe’s room, he could hear you murmuring to her, “I know, darling. I’ll bring you something for your tummy in a moment, alright?”

Again, Roy felt his heart soften. You took such good care of Phoebe. Of him. Of the team whenever you were with them. You were loving and kind and gentle with everyone. He loved that about you. Fuck, he loved everything about you.

He frowned for a brief moment before rising to his feet and tiptoeing to his bedroom.

He just needed to grab one thing from his nightstand before you came back into the living room.

#tally's birthday bash #request ❤️#he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

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itsmarsss · 24 days

Text

Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 2 - How to Make Friends

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)

Meet Blitzø.

pt. 1 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5

Word count: 2,415

Warnings: surprise surprise! the series is actually non-linear! Some hints of trauma regarding feeling used/objectified, a glimpse into a little more context, mentions of sex as usual, i told y’all i can be a fun writer

Things had been running rather smoothly at Ozzie’s before some idiot decided he could just come in- sneaked in, you assumed, since he didn’t seem to be accompanied, and, frankly, didn’t exactly look dressed for a fancy dinner night at Ozzie’s like other customers always were- and ask for some minutes of Asmodeus’s time as if it were nothing.

This wasn't the first time this has happened, of course- for some reason people seemed to think that speaking somewhat confidently about having an appointment would somehow distract you, the person whose job was to strictly keep track of Ozzie’s time, from… well, doing your job.

At this point, he’d gotten past the whole ‘I have an appointment in five minutes´ thing and started trying to convince you that you had to let him talk to the sin.

“Uh. I don’t know what you want me to say, dude. You can’t just like… ask to see Asmodeus. It’s… kinda not how it works. At all.”

“Why not?”

You sighed. “Who are you supposed to be again?”

“I’m Blitz. The O is silent.” He offered his hand for you to shake, but you only raised an eyebrow, unamused. He retracted his hand.

“Is that supposed to ring a bell or…?”

“Not to you maybe. But his little bitch boy knows who I am.”

“What?”

“I know Fizzarolli, okay?”

“Okay and?”

“And? And I need to talk to the big Oz!”

“Yeah first off- you could just be bullshitting me. And second off… that doesn’t just automatically give you any priority in Ozzie’s very, very long list of important meetings.”

“Important meetings? What’s he doing right now, discussing dildo prices with some fuckface from Greed?” He coked an eyebrow in defiance.

You did your best to conceal the look on your face as you glanced at Ozzie’s schedule and confirmed he was, in fact, discussing dildo prices with a manufacturer from Greed.

It wasn’t enough, though- the imp seemed to realize it. “He is, isn’t he?” He grinned.

“That’s confidential information.”

He leaned over your desk, planting both his hands on top of it in front of you and getting his face closer to yours. “What’s a hot piece of ass like yours doing in a dump like this anyways?”

“This is… Ozzie’s, dude.” At this point, you didn’t even have an excuse as to why you were even entertaining this guy (at least none that wasn’t ‘things are slow right now and I’m really fucking bored’).

“Yeah, I’m usually at some shitty bar with cum and blood on the walls when I pull this one.”

You actually laughed. “I’m sure you are. Anything else I can help you with?”

“A… meeting with Asmodeus maybe?”

“Definitely not.”

“Eh, worth a try. How ‘bout a drink?”

“Are you offering to buy me a drink or asking me to buy you a drink?”

“Hey I’m up for whatever one you want,” he put his hands up in surrender.

You rolled your eyes, unable to contain a smile at the dumb conversation. At least he was entertaining you. You had to give it to him, he was a little funny. “You know what. Get yourself a drink, Blitz with the silent O. You probably need it.”

“Oh, really? Well if you in- hey wait what’s that supposed to mean?”

You just shrugged. “Ya want the drink or not?”

He paused. “Yes.”

You laughed again. “Just look for Maru by the bar and tell her you got a drink on me, she’ll make something for you.”

“Oh you’re not… you’re not gonna be… joining me?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. He almost looked actually disappointed, just a little bit. Almost.

“Nope. The hot piece of ass is still at work.”

“Riiight. I’ll uh- I’ll be right there! At the bar. Drinking my drink.” He started awkwardly walking backward.

“If you try to sneak into Ozzie’s dressing room I will find out.”

“And what would you potentially do if you found that out?”

“You don’t wanna-” Suddenly, Ozzie’s voice made itself known in your earpiece, your voice dying off as you focused on what he said, saying the words that signaled things had gotten a bit heated during the meeting and you needed to send in someone to escort the imp out of his office (something you had implemented after the third meeting in two months that had ended with him either slightly injuring or straight-up incinerating someone). “Yeah I wouldn’t recommend doing that, sir,” you told him, quickly looking for and pressing the emergency buttons that signaled whoever was working security they were needed at Ozzie’s office.

“Oh, sir, huh? I can work with sir.”

“Huh?” Realizing you hadn’t given the imp guy any sign you’d been talking to Ozzie, and not him, you felt your cheeks burn the slightest bit, getting caught off guard. “No, uh- earpiece.” You awkwardly pointed at your right ear.

Blitz’s eyes widened, taken by surprise for a second before trying to keep his cool- and the little dignity he had. “Yeah I knew that. Just some good old teasing. Gosh you’re so uptight!”

“Okay, please get in before I change my mind.”

“Yup. Will do. I’m just gonna… stop by the bathroom real quick-”

“It’s the bar or out, man.”

“Fiiiine,” he exaggerated, dragging himself out of your sight.

“Y/n, you there?” Ozzie’s voice came from the comm again, and you realized he’s probably been saying something already.

“Shit, sorry. Someone was holding me up here. Did they get him out?”

“Yes. Do I have anyone scheduled right now?”

“Hold on, let me see,” you looked at the screen, crossing out the meeting he’d just finished as done and finding the name written for the one under it. “Yeah, you have that meeting about the beach accident with those Inccubi in Pasadena.”

“What is a Pasadena?”

“Living world matter, sir,” you simplified for him.

“Living world?”

“Yup.”

“When does he get here?”

“Eight minutes.”

[. . .]

“You sure you’re fine?”

“Yes! All of my meetings are done, performances are going fine and Aro owes me a lot of hours anyway. Now if you don’t mind, I have some alone time with my Froggie to attend.”

“Ugh, that nickname makes me sick.”

“I don’t pay you to judge me.”

“Yeah you pay me 'cause you loooove me. See you on Monday?”

“Yes!”

“If you need anything ‘till then-”

“I will let you know, y/n. Now, I granted you an early night, didn’t I? I expect you to enjoy yourself.”

“Fine, boss,” you teased him, making sure he saw you rolling your eyes.

You walked out of Oz’s office, inside of which you’d seen no sight of Fizzarolli, which was strange. You obviously wouldn’t pry, but wondered if the incident with his hearing aid that Ozzie had had to take a break for earlier had been more serious than what Ozzie made it sound.

There was no use thinking about it too much, though. You and Asmodeus were close, but there were boundaries you still kept between you and respected. You were pretty much the only person Ozzie ever forwardly told about his relationship with Fizz (even though basically everyone else in all seven rings suspected it in some way) and he knew of many personal things of yours, too, but things such as Fizzarolli’s own personal life and the identity of any people you told him about in conversation usually went unmentioned.

So, to the bar it was. When Ozzie told you he’d gotten someone to cover you for the last hours of the night so you could be free, the very first thing you’d thought to do had been to go straight home- but even thinking it to yourself made that sound depressing. In truth, Asmodeus was the closest thing you had to a real friend- the closest you’d had in a really long time. And although you did feel grateful to be free of work, it wasn't really much fun to think of the fact that, not being able to hang with Ozzie, you didn’t really have much to do. Or anyone to do anything with.

So you decided maybe you’d have a drink or two, and enjoy the last performances of the night before bouncing. Couldn’t hurt, right?

