#i remember one time telling a coworker that i never had friends growing up and even my siblings went to school but i didn’t get to and she

[sparksstreet]

sometimes i’ll just be sitting there having a nice time by myself just minding my business and then out of nowhere i remember that ben hanscom quote about how he had never considered himself to be lonely because he had never been anything but alone and then nothing is fine actually and everything hurts.

#i remember one time telling a coworker that i never had friends growing up and even my siblings went to school but i didn’t get to and she #just looked at me and said ‘wow that must have been kind of lonely’ and i just kind of stood there because i had never even thought about it #but yeah maybe lonely is the right word #ben hanscom understands and no one else does #ben hanscom #it #it stephen king

[4ngel-inc]

⊹ ˚. 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 — 𝓜𝓔𝓐𝓝𝓣 𝓣𝓞 𝓑𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤𝓡𝓢 ᡴꪫ

notes — dazai meets you and begins to feel the tight hold he has on his dominant demeanor slipping. over time, he finds all he wants to do is serve you and please you.

tags — [ MDNI / 18+ ], fem reader, dom reader, alludes to depression, loneliness, dom/sub themes, choking, male masturbation, 1.1k words.

this is the first chapter of my sub!dazai series, "self-portraits." link to full series HERE !

life hasn't always been easy for dazai, but it has been simple. when he was in the port mafia, he focused on killing and being killed. and since he's found himself working at the armed detective agency, he's focused on making a living and enjoying a relatively peaceful life. and though there's nothing about his past he misses, he does find himself feeling empty sometimes.

and he's tried, he really has. but no amount of one night stands or bottles of sake or lives he's saved can fill the emptiness inside, it's simply a proven fact at this point. sometimes, it feels like he's suffocating, drowning in untamed emotions. other times, he feels hollow inside.

most times, he just feels invisible. and after all he's been through, though he hates to admit it to himself, buries it down and swallows it like the merciful pill he's always craved, he doesn't want to be invisible, doesn't want to be empty anymore. he wants to be seen, to be known, to be loved.

when did things change? dazai doesn't think he can remember the moment he began wondering what love feels like. maybe it was a couple walking hand-in-hand at the park, passing him by on their daily walk. maybe it's been creeping up slowly, a result of the relationship gossip he hears amongst his coworkers on a daily basis.

dazai's desire to love seems to grow a little more each night, like a cobweb forming in the corner of a room, unnoticed until it collapses. often, when he takes his bandages off before bed and doesn't recognize his own reflection in the mirror anymore, he wonders, could anyone love a man who doesn't know how to love?

even if he found someone, dazai tells himself he wouldn't know what to do—he wouldn't know what to say or how to feel or what to buy "you" for valentine's day. he's slept around a lot, but he's never greeted someone in the morning, always gone long before the sun comes up. he doesn't know how to be in a relationship.

"you." there is no you, only him.

—

it's a little embarrassing, really, how dazai's little crush on you forms. you drink the same coffee as him—decaf, room-temperature, and extra sweet. he's endeared, to say the least, when he hears you order in front of him at his favorite coffee shop one day, and the rest is history.

maybe it's because he wants so desperately to know what love feels like, but dazai finds himself drawn to you after that first glance, and he simply can't let go—there is something so magnetic about you, something that makes him feel a little uneasy, like there's nothing beneath his feet, but you excite him far more than you intimidate him.

he asks you out only a few days later, just happening to find himself behind you in line again, and, surprisingly, his usual sweet talk doesn't quite work on you.

"seriously? that's your pickup line? you're lucky you're cute, or i might have said no." the way you smile so confidently as you put your number in his phone, the way you seem almost amused, the way your fingers lightly brush his shoulder as you walk away that day, leave dazai reeling. he wants you. he has to have you. and he knows, once you're his, he'll do anything to keep you.

but what he doesn't expect, is to really, truly, show all of himself to you.

—

"do you. . . think i could kiss you?" dazai doesn't recognize the hesitation in his own voice, but there's something about the dynamic between you two that has him feeling lighter, like he can finally let go for once.

he never knew his parents, and the only real friend he ever had is long gone, only leaving memories in his wake, but dazai does want to love again—and he's hoping he'll get the chance with you.

as he awaits your answer, he begins to doubt himself, eyes cast down toward the pavement, kicking small pebbles off the steps to your apartment, but when he feels your hand slip behind his neck, he realizes not all is lost.

"you can do more than kiss me," you breathe into his mouth as your lips just barely graze his, "does that sound good?" it sounds fucking amazing.

an hour later, you're still making out heavily on your couch, but dazai wants more. he's waited so long for this, for someone to make him feel something, and now that he's found you, he's feeling all too much at once.

you seem to sense his restlessness, shifting slightly to kiss his forehead softly instead of his lips. "shhh, i can hear your mind racing. just calm down for me, yeah?" the way you're running your fingers through his hair, gently scratching, does soothe him, but it isn't enough to relieve his anxiety.

"i want more," he hates the slight whine in his voice, but he simply can't resist being an utterly lovesick fool for you.

"i do, too, but why don't we take it slow, honey?" your voice drips with seduction, confusing him—if you want to take it slow, why are you acting like this? how are you holding it together so well?

"w-what can i do?" dazai palms the rock-hard bulge in his pants, resigned to the idea he won't get to fuck you just yet. "it hurts, i need-"

"get yourself off for me," you cut him off mid-sentence, and his eyes widen as you state what you want so matter-of-factly. he's never met a woman like you, someone so refined, yet so bold. "that's right, osamu, i want to see you stroke yourself for me, think you can do that, baby?"

it's a bit pathetic, dazai thinks, how quickly he's stripping down for you, kneeling at your feet and jerking himself off, kissing your thighs and your ankles, but he's never been happier—never felt more free, than he does while worshipping you.

your fingers grip his neck ever so gently,  "think you can cum for me? are you gonna be my good boy, osamu?" 

god, you really are an angel to him.

#— love notes: [dazai] ୧ ‧₊ #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #bsd smut #bsd fluff #bsd headcanons #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai fluff #dazai smut

[cheesiedomino]

Second chances ꙳ ੭ * ‧

synopsis: your old situationship from many years ago just moved back in town and of course, he has to text you. but it’s not just any normal text — he’s asking you out on a proper date this time. will you give a second chance to Cupid? or will you be left here feeling stupid?

genre: lee minho x fem!reader | exes (??) to lovers wc: 4.6k tags/warnings: fluff, some light angst, slightly suggestive but nothing srs, mild cursing, kissing, small mentions of crying T-T

now playing 🎧: from the start by laufey

[this is part of my valentine’s series where i write a short story for each member surrounding themes of love, newfound romance, relationship hardships & more.]

“Why don’t you give Tinder a try already? I’m sick of hearing you nagging all day about being lonely!” Areum abruptly suggests mid-convo , resting her palm on the side of her face.

As you both casually wait for the food to arrive, you end up on the dreadful topic of dating again. You got into a real heated discussion with her, sitting in a booth at this new restaurant one of your coworker’s recommended. It wasn’t super well known but they wouldn’t stop raving about how delicious their breadsticks were. The place wasn’t too jam packed but definitely had a decent amount of people. What you weren’t anticipating on was seeing dozens of couples here, it kind of threw your whole vibe off since it only reminded you of your current sad relationship status. Maybe you were putting far too much thought into it but everything seemed so highly unfair. Glaring in envy while they all happily rub in your face that they’ve found their forever companion.

Life really can be cruel at times.

“You can’t be for real right now..” you instantly side eye your friend from across the table. Feeling personally triggered whenever she mentions online dating. You refuse to try it, never wanting to partake in such a vain concept where you swipe left and right based solely on looks. “That’s not the same as real romance. I want to meet someone naturally, wanna tell my kids when they grow up how I met their dreamy, hunk of a father in aisle 39 at Whole Foods.”

One could say it’s almost pathetic in a way— this burning desire you harbor within, longing for a pure, quaint, and beautiful love. Constantly catching yourself daydreaming about finding your life partner, the person you’re going to marry and possibly create an eternal family with. That day has yet to come unfortunately, but you still hold onto the thought of you someday meeting the one.

You thought you found them before, but thou shalt not speak thy names out into existence.

“Well, good luck finding ‘real romance’ in the big age of 2024-” Areum snorts in amusement, taking a pause to sip on her mango strawberry lemonade. “I need whatever drugs you’re on that’s making you this delulu so I can fantasize about my knight and shining armor that’s never coming!”

God you hate that word. Delulu. Why are you suddenly “delusional” for wanting a picture perfect romance? It doesn’t need to be perfect per se, but you want to feel adored, swept off your feet and embraced like the true queen you are. Was that too much to ask? Considering the current state of dating in this day and age, it might just be.

“I mean, let’s face it girl. You literally don’t know the first thing about love ___, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows like in the K-dramas y’know! Haven’t you only had like one boyfriend in high school? You barely even dated that guy for a month-”

“That’s because he dumped me to go move to LA and become a dumb YouTuber!” You snapped back, cutting her off to get all the facts straight.

It was hard not to grimace while thinking of such old memories. Dating a Minecraft streamer definitely had to be one of the most embarrassingly cringe choices you’ve ever made.

“Whatever that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to get at here is you don’t have the best track record when it comes to men. Remember that other guy you were seeing before we graduated? I thought y’all would’ve dated for sure but he turned out to be a dickhole just like the rest of ‘em…” Areum shakes her head in disbelief, recalling all those times you’d call in a frenzied panic about things not working out.

“What was his name again? Min… Minwoo? No, that’s not it.. it was definitely Min something.” She attempts on remembering but keeps drawing a blank.

“Minho.” You answer almost instantaneously. His name still rolled off the tongue smooth as velvet.

It felt weird though. Saying it out loud after so many years of blocking it from your immediate vocabulary. A name you thought would never escape your lips again.

“Damn, you really still think about him don’t you?” She dares to ask, knowing how difficult it is for you to even talk about this anymore.

You only respond by nodding slowly, unable to bring yourself to look at her. It was far too intense; bearing the emotions of hurt and guilt from a past fling that meant more to you but nothing to the other. That’s how most of your tragic stories end— always too overly into them while they barely reciprocate any of that energy towards you. The thing is, you thought Minho actually liked you, even so far as wanting to date in the near future. Considering he brought you over his parent’s house (to hook up of course), and though you didn’t meet them you still think that meant something. Most men don’t just bring any woman they’re seeing to their parent’s place without somewhat thinking a potential relationship could happen down the line.

“So that’s why you should download Tinder and start swipin’ on some other cuties! It’ll at least distract you for a bit and get your mind off that asswipe,” Areum pitches her idea once more, “there’s plenty other fish in the sea ___. Not everyone online is some crazy serial killer, plus you clearly don’t seem to be having much luck out in the real world.”

You wanted to jump up from the table and erase that smirk from her face but instead you roll your eyes at that last remark. “I don’t need those shitty dating apps. I’m very capable of finding someone in real life for your information!” You quickly retort as a means to defend yourself. Even though she did have a point, her delivery could’ve been a little bit nicer.

It’s not easy being a hopeless romantic, you can’t help but yearn for that special someone to enter your life and change it for the better. You won’t feel wholly satisfied nor complete until you do. The sad reality of the matter was that you are still painfully single. No one’s interesting enough to cease your attention, let alone go on any actual dates. Areum’s had enough of your bitching and whining though, there’s only so many rants and tirades she can keep listening to about your vicious hatred for men before she loses it completely. Your nonexistent love life has become more of a nuisance as that time of year approaches— Valentine’s Day. A god forsaken holiday you’ve always loathed with a passion. Wanting nothing more than to be one of those girls on the receiving end getting flowers and chocolates. A day full of the utmost joy and pleasant surprises from your loving significant other.