To your surprise, when you sat down at a stool by the bar, ordering yourself a blackberry frozen margarita- in your opinion, the best drink on Ozzie’s drink menu- you were startled to see the imp you’d talked to earlier that night sliding next to you, taking a seat on the stool right by your left.

“Sooo. The hot piece of ass ain’t working anymore?”

“You’re still here?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrugged. “I dunno, I kind of imagined you would’ve managed to sneak into Ozzie’s dressing room and gotten yourself kicked out by now.” Of course, you were only taking the piss at him- you’d know if that would have happened. Obviously.

He furrowed his eyebrows together. “Wait I actually could have sneaked into his dressing room if I tried?”

You laughed and decided to answer his first question instead of that one. “No, I’m not working anymore.”

“Does that mean I’m allowed to flirt with you now?”

“Oh, that thing you were doing wasn’t flirting?”

“Depends. Was it working?”

You drank the rest of your margarita in a single gulp instead of answering. “Hey, Maru? Would you get me another, please? You can put it under Blitz’s here.”

“Hey!”

“What? I thought you were trying to flirt. Buy me a drink!”

[. . .]

“So you’re the one who manages this whole thing?” Blitzo motioned around to the restaurant, almost spilling the shot of tequila he was holding.

“Well not exactly,” you toyed with the little umbrella from your third drink of the night. “I’m more focused on managing Ozzie’s business. I mean. The guy, not the place. You know, meetings to attend, places to go, personal errands, everything.”

“That’s… lame.”

“What? What do you do for a living then that’s just so fun?”

“Well, I used to be a circus clown.”

“What? Wait that is cool.”

“Only a little cool. I’m planning something big next. But uh. Right now I’m kind of doing anything I can find to support my daughter.”

“You have a daughter?”

“Yeah. Loona. The love of my life.”

“That’s cute.” You smiled. Examining him with this in mind once again, you took he did sort of have a bit of a dad energy to him. It looked a little unconventional on him considering the… everything else, but it was there. “How old is she?”

“Nineteen.” He finally downed his shot, slamming the glass on the counter.

“Oh, wow.”

He seemed to notice all the processing you were doing in your mind to try to gather how old he was.

“I adopted her like a year ago.”

“Oh. That’s cool. What’s she like?”

Conversation with him came to be strangely natural. A few drinks in, and, from an outside perspective, it would probably be hard to figure out the two of you had never seen each other before up until a few hours prior- cracking jokes and playfully flirting, sharing bits and pieces of your lives and drinking a little more than you should together. It was weirdly comfortable.

And, much to your surprise, Ozzie didn’t come up again. Not in the way you were certain he would eventually, anyway. After all, it all seemed too nice to not be a way to get you drunk and tell him something personal about Ozzie, or ask you again for a meeting with the sin. Right?

By the end of the night, Blitzø tried a half-serious attempt at getting you to take him home with you (because apparently he rented a one-bedroom place, and gave up his bedroom to his daughter when she moved in with him, so he wouldn’t be able to take you home with him), to which you laughed, but stopped for a second to seriously consider.

You did find him attractive. His style was hot and his personality was fun. It was all certainly working for you.

You were sure you could have a fun time with him if you did agree, and, honestly, atop of feeling like you deserved this, you kind of needed it. I mean, nothing like a nice, meaningless one-night-stand with a barely-decent man to distract you from from being alone all weekend. Right?

But for some reason, you stopped yourself. Maybe not this time. Because, even though you weren’t sure if that was really you or just the alcohol talking, at that moment you found yourself thinking that maybe you could actually become friends with this guy.

And though you weren't sure if he would want that, it would be nice to have a real friend other than Asmodeus, for a change.

“Um, I gotta work really early tomorrow,” you lied, giving him an excuse. “But I could give you my number? You’re really funny and I had a lot of fun tonight. Even though you definitely crashed the place,” you joked. “I think we could be… good… friends? Maybe? I’d like that.”

“You… want to be friends? With me?”

Fine. That’s where this ended, wasn’t it? He realized he wouldn’t be fucking you and so the interest disappeared. That’s fine. You were prepared for that. “It's alright if not.”

“No, give me- give me your number. Yeah. Give me your number.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave it to you.

Oh. “Okay.” He probably only said that in the hopes to fuck you in the future.

Still, you grabbed the phone from him and typed in your number.

He immediately sent you a ‘hi’ and a smiley face so you could save his contact.

“Just to be clear, like, we’re not gonna- like I really mean it, I wanna be friends.”

“Okay I got it the first time, you don’t gotta rub it on my face.”

Maybe he could be genuinely fine with just being your friend?

“I don’t mind some flirting with my friends, though,” you commented, and he smirked.

“Tell that to me when I’m sober, sweetheart.”

No harm in trying, right? And if sober you thought differently, you could always just block him.

Why not? Maybe this is just how to make friends as an adult.

“Okay but seriously where does the ‘O’ even go? Like how do I even save your contact?”

A/N: this wasn't even supposed to be out today but i got too excited so here it is. also im serious abt this being non-linear... there's shit mentioned here you'll only find out more about in like chapter 5 or so but i hope i wrote it in a way thats exciting enough to make it worth it! hope yall like it, share ur thoughts w me! luv yall <3

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rayslittlekitten · 8 months

Text

I Almost Told You That I Loved You Ch. 19

Chapter 18 | IATYTILY Masterlist

A/N: I've been waiting so long (honestly like probably a year) to finally post this chapter and this GIF. 🤣

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,143

Pairing: Jax Teller x F! reader

Plot: This takes place shortly after Tara leaves Charming. You start working at Teller-Morrow and an unlikely and messy relationship forms between you and Jax.

Warnings: maybe some mild, colorful misogynistic language

These last few days have made you nostalgic about Cara Cara. Working for a porn company doesn’t seem so bad anymore. Maybe you can ask Luann for your old job back. You’re pretty sure she’ll give it back to you, no questions asked. Although TM pays better and honestly, it couldn’t possibly get any worse. Jax has been hot and cold since the incident with Will. He’s been cautiously trying to get your attention, apologizing multiple times, but you’ve been turning down his advances. And when you do, he’s no longer groveling at your feet. His soft words turn into sharp knives instead. Your favorite so far is “I hope you choke on a dick!” That sure is going to get you to run back to him.

Fragile male egos. You know a few things about those. They don’t actually care about making things right. They just want the last word and if things are going to end, it’s going to be on their terms, no matter how much they have to try to charm you. They will say and do anything to win you back just so they can leave you. If you can just focus on work and keep your interactions with Jax to a minimum, you might be able to get through this until the end of the semester at the very least.

“Hey, sweetheart, I’m stepping out for lunch and running some errands,” Gemma tells you as she gathers her things. “Will probably be gone for a few hours. You’ll be okay by yourself?”

“Yeah, sure,” you nod and throw her a smile, pulling yourself away from sending a fax for a moment.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

As Gemma walks out, the phone rings so you walk over to answer it.

“Thank you for calling Teller-Morrow, how can I help you?”

Just then Opie waltzes into the office and leaves some filled forms on the desk in front of you.

“Yes, we can do that. If you come by with your car, we can take a look at it and give you an estimate.” You look at Opie and hold a finger up at him to let him know to give you a moment.

“We are open 7 days a week, 8 to 6.” You glance at the form on the desk and you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. “Uh, y-yes. You have a nice day.” You hang up the phone.

“You okay?” Opie asks.

“Is this customer still out there?” You ask him.

“Yeah, he’s gonna wait for his car and wants to pay for it now. Why?”

You stare at the window for a moment before walking over to it and taking a peek outside, recognizing the blue BMW.

“Shit.”

“What? You know this guy or something?” Opie asks.

“That’s my ex-boyfriend. What the hell is he doing on this side of town?”

“You want me to handle this? I can—“

“No,” you sigh. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You sure?” Opie asks again.

“Yeah, thank you.” You force a small smile.

Opie nods and hangs around for a moment in case you change your mind before walking out the office. When he returns to the garage, Jax walks up to him while wiping his greasy hands on a rag.

“What’s up with this preppy boy’s car?” Jax asks, his chin pointing in the direction of the blue BMW.

“Just needs his headlights changed,” Opie answers. “But also, apparently, preppy boy is Y/N’s ex.”

“What?!” Jax asks with raised brows.

“Yeah, she seemed a little spooked. Do you know what the deal is?” Opie asks as they watch you walking towards the blue BMW and its owner.

Jax doesn't answer. They can see the interaction between you and your ex is awkward and Jax sees you recoiling when your ex tries to reach out to you. Jax’s jaw twitches. He picks up the nearest tool next to him and stalks over to the both of you with a torque wrench in his hand.

“Hey, I’m gonna be the one fixing your car.”

“Jax—“

“It’s alright, darlin’,” Jax puts his arm around you. “I can take it from here.”

“Wow, are… are you dating him now? Huh. And you thought I was a piece of shit? You definitely downgraded.” A smug smile plays upon his face. "Now be a good girl and wrap this up, will ya? I have actual important things to do."

“You need your headlights changed, right?” Jax asks.

“Yeah, hope you’re smart enough to figure out that simple task,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, well it looks like you got a broken mirror too.” Jax take a heavy swing with the wrench and knocks one of his side mirrors clean off.

“What the fuck, man?!”

“Jax!”

Just then out of nowhere, Opie jumps in.

"Whoa, whoa. I'm so sorry about that, sir. We'll fix that for you, on the house." Opie tries to pull Jax away until Jax sees you walking away.

Jax follows you back to the office, calling out for you, and leaving Opie to sort out the mess.

“Why the fuck did you do that? You could’ve just changed his headlights and let him be on his fucking way!”

"You're pissed at me? That’s your piece of shit ex, right?” Jax points towards the lot.

“Yes, I'm pissed at you! So what if he's my ex? He was just here for his goddamn headlights. He wasn't here for me.”

“He tried to put his hands on you!”

“And? I can defend myself. Besides, what the hell was that out there? You can’t keep pulling shit like that.”

“I was just trying to protect—“

“Bullshit, Teller! You need to stop acting like we’re in a relationship every time another guy talks to me when you treat me like I’m one of your MC groupies every other week.”

Jax scrubs his beard and looks down at his feet.

“It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you,” Jax says quietly.

“No, you only care when it's convenient for you. You don't get to pick and choose when you want to care about me."

"I'm really trying here," Jax tells you.

"Trying what exactly? I'd much rather you just treat me like shit because at least that's consistent. You're no better than him." You point in the general direction of the lot.

"Don't compare me to that fucking asshole!" Jax shakes his head.

"You know what? You're right. You're not like him. At least he knows he's an asshole and owns up to it."

Just as Jax is about to say something, the phone rings and you pick up.

"Thank you for calling Teller-Morrow, how can I help you?"

You both stare each other down for a moment before Jax punches the wall on his way out of the office.

#charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam fanfiction #jax teller #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller x reader #jax teller x you #jax teller x female reader #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction

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rosegasly · 9 months

Text

snow on the beach | i | max v.

⇢ summary: crashing into him in the middle of nowhere a day before christmas wasn’t part of your plan, but then again, spending the night with him in a car wasn’t either.

alternatively; max is the knight in shining armour no-one expected him to be.

⇢ genre: fluff, eventual smut, sprinkles of angst along the way maybe?

⇢ pairing: max verstappen x female reader

Chapter one || masterlist ⇢ word count: 3k ⇢ a/n: let me know what you thought ♡ i write on tumblr. to no ones surprise my inspiration relies heavily on validation.

You curse for the umpteenth time, restraining yourself from swerving to avoid a particularly slippery-looking spot on the road and praying to every god and guardian angel to keep you from skidding right off the road and into the dense forest beside. Your mothers berating rings in your ear as she reams you through the phone for delaying getting the train ticket till the very last second and then failing to find any.

“Mom, I love you, but please, can we hold off this conversation until I get back?”

“You wouldn’t be driving through this terrible weather and giving your poor mother a heart attack if you had just listened when I told you to book the tickets now, would you?”

You sigh, and it’s equal parts fond and exasperated. She is right and you know you have fucked up by not buying the tickets when you should have, but being a university student, a medical one, to make matters worse, December was a busy month for you. Amidst the stress of finals, burning the midnight oil and the buzz of caffeine, there wasn’t much registered in your cognisance besides your coursework. While you recall your mother talking about the busy festive season and buying said tickets early on, much of it came in through one ear and left through the other.

Humming, you glance at the time displayed on your dashboard and cut the conversation short. Soon it would be dark and you have no desire to drive through the winter weather a day before Christmas eve and arrive back home in a body bag.

“Yes, momma, you’re right, but I really need to concentrate on driving now. I love you and I’ll call you once I am close, kay?”

She sighs through the phone and your heart melts a little inside the hollow of your chest. For all the loud and impatient she is, you know her worry comes from a place of love for you and you make a mental note to make her breakfast tomorrow to make up for it.

“Alright, I am hanging up but drive carefully and stay safe. I love you. See you soon.”

“Love you loads, see you very soon.” You end the call with an audible mwah, knowing she’ll shake her head, muttering a brat not so quietly under her breath.

Blowing through your nose, you grip the steering wheel tight, letting whatever the radio is playing fill the silence. Conscious of your driving skills, the one thing you did not want to do to close off the year is driving your ratty old car through terrible weather. Snow blanketed your surroundings, thick and white, covering the green around you into a shimmering white and if it wasn’t you driving a car that already had less drivability than most would be comfortable with, you might even have enjoyed going through the countryside, but as it stood, it took all of your concentration and a healthy dose of luck to make your way through the long stretch of slippery tarmac.

It comes out of nowhere, one moment, you are straight and the other, the grip of your rear tyres is lost and you are slipping, skidding to the other side and banging into incoming traffic. The impact isn’t as bad as it could have been since you were careful to drive slow but the sudden change of inertia still throws you off your seat, head banging against the rearview mirror before the seatbelt pulls you back into place, stinging the flesh of your chest with the force with which it sends you back, biting into the skin for hold.

A scream is caught somewhere in your chest as your vision swims, panic and shock bringing white spots ahead of you as your body grows stiff in self-defence and you wait for the world to stop moving.

The screeching of the tires is replaced by the ringing in your ears, the only thing audible through it the harsh breaths you exhale. Hands shaking you move to take them off the steering wheel and push open the door. Nausea claws at your throat, begging for a release and it’s a second too late that you realise that you still can’t control the feeling in your lower extremity as you fall onto your knees beside the opened gate of your car and heave.

Tears blur your vision, as painful retches wrack your frame but nothing comes out. You heave until your throat starts to sting, until your chest and abdomen hurt with the weight of a thousand bricks and you struggle to breathe, lack of oxygen making your head spin and suddenly you are being turned around, warmth enveloping your forearms and through hazy eyes, you see the outline of someone’s figure on their knees facing you. It takes you a moment to register the hand that is rubbing your back, and slowly things start to come back. The feeling in your arms, the cold stinging your naked skin, the burning in your abdomen, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins slowly abating as you try to ground yourself to reality.

“Are you okay?” It takes you a few tries to understand the words, and you nod, not yet trusting your voice. You aren’t sure if you are hurt, but you don’t see blood anywhere and while you do feel a little sore, whether from the receding adrenaline or the cold and shock, it’s nothing you can’t bear.

Fingers appear in front of your steadily clearing vision and you hiss, jerking back as pain erupts across your forehead.

“You’re hurt.”

You realise it’s a man before you see him by the deep baritone of his voice, picking up the fine gravel in his voice even through the howling winds. It’s his hand floating in your vision and when the pain stings and recedes yet again that you realise it’s his doing too. There is a furrow in his brows, thick and arched now creased in concern for you and had you not nearly died, you would have marvelled at the sea of cerulean that his eyes are.

Clearing your throat, you move to lean back, getting tired of him poking your forehead and making it sting more, “I’m fine.”