Must be nice..

Speaking of surprises.. The buzzing in your ear echoes from your phone pinging loudly, indefinitely startling you. Grabbing it to check the sudden notification, your eyes go absurdly wide at the contact name displayed on your screen. Blinking numerous times from shock, you stare at your phone in incredulity; making sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

Lee Minho. The Lee Minho?

What kind of sorcery is being conjured where the instant you bring him up, he somehow texts you after all these years of not speaking? This coincidence was more than unsettling to you. A part of your inner thoughts still believes this is all some elaborate joke being played on you, waiting for a cameraman to pop out of some curtain to announce you’ve just been pranked. But nothing happens, life proceeds as normal. Now you’re left with the most puzzling notification you might’ve ever received.

It was your last year of college and the pressure of your academics along with appeasing your family was getting to you immensely. You needed an escape from all of it, desperately. Which you found through none other than Lee Minho, the boy who worked as a barista at Cozmo’s; this coffee shop you used to frequent a lot. It was a cute, small family-owned establishment and they made the best matcha lattes— in your humble opinion. You’d pick one up almost every day along with a slice of freshly baked cinnamon bread. It started off as only playful banter with him in the beginning, then it lead to more as time went on. One day, as you reached out to pay he blocked your hand from moving any closer, letting you freely walk away without spending a dime. This soon became a regular occurrence, as you’d start seeing Minho outside of work, getting to know more and more about him. You remember so desperately wanting to date back then, pitying your past self for thinking there was even a chance.

‘Maybe he’s just texted the wrong person’ you psyche yourself into thinking, but when you unlock your phone to finally read the message — an uncomfortable lump forms in the pit of your throat.

Minho 🐈:

Hey is this still ___’s number?

You honestly don’t know why you still have his number saved, let alone allowing a whole emoji to be next to it. Though it never was like you to delete anything, no matter how painful it may have been. More lingering questions makes you want to seek out the possible solutions. Why would he text you of all people ? None of this adds up in your mind realistically. Furrowing your brows in concentration, you think of what to say as you draft out a response.

Yes… who’s this?

After a tedious struggle of typing out multiple paragraphs and immediately deleting them, you went over your words a few more times before sending a final reply. It would’ve been strange had you knew exactly who he was off the bat, that’ll just be dead giveaway you still had his contact info saved this whole time. But with that logic, doesn’t that make Minho just as odd for still keeping your number after all this time has passed?

Your phone dings again.

Minho 🐈:

Srsly -_-

Did you really delete my number??

Bet he didn’t see that one coming. He probably thought the moment he texts you, you were gonna kiss up to him like you’ve always done in the past. Mentally giggling to yourself at the image of him getting flustered by you not knowing who he was at first. Feels good to know you knocked his confidence down a peg.

Lol, chillax.. I know it’s you Minho :P

Not even a minute later, a flood of incoming messages appear. Biting your lip out of nervousness, your heart couldn’t stop beating so fast— anxiously checking your phone as the atmosphere around you suddenly gets stuffier.

Minho 🐈:

Better be lucky I didn’t block you after that ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

Guess who’s back in the city btw. Did ya miss me? ;)

No need to answer that, I already know you did. You should stop by at Cozmo’s again sometime!

Also what’re you up to this week? I need you to clear out all your plans because I’m taking you out on a date.

You always knew Minho was the bold type but this was on another level. The sheer audacity he has to even ask something like this after not reaching out for almost 3 years was more than ballsy on his part. It felt like a surge of butterflies erupting in your stomach, getting lightheaded as you think about seeing him again. He really had an effect on you like no other.

Glancing up from your screen to finally pay attention to Areum again, you assure her everything’s going to be just fine. “Looks like I won’t be needing to download Tinder after all.”

Later on that day you ended up going to Cozmo’s and meeting up with Minho. It never really took much convincing from him to get you to budge, though it was a hell of a lot worse back then. You used to blindly follow along with anything he said just to seek his approval, hoping that eventually he’ll see you as the girl he wants to settle down with. Alas, nothing ever blossomed into something more, and you knew deep down that this was headed nowhere— but that still didn’t stop you from fantasizing about a future with him. Getting lost into deep thought, head heavy in the clouds as you imagine the idea of Minho confessing his undying love for you. You’ll be so caught off guard as he gets down on one knee, looking at you with the entire solar system in eyes while he proposes in the most charming way. It really is pitiful how much you still daydream about a guy who wasn’t your boyfriend but would constantly act like he was, then up and leaves without mentioning a single word about it.

You convinced yourself he ran off with someone else to have a better life with, even hearing through town gossip that he’s moved to South Korea to pursue becoming an idol. Whatever the case may be it still weighed heavily on your mind that he never bothered to tell you anything, even a simple ‘goodbye’ would’ve sufficed the empty hole in your heart. The main reason you agreed on meeting up with Minho was to finally ask, why? Why did he pretend to like you? Why did he act like your boyfriend when he never had intentions on seriously dating? Why was he so good at making you fall so hard for him..?

“You look great.” You subconsciously blurt out, affixed in a daze as you stare in awe at the man in front of you.

It’s been a while since you came here— never able to fully bring yourself to try and go back. Though you knew this place first, and they really did have the best Mactha lattes in the universe. It reminded you too much of him and you sadly had to let it go.

You weren’t proud of it but you did go home quickly to change clothes and redo your makeup. Usually you wouldn’t care but this was the only guy you’ve been consistently crushing on for years, you had to feel good inside and out. Minho was just as gorgeous as you remembered, if not he looked even more ethereal — which seemed impossible in itself already. He’s grown up so beautifully, his facial features became more sharp, especially his jawline which looks so defined and sculpted by the Gods.

Minho lightly chuckles at your timidness, some things just never change. “You look way better.” His lips drew into a faint smirk as he admires your presence.

He meant every word of what he said, you looked really good, and it was making him even more frustrated that so much time has passed. Regretting the way he handled things so many years ago, wishing he could take it all back and do everything differently. Seeing you again made it easier for Minho to suppress the guilt he’s borne for so long. This moment feels like a second chance to make amends for his past mistakes.

You couldn’t help but blush when you hear his compliment, feeling your ears grow hot as you look at the ground. There was a silent pause between you that lasted for what seemed like ages. Weirdly enough the conversation flowed well after he finally broke the awkwardness, the chemistry was overall still there and were able to pick up right where it left off.

“I’m so glad you came ___, I’ve been dying to see you since I got here. I’m surprised you even still responded to my lame ass.”

Minho’s light confession puzzles you. If he really was dying to see you, why’d he wait so long to get in contact with you? To be fair, you don’t know the exact time he came back.

“Oh, is that so? When’d you come back? Also show me pics of Korea, I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like there.” You fondly inquire, leaning against the side of the wall as he’s still behind the counter. He mentioned to you he’s only working part time because his parents would rather mooch off their son for free labor than to hire and pay a new employee.

“Yesterday,” he quickly states before taking out his phone to scroll through his gallery, “guess my sister must’ve told you I went there huh?”

You shook your head, “Nah, I haven’t talked to Elle in a while. She’s tried hitting me up a few times though.. but I found out through Areum ‘cause she was seeing Hoseok back then.”

They were definitely “seeing” each other alright, but mostly in the bedroom. Areum didn’t want anything exclusive with Hoseok and neither did he, it was the perfect friends with benefits situation. Minho and Hoseok were good friends who’ve known each other for a while, so naturally he’d tell Areum everything and overshare at some point.

“Agh, there’s a customer gotta take this. One sec, sorry!” He briefly apologizes before bringing his attention to the new person heading inside. You nod, signaling he’s good to go. “I’ll be waiting over there,” you point to a small wooden table with 2 chairs in a corner.

Once Minho comes back you notice he’s no longer wearing his purple work apron; back in his regular attire now and sporting an oversized dark grey hoodie that was three times too big. He was holding a large cup with green liquid and a paper bag in his hand, that’s when it clicks for you— he still remembers your favorite meal.

He’s grinning the whole time he’s handing you the matcha latte and cinnamon pastry, smiling from ear to ear like a kid on Christmas Day. This was the most you’ve seen him be so enthusiastic about something, even back when you were “with” him you can’t recall him beaming with such energy like this.

“Awh, thank you. I haven’t had either one of these in years!” You wanted to give him the biggest hug but you refrained from doing so, feeling as though it may be too early for that.

“Of course dear, anything for you.”

Why does everything he says have to make you melt from the inside out? It’s not fair! >:(

Glancing down at your yummy beverage, you see a message written on the side of the glass with bold permanent sharpie. Tilting your head to read it, the words are bit jumbled together but you get the gist. You’re almost left speechless after it reads: ‘___, Will you be my valentine?’

Your most dreaded and least favorite holiday is here, yippee! But, there’s a twist on this year’s turn of events; you actually have someone to celebrate this wretched tradition with. You should be excited but all you’re feeling is the sudden urge to vomit as you were nervous out of your mind. This was kind of weird to you, going on a date with your ex boyfriend who was never even your real boyfriend. Looking back on it now you shouldn’t have tolerated a relationship dynamic like that, Minho was clearly taking advantage of your passiveness by not explicitly saying what he wanted. On the contrary, you had no one to blame but yourself, you never spoke up or criticized anything even if it didn’t coincide with your personal morals.

The fact he never took you on an actual date until now speaks volumes, you obviously didn’t have enough self worth back to demand better treatment. It took you years of figuring out what a real, healthy relationship is supposed to be like through trials of therapy and that was an emotional rollercoaster in itself. All your uncertainties soon faded away once you became more secure and knew exactly what you wanted for yourself. It took every ounce of patience and acceptance to unlearn all your bad coping mechanisms and other toxic behaviors that were only stunting your inner growth. You’re happy to be in a position now where you’re able to express wholeheartedly what you deserve, it’s the best feeling ever to feel like you’re in control of your own life.

You spent almost 3 hours getting ready and your bedroom now looked like a war zone. The outfit you chose was super girly, a frilly white dress with pink platform heels— Minho’s going to drool in amazement when he sees you. When you sent Areum photos of you before heading out, she responds right way with a series of hearts and other sweet comments— hyping you up to no end like the best friend she is. She’s also able to help pull you out of your doubtful headspace, when you felt unsure if you could really go through with this she quickly psyched you out of it. Reminding you exactly who you are and why you are the prize, not him. ‘He should be the one who’s nervous, not the other way around’ you assure yourself over and over as a mini ego boost.

His jaw dropped when he spotted you walking up to his car, infatuated by how pretty and perfect you looked in every way possible. It angers him so much to know he took all this for granted, he didn’t appreciate all of you the way he should’ve but now he gets another chance to redo everything and right his wrongs. It’s a lot of pressure but he bravely accepts it, he could never mess up another opportunity like this again. The car ride was fairly silent in the beginning, you were vibing in peace as the only thing you could hear was Minho’s soft indie playlist as background music.

You ultimately chose to be the one to speak first, breaking the ice with a simple inquiry about the date. “So where are we going?” Looking out at the scenery from the window, all you is trees and more trees. If it’s something to do with nature you surely don’t want any parts of it, you’ve never been too fond of the wilderness.

“It’s a surprise, I can’t tell you.” He keeps a tight seal on today’s destination without dropping a single hint, forcing you to go completely blind into this. As he goes back to focus on the road, you sigh anxiously after hearing him refuse to disclose anything.