The hand on your back, unbeknownst to you, had sneaked up at some point and it’s the tug that brings you two close again and helps register its presence. The nape of your neck feels hot and you aren’t sure if it’s because of the accident or the warmth of his hand.

Or a noticeable blush.

You quickly squash that particular thought, throwing the remains in the furthest reaches of your mind.

“You’re bleeding.” His response is slow, almost condescending. As though you are stupid for thinking anything otherwise, and you bristle. Shrugging off his hold, this time with more force, you say, “I am fine.”

The effort of leaning back is a little too quick for your still recuperating body and your vision swims, your knees nearly slipping from under you until an arm snakes around your waist, holding you up.

The man sighs and his warm breath tickles the hollow of your neck, making you shiver. “Don’t be stubborn and sit still for a minute.”

You still bristle but having learned your lesson, you stay put and let him assess you. As much as it hurts your pride to have a man, a gorgeous one, treat you like an idiot, you are in no position to be harbouring any arrogance after the quite literal stunt you have pulled.

“Look at me,” he commands. Squashing the petulant urge to argue, you do, feeling slightly bashful at the blue of frozen ocean that stares back at you. Thin, warm fingers grip your chin, turning your face side to side as he inspects you and a vain and idiotic part of you curses internally for forgetting to apply anything on your lips. They are horribly chapped from the poor self-care routine (or lack thereof) finals month had forced them into.

You take the time to inspect him back too. The beginning wisps of jealousy simmer in the pit of your stomach at how full and pink his are. A small tiny mole sits sunk under the deep of his skin on the top left edge of his upper lip and for some inane reason, you decide to focus on it instead of his nose or eyes or forehead like any other average person would.

You don’t know if it’s seconds or minutes later that he finally shifts away from you, breaking your silent staring contest with his lips, moving to stand. His one hand still grips your forearm, maybe not trusting you to topple over and off the road into the under bushes like a pinball knocked over by the slightest breeze.

“Can you stand?”

Blinking, you look up, seeing an outline of his silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun and nod at how broad his shoulders are. Nice.

“Can you?” he repeats, and there is a hint of impatience in his voice this time.

“I don’t know; you’re the one who asked me to sit still.” You know you are being snarky while he is just being helpful in his own jackass way, but it’s still embarrassing and you don’t want to move, talk or do anything more to make your present any more real than it already is. Maybe if you continue to sit still, the sun will rise again and you can have a do-over. Pretend none of today happened and get back home with your still ratty but in one-piece car.

He doesn’t respond to your sarcasm verbally, just tilts his head and somehow, that makes you feel even more stupid.

“Stand then.”

You can’t help the distinct feeling of resemblance to that of a dog as you follow his command, bound by your own previous words and stand on shaky legs. The ends of your feet sting like a million pins and needles are being pierced through them and you stumble right back into his arms.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you.” He breathes against the shell of your ear and the warmth travels from your neck, flushing your cheeks—it’s entirely too cold for how warm your face feels.

You hum, nodding to indicate you have heard him, not trusting your voice to pitch and give you away.

“Hold on to me.”

Wordlessly gripping his denim-clad forearms, you follow him to the parked car beside yours. Observing the damage to its front, it doesn’t take long to add two & two and you feel a little guilty for being snarky to the man you ultimately crashed into.

“Are you hurt?” This time it’s you asking the question you would have asked much earlier had you realised who he actually was.

You feel the movement of his head and know that he’s looking at you, but don’t turn your gaze to catch his. Partly out of guilt, partway because you realise the pull his eyes have and you don’t want to be seen gazing again.

“I am fine.” He says and you nod, accepting his answer.

Opening the passenger side door of his dark SUV, he gently pushes you forward, “Sit and face this side. You are bleeding. Wait here while I get the first aid kit.”

With another nod, you climb in, sitting sideways and pulling your feet closer to ward off some of the cold the open door was letting in. You could hear your gorgeous self-appointed nurse rummaging through the trunk and you take the time to rest your head against the head support, finally breathing a sigh of relief. The realisation that this very well could have been a fatal crash for you is starting to sink in slowly and you clench your fists, wrapping your arms protectively against your middle as the sharp of your nails dig into your skin, the pain almost cathartic, a pulsing, bleeding reminder of how alive you are.

If he had been a second later on the breaks, maybe if you were an inch off more, you wouldn’t be sitting here in a stranger’s car, and perhaps you would never be able to see your mom and listen to her berate you again for getting into yet another mess. It’s morbid and disturbing, but you are glad your mother won’t have to bury you on Christmas eve.

Coming back around, the man passes you a bottle of what you are guessing is water, “Drink.”

“Thank you,” the soft mumble could have easily been lost in the screeching winds, but nonetheless, you extend your hand to grab the offered vessel, fingers brushing the ends of his. Uncapping, you take a gulp, and two and three until you are properly chugging the water down, glad for the way it cools your dry, scratchy throat. The abating flight or fight response having left you parched.

“Easy, you don’t want to choke right now.”

“I am studying to be a doctor,” you don’t know why you say that. You know what you sound like out loud, and you won’t blame the man for thinking you are a bitch, but you can’t help the way defensiveness cloaks you like a too tight jacket and makes you lash out lest you seem vulnerable—guilty.

“And you’re a patient right now, so play nice.” There’s a smirk dancing at the seams of his lips. Contrary to your belief and guilt of him finding you troublesome, he is amused. The shadows of the setting sun caressed his skin and brought out his features. You still haven’t been able to look at him without focusing on one focal point of his face and with every passing minute, you are discovering something new about the way he looks and you wonder if it's just purely flesh and bones or if the way he acts is influencing your view.

Rolling your eyes, you keep the facade of indifference clutched close to your heart. Unwilling to slip and let this handsome stranger in, that you had apparently almost killed, to see you at your weakest.

“Alright then doc, go ahead,” you say and the smirk teasing the edges stretches into a tiny grin.

Stepping close, he grips your chin again and you note it’s gentler this time. Wetting a swab of cotton in an antiseptic, he swipes it over your wounds, methodical, small circular movements from the inside out before discarding the cotton and starting afresh with another swab. His hands are sure, the method more precise than most people who aren’t trained to give people first-aid would know, and you wonder if he is a health professional. Your earlier admission swims to the forefront and you beg anyone up there who is listening to you for it to not be true. You won’t be able to live through that embarrassment.

He blows on your skin, the exhale soft and leaving a barely there whisper of a touch but it’s still enough to make you want to jerk back—which you would have succeeded had he not been holding onto your chin again.

“Tsk,” he is looking at you, annoyed again, and you reign in the urge to kick him in the shin.

Instead of apologising, you stay still and let him finish. He is surprisingly, unbelievably gentle with you and you struggle to figure out why. Maybe he is just scared of accidentally hurting you worse?

“This might hurt so let me know if its too much,”

“Okay,”

He is quick but meticulous as he applies some disinfectant cream that you can’t read the label of with the growing shadows, but by now, you have grown a sense of respect for the man, albeit grudgingly and trust him to not screw it up.

Coughing into your fist to clear your throat, you finally introduce yourself. The water helped soothe the dryness and your voice no longer feels like a nail against the chalkboard to your ears.

It’s a bit too late for introductions, but you two haven’t met in the most normal of circumstances, so you let yourself off the hook. If he is surprised by your willingness to be civil for maybe the first time since your ill-fated encounter, he doesn’t show it.

You catch his gaze and to none of your wonder, it pins you right where you sit, twin pools of ocean under a night sky, blue speckled with the richest of green, as he replies, “Max.”

i wrote this whole thing in one sitting and my hands fkn hurt. its also 8 flipping am goddamn u max verstappen and ur stupid cute face

should I continue this?✿ tag list: open

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coolepowersthings · 11 months

Text

Always Girl

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N and Benedict have been best friends since college. Every year, they watch romcoms together on Valentine’s Day. But this year might not go as planned… modern au

Warnings: NSFW 18+, sexual content, consensual sex.