Did he seriously forget what kind of person you are? Anyone who’s close to you at all knows you’ve never been into those types of things. Ever.

“You know I hate surprises Minho,” you remind him, attempting to pry for more information. Even shooting him a doe eyed look along with poking out your bottom lip, but he doesn’t falter.

He simply nods, “I know but you’ll like this one, just have a little bit of faith me.” Flashing an innocent smile at you, he seems to be overly confident in whatever his plan consists of.

After almost half an hour passes the car finally comes to a stop, you scan the area and instantly notice a sense of familiarity among the place. Across from you was an ice cream parlor you thought didn’t exist anymore. But there it is, still standing with dozens of customers waiting in line. The small shop was famously known for its fish-shaped ice cream cones, you’ve always wanted to visit the place and try it when you were a little from seeing it on TV all the time. When you told Minho about it, you said how your parents would say it was too far but it actually closed down and they didn’t know how to tell you. From time to time you’d still think about that place, but you would’ve never thought they relocated. Being here with Minho brings an indescribable amount of happiness to your spirit.

“I mentioned this place like one time in passing, how’d you even remember?” You wonder in amazement, after all these years he still remembers something as minuscule as this.

“It may not have seemed like it but I paid attention to every little detail you told me ___, all it. Of course I know you don’t like surprises but how else would I have been able to take you here?” He sweetly expresses to you, not wanting to hold back anymore.

You wanted to cry right here, right now. All your emotions came crashing down at once and it’s hard to keep them concealed. A lot has changed within these years, things feel so different with him now, especially with how much he’s matured. You notice how he doesn’t act like the typical fuckboy in his early 20’s anymore, he’s much more interested in getting to know only person — that being you.

“I’ve rehearsed this in my head like a million times and I don’t think I’ll ever say it the right way I want but it’s time I start being as transparent as possible with you…” Minho takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve always liked you ___, from the start actually,” he keeps going, “I was just scared, of what I don’t know.. Commitment maybe?”

Slightly looking in another direction, your vision faintly blurs from tears welling up, “I- I honestly don’t know what to say..”

“Then don’t say anything at all, I don’t need you to. I may not know the first thing about how to love someone, but I want to learn all of it with you.” He feels all the remorse of leaving you alone for all these years, unable to process the pain you must’ve endured at him not getting into contact with you. “I’m so sorry ___. For everything, I’m going to make it all better I promise.”

Your eyes subconsciously flutter shut when he comes in contact with you. Connecting in perfect symmetry with your lips to sync together in motion. His gentle hands cupped your face delicately; his touch was so warm and inviting. Your fingers were deeply tangled in his brunette locks, relishing every minute as he tilts his head to capture more of you. He genuinely couldn’t believe he went this long without kissing these luscious lips again. His tongue grazed the bottom of your lip to subtly ask for entry and you comply. Dopamine floods both your senses like a series of fireworks going off, feeling intoxicated by each other’s taste. It was probably that vanilla bean chapstick you always wore— an old favorite of his and is still your go-to flavor of choice. He wanted to savor you in this moment for as long as he could, cherish the fact he has you in his hold again.

“Want to know something funny?” He asks out of nowhere, still smirking from that heated kiss that just happened seconds ago.

“Hm?”

“You’re the reason I ended up coming back here.” Minho states bluntly, no hesitation detected in his voice whatsoever.

You struggle to comprehend anything, overwhelmed by all his sudden confessions. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I never want to leave your side ever again ___. I’m staying here with you, I already made the biggest mistake of losing you once I can’t let the same thing happen twice.” He spoke tenderly from the bottom of his heart, it felt so genuine you couldn’t not believe him.

Going back to rewind time isn’t possible, but “do-over’s” are, and sometimes we’re able to get those second chances to make things right when we get them wrong the first time.

[End <3].

#skz fluff #lee know fluff #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #lee know x reader #lee know skz #lee know x female reader #lee minho x reader #lee minho fluff #stray kids fluff #skz drabbles #lee know drabbles #lee know scenarios #lee know angst #lee know smut #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz angst #skz au

[thatsdemko]

unforgettable - c.sainz

masterlist

requested: y

pairings: carlos sainz x reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol + time jump + established relationship

a/n: slightly inspired by the song unforgettable by Thomas Rhett ☺️ the song is linked below 👇

“do you remember the night we met?” you ask watching your husband, carlos, shovel food into his mouth from across the dinning room table.

it’s hard for him to forget he remembers every detail of that one night in Monte Carlo because it changed everything.

“how can I forget, amor.” he says, mouth full of food, you reach across the table wiping a piece stuck on his chin. the night was a haze for you, only able to remember the Spanish man across the run down bar in a red polo shirt. you could hardly remember the rest it had been so long ago.

“tell me how it happened.” you rest your chin in the palm of your hand watching the fork fall out of his hand as he takes a sip of water to prepare himself.

“hmm well I was with Charles…”

— THAT NIGHT —

it’s pouring rain in Monaco, the streets are flooded, and you were doing anything you could to avoid the harsh droplets from ruining your outfit.

it had been a long week of work that deserved a drink or two, and your friends and coworkers couldn’t have agreed more to celebrate one week down, and more to come. you all met up at a bar with door hinges that barely held together, old chalkboard sign, and a half lit up neon one. you were sure this place had horrible google reviews, but despite the run down appearance, inside was perfectly normal.

you enter inside brushing the rain off your jacket and immediately spotted the table far in the back with your friends who were waving you over. you weaved your way through business men and other tired workers, to your group and took the empty seat at the end of the table.

“it’s raining like crazy out there.” you allow the shivers to run through your body before ordering a drink and turn back to the group in front of you.

“I was a little surprised by the place, the outside is awful.” your friend jokes, her head swiveling in all directions taking in the new tile floors, dim lights, perfectly clean bar, and quite a crowd for the 5pm rush hour on a Friday.

“next time we go out, we go to a bar with five star reviews.” you chuckle taking the drink from the server.

the glass handed to you was dirty, and the rim of your drink had a lipstick stain, “I’m going to order another drink this glass isn’t clean.” you get up from your seat at the table and head to the bar.

you’re careful to not spill the drink that was almost full to the rim, and just as you were almost to the end of the bar, a bright red shirt was suddenly in your field of vision. lucky enough for him and you, you swerved around just in time to avoid a spill. he hadn’t even noticed you he was to into his conversation, but his friend did.

“woah! you alright? you didn’t spill any did you?” he taps your back, and you turn around to being greeted to two men in red Ferrari polo shirts.

“yeah I’m fine, I’m just returning this so it doesn’t matter if I spill.” you nervously laugh, eyes flickering between the two of them. the one who caught your eye was much tanner, he had darker chocolate eyes, a subtle beard growing, and his brown thick hair made you want to run your fingers through it.

“yeah good luck with that, they charged me double to remake my drink.” he shook his head at how ridiculous it was. you just smile back turning on your heel carefully completing your mission towards the bar.

the bartender sighs, and before you can open your mouth he already knows why you’re here, “redo it? another one of you? I’m not remaking it.”

you’re stunned, the look on his face is stern but also annoyed, you were quick to apologize and take the drink back again, “n-never mind I’ll just drink it.”

you turn back around feeling embarrassed, but it’s that same red shirt in front of you, and when you look up he’s behind you.

“she wants her drink remade,” he takes the glass from your grip allowing the liquids to slosh all over his hand before setting it on the bar, “and a new glass this one is dirty.”

“mate, I already told her I’m not remaking it.” the bartender pushes the glass back towards him, and he pushes it back. the two go back and forth for awhile and you see he’s not giving up for you. you’re not sure why some stranger would do this, but you’re thankful.

“well that’s too bad you’re remaking it for me. and don’t talk to women like that.” he shoved the drink back a final time, other people are staring now and the bartender feels his pressure. his eyes are stern and narrow, he’s not giving up until the bartender sighed and accepts his defeat.

“you didn’t have to do that.” you say, his face relaxes turning to you, a little smile creeping on his face when he sees you’re happy despite the fight he put up.

“he didn’t need to yell at you.” he was right about that, there was no need for it, and if it wasn’t for the mystery man in a red Ferrari polo shirt you would’ve been drinking from a gross glass, “I’m carlos.”

“I’m y/n. do you like work for Ferrari?” you ask pointing to the logo on his shirt, he smiles because you have the slightest clue and he thinks it’s cute.

“something like that yeah.”

“ooh, so it’s like a secret job? do you and your friend work for the special services for Ferrari?” you lean against the bar, chin resting on your palm begging to know more.

he erupts in laughter shaking his head, “my friend is Charles leclerc, does that name ring a bell?”

you shake your head, “I don’t follow the special Ferrari services, carlos. tell me what you do!” you move closer to him. you can make out the depths of his irises and you so badly want to get lost in them. every inch of him is gorgeous.

“I drive for Ferrari. I’m in formula one.” he chuckles watching your face grow more concerned and confuse. he sees your mind is working to put some pieces together, but ultimately you fail.

“so what’s formula one?” you ask just as your drink and the check arrives, carlos signs the paper, and you both move along the edge of the bar to the two empty seats at the end.

he pulls one of the seats gesturing for you to take it, you thank him and do so while pushes it in he begins to explain his job.

you nod along, thinking you understand, but he sees right through you and just laughs into his drink. you’re not sure what’s funny to him, but his laugh is music to your ears and butterflies erupt in your stomach. was there anything about him that wasn’t attractive?

“well what do you do, y/n. do you work for the special services?” it’s his turn to lean in eager for more. he’s wrapped up in your beauty from the minute you turned around. hair brushing over your shoulders, wide beautiful eyes, and a pretty smile. he’s happy Charles nudged him in your direction at the bar.

“I can’t tell you if I do.” you give him a playful smirk, arms crossing over your chest. you’re quick to drop the cards and laugh, “no I just work a normal nine to five job. nothing like driving for Ferrari.”

“are you saying my job isn’t normal?” he pretends to be hurt, but it’s all playful and you love how he’s playing along.

“well I don’t know too many people who are in formula 1 for Ferrari!”

“okay you caught me there.” he rolls his eyes, he doesn’t want to but he has to check his watch. he can feel Charles approaching because he knows he has to leave. just as the night was getting good, he didn’t want to leave. he wanted to be with you in this dingy bar.

“let me guess, you have to leave?” you ask, frown forming on your face as you see it’s nearly nine, the crowds of people were beginning to hit the streets for a Friday night, and you were desperate to get home to get the rain and a work day off of you. you just didn’t want this night with Carlos to end.

“I’m not leaving until I get your phone number.” he’s stole the pen from the bartender and a napkin sliding it in front of you.

“oh you’re smooth, I like it.” you take the pen and scribble your number down for him. he takes the paper and shoved it in a place he knew wouldn’t get wet.

“one day you’ll find out that’s actually my nickname.” he’s standing up now, Charles is right there about to remind him of their commitments for the early morning.

“so you’re saying there’s a second time I’m going to see you?” you ask, doing the same thing you always did begging for more, resting your chin in the palm of your hand.

“of course, amor.”

— NOW —

“and I still have the napkin to this day.” he finishes proudly. you’re shocked he’s remembered so much. it was all down to the dress you wore, drink you had, and to what the bartender looked like. you’re both more than 99% sure that bar closed a year later.

“no you do not, Carlos sainz jr. you’re lying to me.” you gasp, and he quickly gets up to find his wallet. he pulls out the perfectly folded square napkin revealing your name and phone number inked into the paper.

“I can’t believe you still have this.” you’re careful to touch it making sure it doesn’t mop up anything from the table. you could cry knowing he kept this all these years.

“it was the best night of my life I had to keep it. I couldn’t forget you.” he’s got that same smile on his face that made you fall in love the first time. nothing about him has changed since then—maybe now that he had two kids and was married to you.

“well naming our kid Charles is definitely a way we can’t forget.” you say watching his nose crinkle remembering the semi heated argument he had with his Ferrari teammate. you’re not sure how he lost that battle, but Charles did have to name his kid after you.

“he said I owed him, he was going to make the move if I didn’t.”

“well I’m glad it was you. I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”

#f1 fic #f1 #f1 driver x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 drabble #f1 driver x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fiction #formula one #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #f1 smut #f1 blurb #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz blurb #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz x reader #imagines

[starlightkun]

➠ word count: 4.5k ➠ warnings: cursing, suggestive (no smut but they’re in love and horny lol) ➠ genre: fluff, established relationship, former hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), shortfic in the buzzer beater series (comes after saltwater smiles), some minor angst again but it’s about like growing up and being a human and finding your place and purpose as an adult, not between our couple or anything ➠ extra info: the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines, experiences as a chronically ill person, and thoughts about being chronically ill are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines/chronic illnesses, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds! ➠ series masterlist

“It feels like I can’t ever move on from this. From being Sungchan the hockey captain. I know you were just joking when you said it but—I don’t want to actually be that guy that peaked in college.”

“Yo, tell them about the championships against the Sharks, Sungchan!” Your colleague, Seunghan, insisted, pushing on your fiancé’s shoulder with his hand that held a drink.

Sungchan looked down at his feet for a moment, and you caught a quick flash of hesitation on his features before he looked back up at the group of enthralled people and gave a lighthearted chuckle and charismatic smile. “I’ve already told that story tonight, I’m sure everyone here doesn’t want to hear it again. Besides, don’t you all want to hear about Y/N’s paper?”

You two were at a rather ritzy gathering being thrown by your department celebrating that one of your articles had been chosen for publication in a huge literary theory journal.

“Anton wasn’t here when you told it earlier!” Seunghan shook a grad student instructor in your department. “And we’ve all read her paper like a hundred times before it got published.”

You reached up to squeeze Sungchan’s arm through his suit jacket. “It’s okay, Channie. I want to hear about it. That was championships your junior year, right? I wasn’t there, remember?”

He focused his gaze down on you for another second as if making extra sure, and you nodded and gave him a smile for good measure. He sighed, wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and began the story, much to all your colleagues’ delight.

A little later in the night found you by the drinks table with Ten. When you had moved back to your old college town to accept a position with the Literature department, you hadn’t expected to walk in on your first day and see a familiar face. Sure, you knew you’d be seeing Dr. Son, who was the department head now and had conducted your interview, and several of your old professors, but you’d been keeping up with most of your old schoolmates and as far as you knew, Ten had moved away after you two finished your two-year master’s program and remained there.

Ten swirled his cocktail around his glass before taking a sip, his eyes trained on your fiancé, who was still surrounded. “Why do I never get that treatment?”

“Maybe you should’ve been captain,” you snickered, taking another sip of your soda.

“Too much work.” Your friend wrinkled his nose. “So what is your man doing these days anyway? He get that PhD in molecular biology about fish or whatever?”

“Yep, he’s a whole doctor,” you told your coworker, looking over at your guy with pride. “Defended his thesis last spring, we did a short stint abroad for about a year for him to study some rare fish in the tropics to cure a rare blood disease. I enjoyed all the food and the sun, really. He probably got skin cancer. And now we’re back here. He’s actually doing his post-doc research here, too.”

“He’s curing blood diseases in tropical fish?”

“No, sorry, in people,” you covered your mouth as you laughed. “Somehow, the fish could help cure a human blood disease, I’m not sure about anything past that.”

“And you’ve got a fat rock on your finger,” he teased, grabbing your hand to inspect your engagement ring. “What a power couple.”

You giggled, letting him look over the ring. “Yeah, something like that. He proposed when we were abroad. God, it was the most gorgeous sunset. Just us, nice and quiet.”

“I’m invited to the wedding, right?”

“Duh. We just haven’t sent invites yet, bitch.” You pushed him with your foot, rolling your eyes. “It’s going to be a certified frat party, I’m afraid.”

“Kegger?” Ten grinned.

“I’m enlisting Taeyong and Kun to keep all you menaces in check for me.”

“Well yeah, you can’t trust your Chenle-of-Honor to do that, he’ll be the first up to do a kegstand.”

You laughed heartily at that. “A few years ago, probably. But I’m happy to report my man-shaped best friend has grown into a real adult.”

“Really? What’s the little monster doing?”

“Middle management in advertising at a designer company. He’s got his eye on a promotion soon, though. Oh, and he’s got the cutest little dog.”

“Speaking of little monsters…” Ten trailed off, eyeing your drink, then your abdomen. “No alcohol?”

“I can’t drink on my medication, remember?” You shook the ice around in your glass smugly.

“Damn!”

As you rode home with Sungchan, your hands entwined over the console, you looked out the passenger window with contentment in your chest.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he sighed, stroking a thumb over the backs of your fingers.

“For what?” You turned to look at him curiously.

His features were pensive and regretful as he focused on the road in front of him, one hand on the steering wheel. “For being a distraction all night. Everybody was asking me about hockey the whole time when all the focus should’ve been on you and your awesome article. I’m sorry, I'll completely understand if you just leave me at home next time.”

“Channie, why the hell would I do that?” You asked through incredulous chuckles, turning to hold his hand with two hands. “Celebrating my accomplishments would mean nothing if I didn’t have you there with me.”

“But I just—”

“Admittedly, I didn’t expect there to be so many puckheads in the Lang department,” you shrugged. “But I know where we work, and you are a bit of a hometown celebrity around here, baby.”

“That sounds like something you’d call somebody who peaked in high school.”

“Right, my bad. You peaked in college.”

“Rude.” He knocked your elbow with his, making you laugh.

“I’m kidding, handsome. But I am proud of you. I snagged a good guy, and I am not going to hide you away when I go to these events just because people are going to ask about your hockey career.”

“It’s not fair to you.”

“I appreciate you trying to put the focus back on me tonight, I really do.” You squeezed his hand. “But when Seunghan said everybody in the department had read my article hundreds of times, he meant it. They all helped proof and revise it dozens of times each. I was tired of reading it by the time it was accepted if I’m being honest with you. Hearing about your hockey game was a welcome reprieve from thinking about the body as a critical site for sex, gender, and political ideology in M. Butterfly.”

“Do you mean that or are you trying to make me feel less like a dick?”

“I mean it, baby boy.” You pinched his cheek.

He squirmed in his seat as he slowed to a stop at a red light. “You never call me that anymore…”

“Seems like you needed it.”

“Hey,” he said softly, turning his head to look at you. “I love you.”

“I know.” You cupped his cheek, stroking his cheekbone fondly. “I never doubted that for a second, baby.”

Sungchan leaned across the console to press his lips to yours, cradling the back of your head. You hummed delightedly into the kiss, moving your mouth against his sweetly.

When you felt the car suddenly roll forward, you jerked back, gripping his arm with a yelp. “Channie!”

He was already grabbing the steering wheel with two hands and slamming on the brakes again. “Fuck! Sorry!”

The car had moved forward less than half a meter and you were the only car at the intersection, but it was enough to get your heart racing.

“Are you okay, baby?” Sungchan checked on you with wide eyes, keeping one hand on the wheel as he reached his other hand over to grab your knee.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You put your hand over his to reassure both of you. The light turned green then. “Let’s just uh, get home in one piece, hm?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He patted your thigh, leaving his hand there as he slowly started the car forward again.

“Channie?” You called out into the house, shrugging off your coat. You’d stayed a bit late to grade papers, and while Sungchan would’ve usually stayed to walk home with you, he had wanted to get a head start on cooking dinner.

“Pantry!” He yelled back, voice distant as he was presumably deep in the walk-in pantry.

You continued shuffling through the mail you’d grabbed on your way in as you walked further into your house, tossing the junk mail in the trash as you fished out the one packet that had caught your attention. Stopping at the doorway to the pantry, you tore open the thick packet. Skimming the letter and investigating the two lanyards inside, you informed your fiancé, “Donghyuck’s team is having a preseason scrimmage at the university, and he sent us VIP passes.”

Sungchan stuck his head back out of the pantry. “So that’s why he asked for our address the other day.”

“When did you talk to Hyuck?” You asked as he gently took the letter and lanyards from your hands.

“He called me out of the blue a couple weeks ago. I was at the gym before work and completely forgot by the time I got home, sorry, baby.” He flipped over the passes hanging from the lanyards, bright green and dark black, the colors of the professional hockey team that Donghyuck had gone on to play for after college. “I thought he was going to crash on our couch or something, not this.”

“He’s a pro hockey player making like millions a year and you thought he was going to ask to couch surf?”

“You think he wouldn’t?”

“Good point,” you chuckled. “So how was he? Sound like he was doing well?”

“You said it yourself, he’s a pro hockey player making millions a year. I’m sure he’s doing great.”

You frowned up at him. “You didn’t ask?”

“It was a quick conversation, he’s busy,” Sungchan shrugged and handed everything back to you, disappearing into the pantry again. “We barely had time to say hello.”

“We should go,” you declared, setting the lanyards down in a spot so you two wouldn’t lose them.

“Baby, it’s a Friday. That’s our date night.”

“We can miss one date night for this, Channie,” you scoffed. “Besides, I’ve never heard of Jung Sungchan not wanting to go see a hockey game. Are you sure you’re my Sungchannie? Were you replaced by an alien or something?”

Sungchan kept his back to you as he started chopping vegetables. “Never mind, you’re right. We should go.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but didn’t push the issue further. “Alright...”

Sat back down in familiar bleachers, you hugged Sungchan’s arm tightly, buzzing with excitement. As much as you had loved watching Sungchan play hockey when you were younger, there was something special about watching it with him, having him explain plays, tell you if a player made the right call, or how he would have done it if he had been captain. Being able to see the sparkle in his eye up close as he watched one of his favorite things. You’d seen it plenty of times in the years that you stayed local while he got his PhD. Which is how you knew that something was wrong now, even as he tried to flash a smile at you every so often, ones that never reached his eyes. He didn’t join in the cheers very enthusiastically, and never engaged when the other guys around him tried to debate calls that the refs made.

You found out that the whole team from your senior year had been invited as well, though some of them couldn’t make it. So it was you, Sungchan, Mark, Ten, Jeno, and Chenle in the VIP section. Yangyang was staying abroad with his parents, while Sicheng was at a seminar for work. Chenle was of course invited as an honorary member of the team, fresh off a plane from Paris with that promotion in his pocket.

Donghyuck was Good. He had been great when he was on the Raptors, obviously, which was how he had gotten scouted to go pro, but now he was great. And this was just a preseason scrimmage, just him messing around. You were sure he was scary good when he was actually trying at their real games. He’d kept his old number from college, 66, and seemed to have his own legion of fans with posters and signs.

When the game was finally over—and Donghyuck’s team won—a representative from the team corralled everyone with the VIP lanyards and directed you towards a different area while the rest of the stands filtered out. You kept your hold on Sungchan’s hand as you waited in what you were pretty sure was the women’s locker room for your old friend.

Finally, Donghyuck ran in, and everyone immediately swarmed him, hooting and hollering, slapping him on the back, ruffling his hair, and making teasing remarks about being a big shot now.

“Mark!” Donghyuck threw his arms around his old Big’s neck, nearly knocking his friend over.