Authors Note: Apparently, once every few years I manage to finish a story lol. I’ve become obsessed with Bridgerton, especially one Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, so here’s a lovely modern au for you where Ben and his best friend come to terms with some long-simmering feelings. Mostly, a reason to write some Benedict smut. Would love to hear your thoughts! Comments, likes, reblogs, and messages all appreciated!

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She looks in the mirror on her wall and repeats it again. Like a mantra: it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She had to stop it from being like this.

Y/N flops back on her pillow and sighs. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, and yet here she was, another Valentine’s Day, pining after her best friend.

She glances at the clock. Said best friend would be here in about fifteen minutes (which for him meant probably closer to half an hour, if she was lucky and he hadn’t lost himself in a painting) so she had just enough time to pull herself together. The only good thing about this wretched holiday was that she and Benedict always spent it together. The tradition had started in university. She and Benedict had met first term and, after a rocky start involving a misplaced biology textbook, had become close friends. When February rolled around, it became clear that Valentines Day was kind of a capital T “Thing” for him.

***

“I just don’t get the hype!” he had said to her one day over lunch after the girl he was seeing that week asked him what his plans were for February 14th. “It’s one day, where you’re supposed to, what, declare your undying love for whoever you’re with at the moment, lavish them with ridiculous gifts, and watch cheesy romance movies?”

“First of all, you just used the word ‘lavish’ in a sentence. Second, you know the relationship won’t be making it to next week, so you can’t be bothered,” she’d said, pointing her fry at him in mock accusation before popping it into her mouth.

He scowled at her. She loved Benedict to death, but he was something of a flirt. And a bit of a man whore. She’d known him all of six months and already had lost count of the woman he had dated.

“I’ll admit, though, I do like the cheesy romance movie part. But I just want to watch them with a pizza and maybe some chocolate I buy for myself. I could do without the rest of it.”

“Yes!” Benedict had said. “That’s exactly what we’ll do!”

“I’m sorry, what’s exactly what who will do?”

“You and me. On Friday. Bad romcoms. Pizza.”

“And you think your current girl will go for that?”

“Darling, why would I spend valentines with my current girl if I can spend it with my always girl instead?” he said with a smirk.

***

Now, as her doorbell rings, she knows what she’ll find on the other side. Benedict, grinning at her, holding a box of chocolates and a bottle of red wine.

“Happy Valentines, always girl,” he says handing her the box of candy. “For the special lady in my life, I’ve brought a box of dark chocolate salted caramels, and a bottle of the cheapest red wine known to man.”

“You charmer!” She says, examining the bottle and pretending that his words have no effect on her. “This is literally just called ‘Red Blend.’ They couldn’t even be bothered to name their wine?”

“Names cost,” he chuckles, taking the bottle back from her and heading into the kitchen. “Besides,” he yells from the other room, “there’s a heart on the label. See? So, it’s on theme!”

She heard the clinking of him pulling glasses out of the cupboard, but she still was not prepared for the sliver of skin she sees when she turns the corner, his t-shirt riding up as he reaches, showing her a glimpse of his back. Not that she hasn’t seen his skin before – she had seen him fully shirtless in their years of friendship, but the feeling of longing in her gut still caught her off-guard if she wasn’t expecting it. Her stomach clenching, her face getting warm. She clears her throat as he opens the bottle.

“Well, we are nothing if not on theme,” she says brightly, pulling her hair up into a bun on top of her head in an effort to distract herself from the way her body was betraying her. “I mean, what could be more valentines themed than this outfit?”

He glances up at her from pouring the wine and smirks. In an attempt to not overdo it, she had gone with her normal movie watching attire – a t-shirt and yoga pants.

“Dazzling, as always darling.”

He hands her a glass and takes a sip of his own. “Oh,” he winces. “That is truly awful.”

She chuckles.

“You know, our tastes have really improved since undergrad. As, may I add, have our salaries. I know you always wanted to be a ‘starving artist,’ but you have managed your way out of that by being wildly successful. We could consider improving the wine for tonight.”

He gasps in mock horror.

“And not follow tradition? You’d never forgive me. So, what do you have in mind for us today?”

“Um.” she stutters, for just a second.

What her mind wanted them to be up to and what she knew he meant were two different things. She clears her throat and tries again.

“Oh, I have some throwback classics that I think you’ll enjoy,” she says sweetly.

This was the agreement. He brought the terrible wine, and she picked out the cheesy movies. They tried not to repeat movies they had watched on past Valentines Days, but that was getting harder for two reasons. One, because they had been friends forever, and the more years they did this, the less options they had. And two, because she had done her best to avoid one specific, horrifyingly common, romcom trope: friends to lovers. Especially if the movie included long-standing-best-friends to lovers. This year, though, she didn’t have a choice. One of the movies was going to include best friends realizing they were in love with each other. Her options had been that or dredging into truly terrible D grade romcoms. And honestly, while they often poked fun at the ridiculous storylines and over-the-top climatic moments of these films, she genuinely enjoyed watching them, especially with Ben. So, she didn’t want to cheapen it to the worst of the worst. She wanted something actually pleasant to watch.

“Excellent. Que us up then, I’ll order the pizza.”

Ninety minutes later, they had finished their first movie, half the pizza, and a whole bottle of wine.

“Mmm, I liked that one,” she hums, riding the romcom happy ending high.

“I could tell,” he laughs. “You threw a pillow at my head when I suggested that the setup for their romance wasn’t very realistic.”

“Yes, well, don’t forget that I have another pillow right here if I need to do it again.”

“You would never.”

“Don’t pretend you know what I would or would not do, Mr. Bridgeton. I have hidden depths.”

“Darling,” he says. “I have known you forever, I’m pretty sure I know everything about you. And I know, without a doubt, that you would never give up your last pillow during a movie marathon.”

“You don’t know everything,” she says. And then quickly, “For example, you don’t know that what we are about to watch next is one of my all-time favorite movies.”

He quirks a brow.

“Really? A favorite? I didn’t think we had any of those left. I’m surprised you had the willpower to hold off on it until now.”

“Oh, I have willpower like you’d never believe,” she mutters, clicking over to the next film.

The opening of When Harry Met Sally starts playing on the screen.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, it’s this one. I guess you’re right, we haven’t watched this, have we.”

“You’ve seen it right?”

“Of course. It may be the only Meg Ryan movie that doesn’t make me want to die.”

“Rude!” she says. “She is a romcom treasure! And you made it through her other movies unscathed.”

“Barely!”

“Oh, shh it’s starting.”

They sit in companionable silence as the movie moves on, Meg Ryan and Billy Chrystal bantering back and forth. They get to the scene where Sally orders her food in a completely ridiculous way and Ben chuckles.

“God, she reminds me of you,” he says.

“What, terribly difficult? Complicated? Impossible for most men to love?”

“No! No, she knows what she wants. She refuses to settle.”

“I’m flattered, I guess. But that’s not really me at all, you know.”

“Well, it definitely is when you’re ordering at a restaurant,” he smirks at her. But then it turns into a softer smile, something she can’t quite identify behind his eyes. “And honestly, when it comes to dating, you are so, so brave.”

“Stop!”

“You really are! You never stay with men who don’t deserve you. You’re not afraid to go after what you want, rather than staying stagnant in something safe. That’s brave. And not easy.”

“But I don’t go after what I want,” she breaths out. “Not really. I…I’m just not willing to stay with idiots.” She stares at her fingers, which are playing with a thread on the couch pillow she’s holding close, afraid she’s said too much, but somehow not able to stop. “But I’m not willing to go after what I really want, either. I’m not that brave.”

When she chances a look up at him, there is something in his face. It’s soft and sweet. She had expected him to poke fun at her, to say something about how maybe she shouldn’t start off by dating idiots and then it wouldn’t be an issue. But instead, she finds him leaning closer to her, his eyes serious.

“Well, you should go after it. What you want, I mean. You’re brilliant, y/n. And funny and smart. Any man would be lucky to have you.” And then his wide smile is back, the glint in his eye returned. “And I would know, as I’ve been your friend for ages and I have excellent taste.”

She snorts, looking away, trying to diffuse the heavy tension she feels sitting in her chest at his kind words, the way he’s leant towards her, his subtle scent, all fresh and clean with a hint of oil paint and something woodsy underneath.

“You forget that I’ve seen the women you go for,” she says. “And frankly, your taste is questionable.”

They both chuckle and turned back to the film.

“So mean,” he says.

“I tease because I love,” she says.

Then she freezes for just a second. She and Ben tell each other they love each other constantly – as friends, of course. But tonight has seemed so weighted somehow, that she’s worried she has stepped too far. A glance at Ben tells her he’s looking at her again, smiling.

***

When they get to arguably the most famous scene of the movie, y/n nearly spits out her wine, which would have been a shame, since they had moved on to a decent bottle from her own cupboard. She had somehow forgotten about this part and, while she had watched a lot of love scenes over the years with Benedict, this one feels more intimate, somehow, even though the people in question are fully clothed, in a diner.

As she watches Meg Ryan continue to imitate an orgasm, her cheeks flush and she tried very hard not to move. It will be impossible for Ben not to make some comment about this part, and she wasn’t sure she was up to joking about it, given the amount of wine she had consumed and the rush she was already feeling this evening. She wasn’t sure why tonight it was harder to ignore the pull she felt towards him, the warmth of his arm, slung along the back of the couch - not behind her, but close enough to make her want to snuggle into him. But what he says is not what she expected.

“I don’t know how he doesn’t just lunge across that table,” he says, lowly, almost as if he was talking to himself.

“What do you mean?”

She turns to look at him and realizes he’s already looking at her, not at the screen. His eyes are darker than normal, his arm seems suddenly tense behind her.

“I mean, that if a woman I loved showed me how beautiful she could be in the throws of passion, even if I knew she was faking it, there is no way I could just stay where I was. I would need her to know. I would need to show her what she had been missing, what she could have for real.”

She feels her whole face, completely on fire. She’s thought about Ben plenty. About what it would be like to be with him. But to hear him talking about it, in his low, smooth voice, all she can think about is what he could do, with his hands, his tongue…she shivers involuntarily.

“Just, promise me you don’t play this stupid game, do you? You’re too good for that, I hope you know. No man’s ego is worth it. I just – “

“Ben,” she says, suddenly finding her voice and cutting him off. “Stop. I can’t – I don’t want to talk about this.” She tries to make her voice sound light, but when she hears it she knows it’s anything but.

“No! No, tell me you don’t?”

“Of course I don’t. I’d never fake it. But…but it does make for some awkward encounters.”

“Awkward encounters?”

“Don’t pretend you can’t imagine what happens when a woman doesn’t get off? Men have a way of convincing themselves they are the best at sex, and if you in any way make them feel like they’re not…it doesn’t always go great.”

“But that’s the point, isn’t it? You shouldn’t have to pretend, and they should make sure you’re satisfied.”

“Ben,” she looks at him, seriously. “Come on. You have got to know that it is not always that easy. For some women, it’s tricky. I’m just saying, it can cause tension, when things are new.”

Ben scoffs. “Not for me. I would never leave a woman to feel like she had to fake it.”

“You know who you sound like right now, right?” she says, pointing to the television. “You sound like Harry.”

“It’s different. He’s sure a woman has never faked it with him. I make sure she never feels like she has to with me.”

“First sexual encounters are rarely the best.”

“Maybe. But I would make sure it was good. Even if it can’t be the best.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Well that we can agree on.”

“Women’s bodies are different.”

“I would never presume to know a woman’s body better than she does.”

“What?”

“I would ask her. What she likes,” he says, his voice still low, his eyes intent on her. “If she wasn’t happy, I would ask her to show me. I would never pretend like I know everything.”

Her heart is beating so fast, she feels like it might burst from her chest. Hearing him talk about this is too much. He’s so close, closer, somehow, than he had been moments ago. Had she moved towards him? Had the sound of his voice caused her to shift even closer to him? God, this was embarrassing. She goes to sit up straighter, away from him, but he catches her wrist, gently, and keeps her where she is.

“I would never let any woman go unsatisfied. But I absolutely, without a doubt, would never let you go unsatisfied.”

She feels like all the air has left her body.

“Ben,” she barely whispers.

“Please,” he says. “Please tell me that you haven’t been letting immature boys treat you poorly all this time, when I could have been taking care of you.”

All she can do is shake her head and look down, trying to pull herself out of the depth of his eyes. What was happening? Was Ben coming on to her? Did he know how she felt? No, no he was just worried about her. He thought she was brave, that she went for what she wanted, and she had admitted that wasn’t always the case. Ben was nothing if not someone who was comfortable with sex, and so talking about this would not be a big deal to him. He was just concerned. Trying to take care of her, as always. But not in the way she thought. Not in the way she wanted.

“I know it’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship, Ben. But I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can, if you want to. But if that’s not what you want. If you want someone else – “

“It’s not your job to take care of me, Ben. Not like that.”

“I know it’s not but, what if I want it to be.”

Her eyes fly back up to his.

“Please,” he says, moving his hand to cup her cheek now, his face impossibly closer to hers. “Please let me take care of you. Like I want to. Like I’ve always wanted to.”

She doesn’t think she could respond if she tried.

He pauses and looks at her, searching for an answer in her eyes. He must have found what he was looking for, because suddenly he’s there, so close to her, whispering her name.

And then, his lips are on hers.

It starts out sweet, tentative. He was giving her plenty of time to push him away, to say no. But the moment his tongue slides against her mouth, she opens for him without hesitation, and he starts to kiss her in earnest, exploring her mouth with his own. They are all teeth and tongues, and damn, why had they waited so long to do this? She pushes herself closer to him, and he grasps her waist, pulling her up until she is straddling him on the sofa. She feels him, hard against her. Her hands go to his hair and his slide down, cupping her ass through the thin fabric of her leggings. A moan leaves his throat, and she wants to swallow every sound he makes, wants to taste it, to feel the vibrations of him through her body.

His hands move up her back and into her hair, tugging on it lightly as his lips leave hers to trail kisses down her neck. She can’t help the sound that leaves her as he finds the sensitive spot just above her collarbone.

“Fuck,” he whispers, almost reverently, before attaching his lips to the spot again, making her keen. “How can this feel so good when all I’ve done is kiss you?”

Something about his words make her stop and pull his face up to look at her.

“Ben,” she breaths out. “Ben, what are we doing?”

Her question seems to snap him out of the haze.

He looks at her with complete sincerity and says, “I’m so sorry. I should have asked. Do you want this? Do you want this with me? Because if not, we will stop, right now. I would never want to make you uncomfortable – “

“No, Ben, I do want this.”

She can’t help but smile shyly at the relieved look on his face as she says it. Sweet Ben, of course he was worried about her consent. He was a gentleman through and through.

“But that’s not what I meant. I meant, what are we, me and you, doing. Is this, are you…”

She can’t find the words to ask what she wants to - no, what she needs to know. Was this because he wanted her, wanted more with her? Was this a one-time thing for him? Proof that he would take care of her, always, even physically, if that’s what she needed?

Ben tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and keeps looking at her.

“I want this with you,” she lowers her eyes, unable to look at him. “I have wanted this, with you. For a long time. I don’t even know when I started to but…I need to know what you want. What this is for you. Because I…”

“Love,” he says, lifting her face up to look at him again. “Listen to me. I want you. You, Y/N. Here and now. And tomorrow, assuming you don’t kick me out of your bed or freeze me to death, because you are such a blanket hog. I want to wake up next to you, and make coffee, and bicker about what constitutes breakfast, and finally make you stop talking with my mouth on your lips, on your neck, on your body, until we both forget what we were fighting about in the first place. I want to make love to you on every soft surface in this room, and then fuck you against the kitchen counter when you’re trying to cook dinner, because I just cannot wait to be touching you again.”