“Christ, dude,” Mark wheezed, stumbling back a couple steps. “Are you still wearing your gear or something?”

“Did you not keep up with our lifting regiment?” Donghyuck shamelessly felt up Mark’s arms, then gasped dramatically. “Am I the Big now?”

Mark swatted his hands away. “If you want to pay for all my beer and drive me around in your Lamborghini or whatever, sure.”

“Deal!” The pro player grinned, then turned to the next person, who happened to be you. “Y/N!”

“Hyuck!” You beamed, opening your arms wide for him to throw himself at you as well, only staying up since Sungchan was right behind you to catch you. “Hey, there! God, I can’t believe it! You killed it out there!”

“Thanks!” He let go of you with one arm to wrap it around Sungchan’s neck, pulling him into the hug with both of you. “Oh, it makes me so happy that you two are still together! Are you engaged? Married? Kids? I didn’t have time to ask Sungchan when I called the other week, I was heading into an interview.”

You leaned back as much as he would let you, just enough to show off your ring. “He proposed last year. We’re— eugh!”

You were cut off by Donghyuck tugging you two against him into a tight embrace again. You gave him a pat on the back as you continued, slightly choked with your throat pressed against his shoulder. “We’re looking at a spring wedding…”

“I love you guys so much…” Donghyuck sighed. “All of you. I hope you know that hasn’t changed.”

“We know that, Hyuck.” You coughed, rubbing his back. “Make sure we have your address so we can send you an invite, okay?”

“What did I tell you, Y/N? In undergrad?”

“You told me a lot.” You laughed as he finally let you and Sungchan go. “Some stuff you probably don’t want me to repeat right now.”

“I said you guys were soulmates. I knew you were gonna get married. I knew it.”

“Oh yeah, you did.” You squeezed his hand that he still had a grip on. “Hey, when you retire from pro hockey, you can be a fortune teller.”

“Don’t joke about that, I’m the star player, haven’t you heard?” Donghyuck was practically puffing out his chest. “I’m years off from retirement!”

Sungchan grabbed him by the scruff then, teasingly mussing up his hair. “What did we always tell you about bragging?”

Ten, Jeno, and Mark eagerly joined in on giving him a killer noogie, the four of them managing to keep him in place despite Hyuck being the only one who had remained a professional athlete.

“Ack!” Donghyuck complained as he was surrounded. “Y/N! Chenle! Somebody, help!”

“Promise you’ll buy us dinner with your star player money,” Chenle crossed his arms over his chest as he watched on, “and maybe Y/N and I will convince them to leave you alone.”

“Yeah!” Jeno agreed. “Dinner and drinks and we’ll consider!”

“This is extortion!” Donghyuck yelped.

“Glad to see some things don’t change…” You sighed, shaking your head. “You guys still pick on him.”

“He needs an ego check,” Jeno snorted, his arm now around Donghyuck’s neck.

“I was going to take you all out to dinner anyway!” Donghyuck pleaded. “Didn’t you people read the letters?”

“It was in the letter, guys,” you confirmed loudly.

The guys all looked at each other, slowly releasing their holds on the youngest. With sweet, proud smiles, they fixed his hair and straightened his branded hoodie back up, smacking his shoulder and patting his cheek between compliments of how well he played and specific moves he did, giving feedback on certain things he could improve on still. Donghyuck rolled his eyes at the constructive criticism, but you could see him struggling to suppress the fond curl of his lip at being surrounded by his old teammates again.

When you finally got home that night, you felt about ready to collapse into bed. You had a tired, happy smile on your face from seeing all your old friends again, and haphazardly tossed your go bag to the side before stepping out of your shoes. Sungchan didn’t follow you into the bedroom, as you had expected. You heard him detour to the kitchen, and your ears perked up with interest as you changed into your pajamas.

Sungchan didn’t just get a glass of water, though. You heard him rooting around in the snacks, and that’s when you got concerned. You had just eaten dinner and had drinks, and he had plenty of bar snacks as you all hung around and caught up after finishing dinner. He shouldn’t be scrounging for a midnight snack already.

After tossing your dirty clothes in the hamper, you ventured out to the kitchen determinedly. Sungchan hadn’t yet found something to eat, a frustrated pout on his face as he pulled out box after box, but didn’t open any.

“Hungry?” You asked curiously, leaning against the fridge.

“No,” he sighed, setting the container of crackers down loudly then rubbing his face harshly.

You held your hand out towards him, and he took it immediately. You led him back through your house by the hand, into your bathroom and let go there. Walking back out through the house, you grabbed his desk chair from your joint home office, and pulled it into the bathroom. He was standing exactly where you left him, and let you wordlessly push him down by the shoulders to sit in the chair. Washing and drying your hands, you then readjusted the chair, making sure he was exactly where you needed him. Then you climbed onto his lap facing him, the two of you perpendicular to your bathroom vanity. You grabbed a fuzzy character headband from one of your drawers and put it on him, pushing his hair back from his face.

“I—”

“Shh.” You stopped him as soon as he opened his mouth, putting your own headband on.

Next, you grabbed your cleanser.

“What—”

“Shh,” you repeated with more emphasis, holding his eye contact firmly, until he gave up and closed his mouth, letting his head fall back against the head rest.

You meticulously went through your whole extended skincare routine, doing each step first on Sungchan, then on yourself. He finally gave up on trying to talk, then finally relaxed, then really relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut and a pleased hum rising in the back of his throat.

“All done, handsome,” you announced at the end, giving his cheeks a final squish between your hands, then pulling off his headband and fluffing up his hair.

Sungchan slowly opened his eyes, reaching up to take your headband off as well.

You smiled down at him. “How are you feeling, Channie?”

“Better, thank you, baby,” he replied quietly.

“You want to talk about it?”

He couldn’t look you in the eye. “About what?”

“Whatever’s been getting you bummed lately. You weren’t all there tonight, I could tell. And the day we got the passes, you didn’t even want to come in the first place. That’s not like you.” You put both your headbands aside on the counter, then stood up off him. “You get changed into your pajamas, I’ll tidy up in here. We’ll talk in a few minutes, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded, getting up and grabbing the chair to drag back with him.

You wiped down the bathroom counter and tidied up all your bottles and containers, listening to the sounds of Sungchan getting ready in the next room over. When you walked back into your bedroom, you were thrown for a loop as you couldn’t see your fiancé for a moment. You found him in your living room, sitting on your couch and holding a picture frame that usually lived on one of the end tables.

Sitting down beside him, you looked at the picture with him. It was of you two at his last collegiate hockey game, him still in his uniform as he picked you up and spun you around, bright smiles on both your faces. His face now was brooding, jaw clenched and eyes hard as he continued staring at it.

“You got me that for our first anniversary,” you commented softly. “I love that picture.”

“I do too,” he sighed, though his tone was much more bitter than his words.

“Talk to me, Channie,” you murmured. “What’s going on?”

“It feels like I can’t ever move on from this.” He shook the frame. “From being Sungchan the hockey captain. I know you were just joking when you said it but—I don’t want to actually be that guy that peaked in college.”

“Oh, Channie...” you breathed out, draping an arm across his back and leaning your cheek against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...”

“It’s not you, baby,” he assured you, squeezing your knee. “It’s everything else. Like I try to do anything else, be anything else, but I’m just dragged back into that stupid jock box again.”

“Well, what do you want to be?” You asked as you sat back up, rubbing up and down the center of his chest soothingly. “Not what you think other people want you to be, or what you think you should be. What do you actually like? What do you want to do? Do you still like hockey? Outside of everybody’s opinions about you liking hockey? It’s okay either way, for you to still like it or not. It was the biggest thing in your life for like twenty years, baby. It’d be ridiculous to expect you to just suddenly not like it as soon as you graduated.”

“Do you really want a husband that just talks about sports all the time while you’re talking about smart stuff?” He sighed, letting his eyes close as he leaned all of his weight against you, his hands dropping to rest the frame in his lap.

“I want a husband that’s you. That’s why I accepted your proposal and not like, Dr. Yoon’s or something.”

“I’m going to assume you’re being hyperbolic to make a point and that my research head didn’t actually propose to you. Because if not, then I’m going to stop pouting and write my letter of resignation right now.”

“I’m trying to make a point here.”

“Which is?”

“You’re really underselling yourself, Channie.” You encouraged him to lay his head in the crook of your neck, not letting up your movements on his sternum. ��You’re plenty smart. We’ve been together for almost seven years and I still couldn’t keep track of a hockey game if a gun was to my head. Meanwhile you were a whole captain. You had to make decisions on your feet—or, your skates. Not to mention, hm, oh yeah, you have a PhD in molecular biology. Did you forget about that? Doctor Jung?”

“Oh yeah,” he mumbled into your collarbone.

“Oh yeah,” you mimicked him lovingly. “I nearly flunked my bio for non-majors course my freshman year, you know.”

“What?” He squinted up at you. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You knew I was a Bio major, you should’ve asked me for help.”

“I kick myself every day for it,” you replied melodramatically, and finally saw a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “So? Do you think you still like hockey or not?”

He let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, I do. I really do.”

“Good. I’m glad.” You kissed the top of his head. “I want you to do stuff that makes you happy.”

“Coach came and found me at the lab last week... the day we got the VIP passes from Donghyuck. He’s looking for a part-time assistant coach, said I was his first pick,” Sungchan admitted quietly.

“That’s why you were so... off that day, huh?”

“Yeah. It felt like I was handed a pamphlet for a retirement home.”

You chuckled as he reached forward to set the picture down on the coffee table, then grabbed your hand that was on his chest. He looked up at you with heartachingly familiar, big, round doe eyes, ones that hadn’t changed in the ten years since you’d first met.

“I told him no but... I’m thinking maybe I should ask if he’s found someone else yet?”

“I think that’s a great idea, baby.” You pecked his forehead. “Coach Jung… I think I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, a much different look in his eye as he sat up to his full height, towering over you.

“I don’t know, let me try it again.”

“Go ahead.”

“Coach Jung.” You reached for the back of his neck as he laid you down on your couch, hovering over you. “Yeah, it’s got a nice ring to it, huh? Powerful, sexy. I love a man with a whistle.”

“You’re so dorky,” he snickered, letting you pull his lips down to yours. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more, my Sungchannie.” You cradled his face with both of your hands.

“Lies.” He kissed your lips. “Impossible.” He kissed your neck.

“Says who?”

“Who has the whistle here?”

“You don’t have one yet,” you teased, holding your arms up for him to pull your shirt off. “Assistant Coach Jung.”

Sungchan kissed a trail down your front, stopping above your waistband. “You’re forgetting something, baby.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m a scientist, with a degree and everything, and I say it’s scientifically impossible for anybody to love anybody more than I love my girl.”

You made grabby hands at him, and he rose up from where he had settled between your legs, entirely blocking out the lights above you. You connected your mouths together again, wrapping your arms and legs around him so tightly he had no choice but to lay his entire weight on top of you.

“No fair,” you complained into his mouth. “I just told you I almost flunked Gen Ed bio.”

“You should’ve let me be your sexy tutor, then.” He didn’t sound sympathetic at all.

“Yeah, freshman you all sweaty and nervous in your hockey team hoodie.” You broke apart to giggle. “Real hot stuff, Channie. Literally.”

“You’re lucky you’re the love of my life, or I’d be really hurt at some of the stuff you say to me, you know.”

“You’re right.” You gave him a peck. “I am lucky that I’m the love of your life.”

➠ next | series masterlist | blog masterlist

#sungchan x reader #riize x reader #sungchan imagines #riize imagines #sungchan #sungchan imagine #riize imagine #nct x reader #nct imagine #nct imagines #jung sungchan #i: sungchan #f: freezing the puck #s: buzzer beater #writing #text #mine #bias tag #putting some lore deep in the tags here but fun fact i wrote this one first (after bb/27jsc) then worked backwards writing the other shorts #so all the other shorts were sorta meant to be building up to this one #the originally bb/27jsc was very focused on reader (for good reason lol) but i wanted some channie character focus 🫶 #*100

[honeybadgerwritings]

The Upside

Pairing: Peter Ballard x Female!Reader

Requested: “36,12,20 from the smut prompt list with Peter Ballard?”

Prompt: “Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I said I’d take care of you, did you think I wouldn’t follow through on that?”

“I’m afraid I can no longer keep this professional.”

Warnings: Slight Gore/Violence, Mentions of Blood, Fingering, Orgasm Denial, PinV <3

Summary: Peter just wants to take care of you. Is that too much to ask?

Contains 18+ content so while I’m not your parent, Minors DNI

~~~~~~~

The longer you’ve worked here, the more downsides you’ve realized there are to being a nurse at Hawkins Lab.

For example: Your uniform is plain, tight, and itchy, everything inside is a boring and barren white, the fluorescent lights constantly give you headaches, the food that’s served tastes awful, and worst of all, some of the kids there are spoiled rotten and see no issue in taking their anger out on the staff.

It’s not like you could report the incidents to anyone either. This is a top secret facility, it doesn’t exactly have an HR department. So you had to make due with with you had been given.

Sometimes when you remember of how utterly awful this job is, you’ll try to come up with some of the perks, like the pay and..... well it’s really just the pay.

You lean forward in your office chair and rest your face in your hands, depressed that there’s only one singular upside to this cursed job, and it happens to be the only thing keeping you here.

“I guess someone’s having a rough day hm?”

Scratch that. Two upsides.

You peek up at the doorway through your fingers to see your favorite coworker and newfound best friend, Peter.

When you had first started working here, he was the one to show you around and explain how everything worked. The two of you clicked instantly, spending lunch breaks and changes between shifts together constantly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like him more than a friend, though. Not only is he incredibly sweet, patient, and understanding, he’s beautiful too. Almost as if he was sculpted by Aphrodite herself.

And don’t even get you started on his hands.

You shake your head, immediately disposing of your thoughts before focusing back on Peter. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a familiar look in his eyes. You groan and glare at him, “Don’t look at me like that.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and you turn your chair to face him, a pout resting on your lips. He chuckles at you, “Like what?”

“Like you need something from me.”

It’s his turn to pout now, “You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.” His arms uncross and he slowly makes his way towards you.

“And I really don’t want to-” You start to turn your chair back, but he catches it, cutting off your words and spinning you back to face him.

He’s leaning over you now, hands resting on both arms of the chair, keeping you in place. Your breath catches in your throat and you nervously look up at him. He’s staring you down with an amused smirk dancing across his lips.

“Now, can I finish what I was saying?” He asks, eyes intensely staring into yours. A shaky breath leaves your lips and you nod, never having been this close to him before. His eyebrows furrow at your response, “What do I always tell you hm? Use your words.”

You huff out an annoyed breath in response, rolling your eyes. He did in fact always tell you to use your words. It helped you come out of your shell to him when you first started working here. You had been a very anxious little thing at the time, and sometimes you still were. But ever since Peter realized that was helpful to you, he hasn’t stopped saying it.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he playfully grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him, “Use your words.”

Your cheeks immediately grow an embarrassing shade of red as you look him in the eye, squeaking out a quiet, “Yes Peter.”

You practically feel the energy in the room shifting, and after one look at Peter, you can tell that he does too. The way his body goes rigid and his breath grows shallow. And that look in his eyes makes you want to melt where you sit.

He stands up, awkwardly stepping away to clear his throat, “Thank you…uhh,” he rubs the back of his neck, attempting to figure out what to say next. “So, you know how there has to be two staff members watching the kids at all times?”

You nod.

“Well Lee had a family emergency...” He trailed off, watching your expression closely.

“And you want me to take his place.” You finish his sentence for him, rubbing your forehead tiredly. He nods and gives you a hopeful smile. “You know that I’m a nurse right? I have to be here.”

He scoffs at that, “Peggy is here too you know.” He nods his head across the hall, gesturing to the other nurse on duty.

“Well maybe you should ask her to help you then.” You retort, turning back to the papers on your desk as you hear him sigh.

“Oh come on. Eleven’s been asking about you.” He begs and you sigh yet again, contemplating your choices. You could either sit here, bored for 5 more hours with more than likely no patients, or you could go with Peter and do something other than stare at a wall.

You stand up and face him, giving him a tired look, “Fine, lead the way.”

~~~~~~~

You’d only ever been in the rainbow room twice. Once when Seven had felt ill and collapsed, and again when Two had attacked another child, resulting in him being restrained and sedated. Neither experience had been especially pleasant for you.

Hopefully third times a charm.

You and Peter had been standing outside the doors for the last two minutes, waiting for the shift change. Once two orderlies exited the room, they gave you both a nod, signaling for you to enter. Peter had instructed you on what to do.

Stand at your post, don’t let any kids leave the room, you may interact with them if you please, and any bullying or harassment between the children must be put to a stop immediately. And you only had to do it for two hours. It seemed easy enough.

It was boring at first. You’d been standing there for almost two hours watching the kids run around and solve puzzles with their minds. Eventually though, about five minutes until shift change, Eleven wandered up to you and handed you a piece of paper.

It was a drawing of you and her holding hands.

You smiled as your eyes gazed over the drawing. Eleven had always been your favorite; she was such a sweet girl, and never caused any problems.

“Well aren’t you just the little artist?” You smile at her, squatting down to her level, “This is a beautiful picture Eleven. And I bet it’ll look even better pinned up in my office....what do you think?”

She giggles at you, nodding her head excitedly before enveloping you in a hug. You return the hug, wrapping your arms around the small, frail girl. You glance up to see Peter smiling at the two of you. He slyly mouths, ‘I told you so,’ and you roll your eyes.

The nice moment doesn’t last very long though, as you hear a scoff from across the room. You lift your head to see Two watching the scene before him in utter disgust.

Why? No one will ever know. Your guess is that he probably hates joy and wants to watch the world burn.

You stand up, releasing Eleven from your hold and gently usher her back to the drawing spaces in the corner. Away from Two.

You hear him laugh in disbelief and your head snaps up at him once again. You can see Peter shooting him a nasty glare from behind but Two pays no mind, his eyes only dangerously focused on Eleven.

Any happy feelings you had a moment ago had completely dissipated and had been replaced by anger. You clear your throat before speaking, your voice lacking any form of kindness,

“Is there a problem Two?” You ask, calling him out bitterly. His head snapped to you, eyes widening in shock before eventually darkening again. Even Peter seemed surprised at your tone. No one in this room had ever seen you even remotely upset once, but you had dealt with Two and his behavior long enough.

But he didn’t even seem phased by your upfront behavior.

“Yeah, there is. Why are you here?” He asks bitterly. You take a deep breath, willing yourself not to throw one of the toy cars at his head. You know he doesn’t like you, especially after sedating him a few months back.

“Because multiple staff members are required to supervise the rainbow room and its occupants at all times. And if I’m not mistaken, that rule is in place because of you.” You reply smugly, attempting to strike a nerve, and it most certainly worked.

He stands up abruptly, visibly seething at your words. It’s then that Peter takes a step forward, his voice laced in warning, “Let me remind you Two, if you cause any sort of trouble, your time in the rainbow room will be revoked for two weeks minimum.”

Two stands there for a moment, obviously debating his options, before he slowly sits back down in defeat. You nod in Peter’s direction, silently thanking him.

It’s then that the big metal doors open and two more orderlies step into the room, obviously there to take the place of you and Peter. You turn towards Eleven and wave goodbye to her, still holding her drawing in hand. She waves back to you with a smile, before her face contorts into one of horror as a pair of scissors hurdles towards your head.

You notice at the last second and attempt to dodge it, but you’re not quick enough as the blade slices your cheek and you gasp in pain. You immediately stumble and Peter is quick to steady you in his arms. You hardly pay attention to him though, as you watch Two being dragged out screaming by the other orderlies.

You shakily lift your hand to your cheek, only to find warm blood dripping from your wound and down your neck. It was deep, and you had gotten lucky.

Because he was aiming for your eye.

You must have been in shock because you didn’t even realize that you had been pulled from the room, and were being gently guided back to the infirmary by Peter. Your mind was going a thousand miles a minute but your body felt sluggish. Your eyes were fading in and out of focus and everything blurred together.

The fluorescent lights overhead make the bland white halls even brighter and you groan. A gentle pressure appears on your back and you can only assume that it’s Peter offering you some comfort.

“Easy now...easy, I’ve got you.” His voice fades into your ears as your senses slowly start to come back to you.

You immediately feel awful, guilt settling in your gut. You hate that he has to see you like this, that he feels obligated to help you.

He leads you through the door to the infirmary, leaving you alone for a few seconds to close it behind him. You stand there for a moment, blinking your eyes back into focus. Peter makes his way back towards you but you hold out an arm to stop him, halting his movements to put his arms around you once more.

“I-I’m,” you blink a couple times, “I’m okay...I‘m okay.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrow and he ignores your outstretched arm, guiding you over to the bed, despite your protests.

“Peter, I’m okay. You don’t have to-”

“Hush,” He cuts you off, forcing you to sit down before going and getting a bowl of water, a rag, and some other medical supplies. “You’re not okay, so stop saying it.”

You huff out an annoyed breath and kick your feet back and forth, dangling them just above the floor. You feel a slight throbbing in your cheek and wince, remembering that there’s currently blood dripping down your cheek and neck. You sigh, realizing you probably look like a mess.

“Okay well then I’m fine. Seriously Peter, you don’t have to worry about me. I can clean this up myself-” A finger is pressed to your lips, cutting you off once again.

“Stop. Talking.” He reprimands you. Your eyes meet his and you watch as they soften, only confirming how pathetic you must look. It’s almost like he’s able to read your thoughts as he bends down to your level, his hand shifting to gently cup the side of your face, thumb stroking your uninjured cheek. “Just let me take care of you.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at that, realizing how close he is to you, and the way his bright blue eyes bore into yours. You think for a moment, wondering if it’d even be worth it to keep pushing him away. You eventually decide against it, giving in and nodding your head slowly. He smiles at you,

“Good girl.”

Your eyes widen and a red heat rises to your face at his words. He stands up fully, turning towards the bowl of water. You think at first that he might not have noticed your reaction, but you can just barely see the smug smile resting on his face from where you sat. He knows what he’s doing.

Jackass

He wordlessly turns back to you with a wet rag in hand. He grips your chin, gently turning your head to the side so the gash was more visible. He gently wipes the rag across your cheek and down your neck, cleaning up the blood. You can practically sense the way he’s frowning as he tuts his tongue.

“I knew he was going to try something, the little shit.” He grumbles. You want to chuckle and tell him that it’s fine, you want to reassure him that Two is getting the punishment he deserves. But you can’t bring yourself to.

Your mind flashes back to the blade flying straight towards your eye. At the speed it was going, it wouldn’t have just blinded you, it would have killed you; you were lucky to be alive. You can’t help but picture what you would have looked like, dying and bleeding out in the middle of the rainbow room.