Her face is on fire now, her whole body on alert, attuned to him. A hot ball of need pulsing at her core, just from his words. And that’s it. Benedicts words are her final undoing, and she lungs forward and presses her lips back to his, fervent, no questions or uncertainty swirling in her head now, just unbridled need and want and a feeling she isn’t ready to name urging her on.

He matches her intensity, kissing her fiercely, biting at her lip, her throat, the exposed part of her collarbone, pushing her t-shirt down her shoulder to get to more of her. His hands roaming up her back, into her hair, holding her steady against him.

“Ben, I…” she starts, but her words leave her as his mouth moves to her breasts, biting at her through her thin t-shirt. His hands move down to her waist, his fingers slipping under the hem of the fabric, lifting it up as they move over her ribs. She reaches for it and pulls the shirt over her head with one swift movement, wanting less between them. A needy hum sounds in Ben’s throat and he leans forward, kissing and nuzzling between her breasts, his hands reaching around her to unclasp her bra and pull it away from her skin. She gasps, her breasts exposed to him for the first time, her nipples pebbling, hard and taut and waiting. He palms the fullness of her in his large hands, and then takes a nipple into his mouth. Licking, biting, making her writhe on his lap from the feel of his tongue, with the way he sucks on her with his hot, wet mouth. He switches to her other breast, but keeps a hand on the first, his fingers twisting and pulling at her. It’s almost too much, how quickly he’s pushing her higher and higher in her need, but it also isn’t enough, not nearly.

As if he could hear her thoughts, his fingers start moving down her stomach, towards the waistband of her leggings.

“Wait,” she rasps, and he stills, his eyes looking to her for what she wants. What she needs.

“You’re still dressed,” she says, putting her hands on his chest, smoothing his shirt under her fingers.

He chuckles, and kisses her on the tip of her nose, before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.

“Better?” he asks, smirking at her, her fingers already roaming the expanse of his chest.

“Much.”

“May I?” he asks, his fingers trailing along the top of her leggings, not quite dipping under the fabric.

“Please, Ben,” she breathes out, and he makes a low sound in his throat.

“Fuck,” he says, his hands working under the fabric. “Never stop saying my name.”

And then his fingers are pushing her panties aside.

“So wet for me love,” he says, kissing up her neck, nipping at her ear, his fingers stroking, up and down along her slit, finally pushing up against her clit, rubbing it teasingly. She moves against him, searching for more friction, pushing herself forward, trapping his hand between her and his own length, straining against his jeans. He breathes out hard, moving his hand up so that he can feel more of the warm heat radiating from her core.

“I want to make this good for you, love. But if you keep grinding into me like that…” she pushes against him again.

“I’m not worried, Ben,” she says, breathily. “But I need you inside of me. Now.”

She grinds against him again, wanting to feel more of him. Wanting him inside of her.

“Fuck,” he says again, tightening his arms around her waste and lifting her up with him. “Bedroom. We need to get to the bedroom.”

While his hands are busy carrying her across the living room, she uses hers to explore the expanse of his chest, to slide over his shoulders, up his neck and into his hair, pulling lightly at it as her mouth follows behind on the same path, leaving kisses across his shoulders and up to his ear.

“If you keep doing that,” he whispers, and she can hear the smile in his voice, “I might drop you.”

“You would never,” she giggles, just as he sets her down on the side of the bed, stretching his body out over her.

She smiles. This is Ben, she thinks, her Ben. The funny, flirty man she’s known forever. He’s still the same person he’s always been, only now it’s so much more. He smiles back down at her, but then his face shifts as he presses her body into the mattress with his own.

“Pants. Off. Now,” she says, her hands finding their way to the button of his jeans, undoing the zipper and tugging at them. He straightens and pulls them down his waste, taking his boxers along with them.

“Holy shit, Ben,” she says, without even meaning to. His cock is ready and waiting, and my god, they are not supposed to be as appealing as his is to her. She has never had this kind of reaction before. She wants to take it in her mouth, to lick up his shaft and suck his head into her mouth and feel it in the back of her throat. She looks up at him, and he is looking away, suddenly blushing. Boyish and bashful, for just a minute. As if this, coming from her, has thrown him. And she remembers that this is new for him too – the two of them, like this. It lasts for only a moment, but it makes her heart ache.

“Look at me, Ben,” she says quietly. He meets her eyes, the smolder back in them now. “My god, you are the most amazing thing I have ever seen.” His mouth quirks.

“Isn’t that my line?” he says, teasing. Clearly deflecting her praise.

“No. No, I get to take care of you too now. And you need to know how perfect you are. How much I want you, just as much.”

And then his mouth is on hers again, hot and persistent, and his hands are back at her waist, pushing at the last of her clothing. She breaks away from the kiss and pushes at him to stand back so she can lift her hips and help him pull the leggings and panties down and off her.

“Holy shit,” he says. He’s mimicking her reaction to him, but from the look in his eyes, she’s not sure he even realizes it. And then he is back in her arms, kissing up her neck, biting at her ear. Whispering to her. “I’ve thought about you for so long. I’ve imagined what it would be like, to see all of you. For you to let me, to want me to. But my god, I could never have imagined how beautiful you would be.” He pushes against her, skin to skin for the first time, his hard length grinding against her core. They both hiss at the contact.

“Condom?” he rasps, and she points to the bedside drawer. She pulls herself farther up the bed as she watches him retrieve the condom and roll it down his shaft, then make his way back to her.

“Love,” he says, crawling between her thighs, his eyes on hers. “I want this to be perfect, but you have to tell me what you like, ok? If somethings not working, I need to know.”

She nods and pulls him down for a kiss, as he reaches down and angles himself into her, and then he is there, pushing inside, filling her.

“Fuck,” he says, lowly, seating himself fully inside her. “So warm and wet and perfect.”

“Oh,” she says, moaning as he starts to move inside her. She feels so full, and Ben is there, looking at her as he thrusts. Then he is kissing, nipping at every part of her he can reach. He pulls back, sitting up on his knees and watching the point where they are connected for just a moment before grabbing her hips and pulling her closer to him, angling upward as he lifts one of her legs up over her shoulder. He hits a spot inside her as he does, and her eyes shut.

“Fuck,” she says, trying to angle herself to the spot again.

“Their?” he asks, hitting the same angle again.

“Yes,” she says, “Fuck, yes, right there.”

He hits the spot again and she keens.

“But Ben, I –“ she starts to say, but loses her voice as his fingers, those gorgeous fingers that she has watched write, and paint, and hold the stem of a wine glass, are touching her again. Gently, at first, his thrusts slow and purposeful, in time with his hands as they stroke at her.

“I know,” he says. “I told you, I want to take care of you.”

She looks up and sees that he’s watching her, her reactions, her movements as he strokes. Then he looks up and catches her eyes, stilling.

“I’m going to make you come,” he says, voice husky. “But I need you to tell me if what I’m doing is good. If you’re getting close, if there’s something else you need.”

She nods, shakily. Just hearing him talk to her, in that voice, while he is inside of her, is doing things to her she can’t explain.

Then he is moving again, rocking into her body as he touches her, starting where their bodies are joined and moving up to her clit and circling there. Slower, than faster, building her up, the heat growing between them. It feels amazing and she loves all of it. But she’s not quite there. She’s never been good at asking for what she wants, what she needs.

“Tell me,” he says, kissing up the leg that he has over his shoulder.

“Talk to me,” she says. “I want to hear…” she can’t say exactly what she wants, but he understands.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he says. “Seeing you like this, naked, beneath me. I have thought about you in every fucking way, but none of it compares.”

She cannot help the sounds that come out of her now, whimpers when he pulls his fingers away from her clit, moans when he pushes them back up.

“Always so controlled, so collected for everyone else. I want this part of you. To see you lose all control. To watch you as you come, to feel you clench around my cock. I swear, I know already I’ll come with you, just from watching you, feeling you,” he moves his hand away, reaching for her own on the bed.