You’re starting to feel a little concerned about how easy it is for Peter to read your mind as his voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife,

“Hey,” the movement of the warm rag pause against your flesh as his other hand places itself on top of yours, “Darling, breathe.” You hadn’t even noticed you’d been holding your breath, your lungs screaming for air. You inhale deeply through your nose, trying to calm yourself down.

“You shouldn’t be here...you shouldn’t have to see me like this. God I’m such a mess.” You sniffle, biting down on your lip as he continues to clean your wound once again. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze,

“That’s exactly why I’m not leaving you alone. I’m right where I need to be. You might be a little bit of a mess,” you nudge him with your knee and he huffs out a laugh, “But you’re safe with me, I promise.”

You nod slowly as he dips the rag in the bowl once again before bringing it down to your neck. You hear him hum and turn to look at him. His eyes are focused on the collar of your shirt that’s now been doused in blood, before they glance up to meet yours.

You sigh and lift up your arms, beginning to remove your shirt. “Yeah yeah, I got it.” You pull the shirt over your head before reaching to throw it in the waste bin. When you turn back to face Peter you immediately feel bashful, crossing your arms over your slightly exposed chest. Maybe a white lace bra wasn’t the best idea for today.

It’s as if Peter pays no mind though, continuing to clean the blood off your neck for a few more moments. The problem is, you don’t know whether you feel thankful or slightly disappointed; you’ve never been this exposed in front of him before. You quickly try to ward off your thoughts, remembering that you’re at work. He gently pulls the rag away from your skin and smiles,

“Not so messy now hm?”

You scoff at him, gently pushing his shoulder and he laughs, reaching over to grab another clean rag, some hydrogen peroxide, and a medical bandage. You wince at the sight of him wetting the rag with the peroxide, knowing how much it’s going to sting.

“This is going to suck...” you whine as he sets down the bottle, reaching the rag up to your face. He places his free hand back on yours, squeezing lightly.

“I know sweet girl, I’ll get it over with as quick as I can okay? Just remember to breathe, and try to keep your head in place alright?” You don’t even have time to register the pet name before he places the rag against your wound. You hiss in pain as the peroxide floods into the cut, squeezing his hand.

“Doing so good for me, I’m so proud of you...” Your breath catches in your throat as his words fade into your ears, your eyes closing. His words seemed innocent but in your mind they were far from it. You can’t help the slight whimper that leaves your mouth, and you pray that it could just pass off as a pained one.

His hand tenses against your skin and he pulls the rag away. You open your eyes to see him reaching for the bandage wordlessly, his entire body rigid.

Shit

He turns towards you again, his eyes not meeting yours as he gently peels it open and places it over your wound, covering it completely. His jaw is tightened and his eyes are darkened as he avoids your gaze.

“Peter...” you whisper, almost begging. You’re not entirely sure what you’re begging for but you know you just want him to look at you, and he does. Your eyes lock and your breath catches in your throat once again, trying to keep your composure.

But it only takes a moment for him to completely throw his out the window, as he leans forward, crashing his lips against yours.

And just like that it feels like the time stops. The kiss is passionate as your lips mold together perfectly, almost like pieces of a puzzle. Your hands move up to rest against his chest while his settle on your hips, tugging you impossibly closer to him. You’d wanted this for so long, and now that you had it, it just feels so right; bodies colliding, and his hips pressing into yours. Your lungs begin to burn for air and you pull away first, his face inches from yours as you try to catch your breath.

He leans back in almost immediately, but you press your hands against his chest to stop him. He looks at you quizzically, “What is it?”

“Peter we...we’re at work.” You breath out nervously, and he looks around.

“Do you see any cameras?” You shake your head no, “Then I’m afraid I can no longer keep this professional.”

His lips crash back into yours and his hands slowly move from gripping your hips up towards your ribcage, his thumbs delicately tracing the underside of your bra. Your arms wrap around his neck and you tangle your hands in his hair, tugging lightly. He moans in response, his lips making their way to your jawline and down to your neck, leaving an array of markings and hickeys. You tilt your head back, willingly giving him access, tiny gasps and whimpers leaving your lips in response.

“Such pretty little noises baby.” He breathes into your skin. Your eyes practically roll back at his words and you whine, arching up closer to him. His hands slip around your arched back, gently gliding up your spine before his fingers dance over the hook of your bra, “Is this okay?” He asks against your skin.

You nod without hesitation, needing him as close to you as possible. He gently bites you in response and you whine again, squirming beneath him.

“Use your words sweetheart.”

In any other situation you would have shoved his shoulder and rolled your eyes at him. But right now his body is wrapped around yours and his lips are dancing along the skin of your neck while you writhe underneath him. This wasn’t any other situation.

“Yes-” you gasp out, “Yes, god Peter please-”

He cooes at your desperate plea, laying you down as his hands immediately begin to undo the hooks.

“Good girl.” There it is again.

You whimper in response as he slowly pulls your bra off, revealing your breasts. His reaches up to gently fondle them in his hands, thumbs teasing circles around your nipples while he gauges your reactions. “God you’re so fucking perfect.”

You preen at that, mind going incredibly fuzzy as he toys with you. Of course he chuckles, taking notice.

“Ohhh baby...does my sweet little thing like it when I praise her? When I call her a good girl and tell her how fucking pretty she is?”

“My” sweet little thing. My. My. My.

“When I tell her how good I’m going to fuck her?”

You shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were at his words; you knew exactly where this was all headed. But you couldn’t help the way your head shot up, your eyes widening as they meet his. You can only imagine how you looked to him right now, eyes blown wide with desire, chest heaving as his fingers toy with your nipples, and your neck completely marked up. He cooes at you, practically drinking in how pathetic and adorable you look,

“I said I’d take care of you, did you think I wouldn’t follow through on that?”

A strangled gasp leaves your lips as one of his his hands delicately trails down your stomach and makes its way under the skirt of your uniform. He slowly drags one of his fingers up the slit of your clothed pussy, and he moans, feeling just how badly you’ve soaked through your panties.

“So fucking wet for me aren’t you... do you need me touch you sweetheart? Make you feel good?” He groans, finger teasing circles over your clothed entrance. Another choked whimper escapes you and your back arches in desperation, hips bucking up into his hand.

“G-god, please Peter,” you beg, “I need it- please I-” He chuckles, cutting off your pleas by pressing his lips against yours once again.

“Shhhh... so polite. I got you,” he murmurs against your lips as his hand dips beneath the waist band of your panties. He glides his fingers over your clit, circling it a few times just to hear you moan, before he gently prods one of them against your hole. You gasp softly, attempting to grind against him and he places a kiss to your uninjured cheek,

“Needy baby...” he teases you, before slowly slipping in his finger. You gasp sharply at the stretch as he slowly curls his digit, your hole clenching around him, “and so tight.” He groans, gently thrusting his finger in and out of you. You whine and whimper in pleasure, your head tossed back and your eyes blown wide.

“P-Peter...Oh god-” He thrusts a few more times before gently prodding a second finger at your entrance, moaning as he watches it slip in with ease, coverred in your arousal. He scissors them inside you and your back arches in pleasure, soft mewls and moans escaping your lips. His thumb makes it’s way up to your clit as he does so, gently circling. Your hips involuntarily buck up to meet his hand and you moan loudly.

Your mouth is almost immediately covered by his other hand, and he shushes you gently, fingers never seizing their attack on your poor hole. “Shhh sweet girl, we’re at work remember?” He smirks at you, raising an eyebrow.

Your attempt to glare at him doesn’t last long as he easily slips a third finger inside of you, stretching you out deliciously around him. Your eyes roll back as your muffled moans fill the room, your legs beginning to shake.

Your climax is fast approaching as you continue to pulse and clench around his fingers, your clit swollen. His thumb picks up in pace, rubbing your clit even faster as he watches you completely fall apart underneath him, bringing you right to the edge.

And then it stops.

A strangled cry attempts to leave your lips, only to meet his palm. You were so close and it had been ripped away from you. Desperate tears prick at your eyes and drip down your cheeks as you watch him clean his fingers, tasting your arousal. The hand covering your mouth slowly moves to caress your uninjured cheek as you cry and whine in desperation.

“No no no Peter please! I-I need to-”

“The only place you’re cumming is all over my cock sweetheart.” He hums unapologetically, leaning down to kiss you once more. You whine against his lips, needing to feel more of him. Needing to be completely intertwined with him.

You reach for the buttons of his shirt, fiddling with them at a rapid pace. Your hands were shaking as you quickly tried to undo them, before his hands found their way to yours.

“Slowly baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

You gulp nervously and take a deep breath before slowly returning your focus to the buttons. They come undone a lot easier and pretty soon his top half is bare, shirt discarded on the floor, and he’s fiddling with his belt. He slides it off with ease before he slips his trousers and boxers down, his cock springing free. You practically drool at the sight of it, how big and thick it is, the precum leaking from the tip.

“Hang on,” You say. He raises an eyebrow at you, but you ignore it, reaching over and pulling open the drawer on your desk. You pull out a condom from the little box in there and hand it to him, “here.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and laughs in disbelief. “You keep condoms in the nurses office?” He asks, quizzically. You shrug, bashfully mumbling, “Don’t look at me, I didn’t put them there.”

He laughs, placing a kiss to your uninjured cheek, before tearing open the packaging and sliding the condom up his cock. He leans down once more, helping you get comfortable as he wraps your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He gently places one more kiss on the tip of your nose.9

“You’re so beautiful...” he whispers, eyes dancing over your features. You blush heavily at his words and whimper as his tip presses against you, “You ready?” He asks.

“Yes...please Peter-” you’re immediately cut off as he slowly pushes into you, stretching you out around him. You throw your head back with a gasp and your hole flutters around his cock, causing him to groan.

“S-so fucking tight.” He moans, bottoming out inside of you. Your arms wrap around him quickly, nails digging into his back as breathy moans leave your lips. He gives you a minute to adjust to his size before he slowly begins to thrust into you.

“Feel so full.” you moan, taking his cock as he thrusts at a steady pace. Your cunt continues to pulse around him, and he buries his face in your shoulder as he fucks you, his moans tickling the skin of your neck.

You cling to each other like crazy as your hips buck up to meet his, and he reaches down, thumb rubbing your clit once again. You bite your lip trying to stay quiet, whimpers and breathy moans escaping you as he uses you and makes you feel good.

He adjusts his hips slightly, pounding into you from a different angle and your eyes roll back into your head in utter ecstasy. You can feel your arousal leaking from your hole down onto the nursing bed as his hips meet yours.

His moans sound like music to your ears and all you can think about is how you never want this to end. You want Peter to use you whenever he pleases, to bend you over no matter where you are and fuck you until he’s satisfied. You don’t even care how degrading it sounds... you’ve become so desperate for this man that you’ll do anything just to hear the way he moans as he bottoms out inside of your cunt.

Your climax begins to arise once again, and he can tell by the way you’re writhing and shaking underneath his touch. He speeds up his rubbing at your clit as your pussy throbs around him some more. You cling to him like a lifeline as you’re brought right to the edge.

“I-I’m gonna...I’m gonna cum oh god.”

“Yeah baby? You gonna cum for me? Go ahead, make a mess all over my cock sweetheart.” You hear his words and you’re so far gone.

Your eyes roll back once more and your body tenses up as your orgasm rushes through you. You’re unable to control your moans as a white hot heat runs through your body, and it doesn’t take long for Peter to cover your mouth again. His thrusts become sloppy as your poor little cunt clenches around him uncontrollably, and with a few more thrusts he’s coming hard, his cock twitching inside of you.