“Show me,” he says. She can hear the need in his voice. How hard he is trying to hold on to his own control. “Help me get you there love. I want to see what you like.” He pulls her hand with his own, back to where they are joined. Encouraging her movement with his fingers, following her lead. And then she is showing him, moving to her clit, rubbing and touching in the way that she knows will get her there. Her hips move, loving the friction, wanting more, desperate to mee his thrusts.

“Yes,” he praises. “Yes, fuck, so hot, so wet, so good.”

She pushes harder, feels him everywhere, inside her, around her. She is coiled so tight, about to snap. Then he turns his head, bites gently into her calf, and she is gone, crying out as waves of pleasure move through her body, tensing and arching and unable to stop.

“Fuck, yes,” he says, grasping at her hips now, canting his own, faster into her as she rides out the high. “I’m going to come so hard inside of you, fuck, I can’t –“ but then his body goes rigid, his cock pulsating inside of her, he says her name as he buries himself once more, riding out his own pleasure.

They both breath hard, slick and sweaty against each other, his head in the crook of her neck, his body over hers, holding his weight off her shakily.

“I..” she says, “that was, I didn’t know…”

He chuckles as he leaves light kisses on her collarbone, across her shoulder.

“Shh,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, love. I told you I would take care of you.”

He lifts his face to look into her eyes, sweeps the hair off her forehead.

“I’ve always got you, my always girl."

#bridgerton smut #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #friends to lovers #mutual pining

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kining-the-evil · 1 year

Text

All I Have Left ch1/?

Summary: you were in love with Randy, you had a life plan with him. But after his death, you cut out everyone in your life. It’s not until you take custody of his niece and nephew that you begin to live life again.

An: this is going to be platonic/motherly!reader to the twins. The idea has been bounced around my head for a couple of days, so I wanted to try it out

It’s not overly long, but if I continued with the idea it would have been way to long. So I may write a part two

Scream Taglist: none currently. Let me know if you want added

Scream Masterlist All Masterlists

“I think it will be a girl.”

You glanced up at Randy when you heard his words. The two of you were in the middle of a movie night in his dorm room, you tucked into his side while his arm was wrapped around you. He wasn’t even looking at you, making you wonder if you were hearing things.

“What?”

“Our first kid, I think she’ll be a girl.” He further explained, looking down at you. The two of you had been talking the night before about life after college. You were high school sweethearts, and had talked about it plenty of times. He was going to major in film, and you psychology. You would live in Hollywood while starting your carriers, and once ready for a family you’d move to a close by suburb. A plan you had started making the summer before senior year. And last night, you’d talked about kids.

“You think so?”

“Absolutely,” he confirmed.

“What makes you so sure?” You asked while giggling slightly.

“A dad just knows,” he winked.

“Well, so does a mom and I think it will be a boy. Besides, it’s not like you’re currently a dad.” You poked his chest lightly, making him chuckle.

“I’d love to have a son, and I’d love him,” he reached down to grab your left hand and place a kiss on the engagement ring on your finger. “But I’ll get my little girl. Don’t care how many times I have to fuck you.”

“Wow, so noble,” you teased as he pulled you to straddle his lap. “What would you name her?” He had clearly put thought into this, and you wanted to know how far his mind had gotten.

“Mindy.”

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

That night was only a week before Randy was killed, and every night after you wished you were dead yourself. Everything made you angry. Seeing Sidney or Dewey made you angry, and even thinking about Gale and her stupid book made you angry. Seeing the school made you angry, and the police made you angry.

So you dropped out of school. You cut people off, distanced yourself, and moved back to Woodsboro. You only went to town when you had to, and worked at home in any way you could. You didn’t need a tone of money, just enough to live in your small house alone. Sidney had tried to reach out a few times, but eventually got the hint that you didn’t want to see her. The only person you were slightly civil with was Randy’s sister, Martha.

She worked at one of the stores you went to often, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to hate the women. You’d known her for years, being friends with Randy for years before going out. So when you saw her at the store, you said hi. If she asked you to come over for a drink or dinner once in a while, you said yes. And when she got pregnant, you promised to be as involved with the kids life as she needed.

“Please…” Chad whined, giving you his best puppy eyes. You had to hand it to the seven year old, he was pretty good at it.

“No, your mom said you’ve been wearing them for the past three nights. They need washed,” you attempted to reason with the boy. Which didn’t work in the slightest.

“Mom said she ‘gave up on that fight’” Mindy spoke up. She had already changed into her pjs, quickly complying when you promised a treat during the movie. Martha and her husband were out for the night, and you had offered to watch your niece and nephew (technically godchildren but as Martha said ‘you would have become their aunt’).

“Enough,” you scolded her before turning back to Chad. “I know for a fact you have more then one pair of train pjs. Get one of your others.” You were at a standstill, a staring contest with a seven year old. You were pointing towards the dresser, and you were determined to win this fight.

“Fineeeeee,” he stretched the word before walking towards the dresser. “But can you wash them for tomorrow night?”

You agreed, knowing Martha would appreciate the clothes at least being clean. You helped the two kids get ready for bed before sending them down stairs to pick a movie. You grabbed some more of their clothes, starting a load of laundry. The sound of arguing drew you downstairs, but you stoped at the fire place. A small shrine that had been set up for Randy. You still didn’t know how to feel about it. Every time you saw a photo of him it reminded you of finding him in that van, but at the same time it reminded you of whatever goofy memory surrounded the photo.

You were pulled from your thoughts again when the arguing got louder. You were sure you knew what it was about. Mindy was attempting to get Chad to agree to whatever movie she wanted to watch. He mate as of splitting it up you grabbed the two bags of candy, one of each of their favorite, and walked into the room to flop onto the couch. This caught both of their attention.

“What are you doing?” Mindy was practically glaring at you, and you had to do your best to hold in your laugh.

“Well, i was going to give you guys this for during the movie, but you are busy arguing so I figured I’d eat it myself.” A horrified look crossed their faces at your words, and it took minutes for them to chose a movie and to climb onto the couch with you. They each stole their respected candy, giggling as though they had tricked you into handing it over.

It was almost 2 in the morning when you woke up to the sound of the house phone ringing. Chad and Mindy were up in bed, and you must have fallen asleep while waiting for their parents. You blindly reached over to grab the phone, pulling it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this the Meeks-Martin household?”

“Ya, can I take a message?” You yawned a bit through your sentence, trying to wake up a bit more.

“Y/n? Its Dewey.” You sighed lightly at the man’s words. You did your best to be civil with the man, it wasn’t his fault that your worst memories in life included him.

“What can I do for You officer Riley?” You questioned.

“I um, I’m calling for Woodsboro memorial Hospital. I have some bad news.” You quickly sat up, suddenly not so tired. “Joel and Martha Meeks-Martin were in a car accident. They um- they were dead before getting to the hospital.”

“W-what?” You whispered, unsure of what else to say. Your entire body felt numb, the same way you had felt when sitting at the police station after Randy. A feeling that made everything feel fake, like in a dream.

“I’m so sorry y/n,” Dewey’s voice practically whispered through the phone. “But we need you to come down and identify the body’s, as well as decide what will happen with the kids.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing tears not to fall. What felt like your only two friends left were gone, and you had to tell their kids what had happened.

“Y/n? Are you ok-“

“Do you need me tonight or can it wait until morning?” You cut him off.

“Tomorrow is Fine. Listen, if you need anything at all-“

“I’ll see you then Dewey.” You quickly hung up the phone, setting it on the couch next to you. You let your head fall to your hands, a small sob being let out. You would cry tonight, morn your friends tonight, and tomorrow you would be whatever Mindy and Chad needed you to be.

#scream #scream 1996 #scream 2 #scream (2022)#randy meeks x reader #randy meeks #mindy meeks martin #mindy meeks martin x motherly!reader #chad meeks martin #chad meeks martin x motherly!reader #motherly!reader #not a request

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