He rides out his high, continuing to thrust in and out of you while you lay there and take it, feeling utterly blissful. He stays inside of you for a few moments as the two of you attempt to catch your breath. He eventually slips his cock out of you and stands up, leaving you feeling cold and completely empty. You can’t help but whine, despite feeling floaty, you needed him close to you. He shushes you gently,

“I know baby I know, I’m just gonna get you cleaned up okay?”

You nod again, still pouting as he takes a cloth and cleans the table underneath you, before swiping it up over your abused pussy. You squirm at the sensitivity and he strokes your hip to comfort you.

Once you’re taken care of and cleaned up, he does the same for himself. He slowly but surely helps you back into your clothing, before going out and finding a new shirt for you.

Now, fully dressed and content, the two of you sit side by side on the bed, while you lean your head on his shoulder, eyes closed. He glances down at your tired form and huffs out an amused laugh through his nose. He reaches up to stroke a strand of hair from you face,

“Sleepy thing aren’t you?” He asks.

“Can’t help it,” you mumble tiredly, “you wore me out.” He laughs in response, helping you maneuver so you were laying down, head in his lap.

“Well I can’t imagine anyone would be mad at you for sleeping the rest of your shift.” The pads of his fingers gently massage your scalp, and your eyelids flutter, a soft sigh escaping your lips. Normally you would argue with him but he was probably right, especially after what had happened.

After a few moments there was a soft knock at the door. Peter peers down at you as soft breaths escape your lips. You were asleep.

He gently slides your head off of his lap and covers you with an extra blanket, unable to keep the soft smile off of his lips. He quietly makes his way to the door, and opens it to find Eleven standing there, holding the picture she had drawn for you. It must have gotten left behind amidst all of the chaos. Peter smiles gently at her, squatting down to her level.

“Is she okay?” Eleven asks quietly and he smiles at her, gesturing to you with his head.

“She’s sleeping now, but she’s okay. I fixed her right up.” He smiles, reassuring the girl, who then took a breath of relief.

“I made this for her.” The girl holds up the drawing for Peter to see, and he smiles brightly at it. He had seen it earlier, it was a drawing of just her and you, but now there was another figure standing next to them. Clearly representing him.

“This is such a pretty drawing Eleven,” He holds his hand out to her, inviting her into the office. She takes it, following him inside.

“Now, where should we hang it up?”

Your eyes peak open slightly at the small bit of commotion you hear, and you see Peter lifting Eleven up, attempting to pin the drawing to the board on your wall.

The room is filled with giggles, and you can’t help but smile and think,

Three upsides.

And your eyes flutter closed once more.

#henry creel #peter ballard #imagines #fiction #stranger things #001 stranger things #humor #writers #peter ballard fluff #peter ballard smut #peter ballard x reader

[pedgito]

Lol not me actually requesting something from someone yikes. But you asked for more Tom requests - what about you and best friend!Tom go on a night out with all your work mates after a long week and everyone keeps treating you like a couple so you play it up and flirt heavily with him but he gets flustered? If you could find a way to take this in a smutty direction I’d love you forever ♥️

author's note: this got a little wordy, i'm sorry, but i couldn't help myself.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), drinking/smoking, flirting, established friendships, oral (f recieving), tom being extra boyfriend-ish

word count: 5.6k

“A drink.” Tom promised, “Only one—come out with us.”

You were always reluctant to venture anywhere outside of work with coworkers. Tom was the only exception, but even that was few and far between.

And Tom’s friends - by association, your coworkers - weren’t the easiest to be around. They were friendly to a degree, but they were men. They get too rowdy and loud and say horrible things about women, whether you were around or not. 

“Just boys being boys.” Your neighbor had told you, a sweet old lady who kept to herself, catching the boys huddled outside of Tom’s caravan on a sticky, hot Friday night.

You never understood it and Tom seemed to always take the brunt of whatever jokes they were telling, but he laughed anyway. He never took himself too seriously, not since Ruth.

He doesn't talk about her much anymore, only in passing when he brings up old memories, but he’s happier now—lighter and more carefree in the way he carries himself. 

He’s a homebody like you, but he’s taking that leap and going on a wild night out, but not without dragging you along with him. 

“Only one?” You've got an inkling that isn’t the truth, and Tom sinks a little, shoulders slumping over his soft, gray cotton shirt. “It’s never only one, Tom.”

“You know I don’t like ‘em,” You argued, scrunching your nose in disgust—it makes Tom chuckle every time, “they always got something to say, they’re always being mean toward you.”

Tom shrugs carelessly, “It’s just fuckin’ around. It doesn’t bother me.” 

Except when it does. Except when it’s almost always cheap shot jokes aimed at his relationship with Ruth and how disastrous it’s ending was—how stupidly oblivious Tom had been to Ruth’s other interests. 

Tom loved her. He couldn’t help it.

And growing up with Tom, you understood it. He loved and he loved hard, he protected the ones he cared about, he was always there, even when people weren’t there for him.

Maybe that was his downfall. But he’s standing here, pride on the line, begging you to go out for drinks despite knowing how much you hate drinking. 

You sigh, using your pointer finger to scratch at the middle of your brow, along the bridge of your nose. 

“I will break a fuckin’ nose if one of them even so much as makes a comment in my direction,” You warn, “or yours.”

Tom snickers softly, pulling you into a tight, warm hug outside of the small work shack, smelling like the sweet cereal he had eaten that morning, both of you still barely awake enough to be ready for the day. 

“They mean well,” Tom defends weakly, not believing much in himself either as he says it, but you both ignore it, “either way, ya’ promised.”

“Did I?” You ask playfully, crossing your arms over your chest as you shrugged him away, “I must be losin’ my memory because I don’t remember that.”

“Not really,” Tom quickly admits, howling out a laugh as you shove him, “hey—we’re mates, that’s gotta count for something.”

“And what about them?” You ask, wondering how you were that much different.

Tom couldn’t put it into words, not now.

Things had changed the moment Ruth fled, the moment you started slipping into his daily routine. There was always a cup of warm tea sitting on his workspace every morning with your name on it.

“Gotcha a cuppa.” He’d mumble around the rim of his own cup.

Meanwhile you’re shoving a freshly packaged duo of sandwiches at his chest, his smile growing wide. One was never enough and you almost always stole half of the second—Tom never cared, the gesture was more than anything anyone had ever done for him. 

He mentioned Ruth’s horrid attempt at pasta once and you nearly balked at the admission, hiding your laugh behind your hand. He’s never had your cooking, but Tom swears nothing can be worse than that.

“S’different.” Tom replies, a piss poor answer.

“Why? Because I’ve got tits?”

Tom hesitates for a brief moment, mouth opened up and posed for a witty remark. It’s drowned out by your hand slapping his bicep and a weary laugh from him as he speaks.

“Fucking hell, you said it! Not me.”

“Is it true?” You ask despite his pain, his fingers squeezing at the sore spot on his arm.

Tom would never see it that way. He didn’t care one way or the other. But, you two melded together easily; quick banter, easy but sharp jokes that neither of you took seriously. Things were genuine, unforced, and you were the only person he actually made an effort to see outside of work—everything else was just coincidence or coercion on the part of Tom’s other friends.

“No, no,” Tom says forcefully, seeming offended that you would even ask, “what—you think I’m like them too?”

Another shrug that Tom can’t decipher, your hand reaching for the doorknob, “Just checking—see you tonight.”

Tom snorts out a soft hmph, “Go easy on ‘em, yeah?”

“Not a fuckin’ chance.” 

You’ve managed your way through two rounds of shots, taking the first one in stride before sipping gingerly at the second and sneaking it Tom’s way, letting him down the rest.

He’s got a hand on the small of your back, a comforting gesture but possessive nonetheless. It’s more of a, stay near me and don’t stray for your own good, type gesture—rather than a, you’re mine. Regardless, you lean into the touch and shove the third round of shots his way. 

“Nice to see Tommy finally bring you out with him,” Jason, a friend of Tom’s you’ve only spoken to a few times, pipes up a few spots down the bar slab, “least he doesn’t talk about Ruth anymore”.

“Hey,” Tom replies in warning, throwing the shot back, “fuck off, man.”

Another one of his friends speaks up, the one that’s always a bit too rowdy, less filtered, and terrible at social cues.

“He’s right, mate—she’s a looker, too.” 

The counter creaks in the silence that falls over, Tom’s touch tightening in the fabric of your wool knit sweater, a silent plea that begs you to back down.

He glanced around briefly, all eyes staring back at him.

“What—What did I say?”

“Thanks.” You reply, cutting through the awkward silence.

Tom visibly relaxed, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sways a little, his hand reaching out to rest on the barstool to steady himself.

“Alright, mate?” Jason asks, “Thought you had a little more in you than that—“ his eyes flick up toward you, teeth glinting behind a smirk, “seems like you’ve got a night ahead of you.”

The realization dawns on you, the closeness you two held—and with the thick skulls and empty heads of most of those men, they had no idea where your relationship with Tom landed, just that you two were close now and that had to mean you two were shagging, or at least thinking about it. 

Tom goes red in the face, ears blossoming pink. It was partly the alcohol, but his hand drifting away from you is a small inclination that he sees the line being crossed—and maybe you were feeling a little bold tonight, but you lean further into him. 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” You quirk your head at Tom slightly, his eyes bulging a little, “right, Tommy?”

It makes him squirm, the nickname sounding foreign on your tongue. He liked the way you said his name. Tom. It was light, but strong—you only ever said it when you were really trying to prove a point or get his attention, but it drove him mad in the best way.

He doesn’t know when the feelings developed or how they’ve gotten so intense, but standing in front of you now, watching you openly agree with the notion that you two might be going home together, even if it’s just a ruse to fuck with his friends, has his insides twisting in knots.

Tom laughs nervously, agreeing without thinking.

“Told you,” You hear a whisper, a jab of an elbow in the side of one of his other friends, briefly glancing up at Tom, “about time you finally move on from that odd one—Ruth, yeah? Girl always gave me a vibe, ya know?”

The bitter memories still linger, always reappearing at the sound of her name and you can see it, watching as he visibly recoils in on himself.

There’s no telling how often this happens, how frequently they leave Tom at the end of the line, constantly directing their bad, poorly timed jokes at him.

You roll your eyes, remembering Tom’s plea to remain civil, instead directing your attention toward him, hoping that whatever bold course of action you decided to take would deter his friends away. 

“Dunno what she was thinking, he’s a keeper,” You interrupt, shoving Tom gently with your shoulder, “sweet, a good fuckin’ laugh—“

“Least one of us is getting laid, yeah?”

A weird course of questions to take, but again—boys will be boys. 

“It’s a wonder.” You joke coarsely, but Tom notices the hint of your deadpan delivery, biting on his bottom lip to stifle the laugh threatening to escape. 

Tom looks flushed still, finger tracing the outline of his shot glass as a line of Guinessen hits the bar top—it’s his weakness, always getting him absolutely hammered. You’ve seen it once, cleaned it off his couch after a wild night out and him showing up at your doorstep in tears. The night was blurry now, but there were a lot of secrets spilled, learning more about Tom than you’d ever planned, and in turn, a few things about yourself.

It’s part of the reason you don’t mind flirting with Tom. He’s always been there, a guy that was easily everything you could see yourself starting your life with.

After a while, you spill into a booth. It’s a large round table with just enough room for everyone, except you. Tom nearly offers his own seat up, but you’re moving before he can decide, squeezing yourself onto his lap. 

He visibly stiffens, his hand scolding hot against your skin from where it’s resting in the curve of your hip.

You catch the long, offstandish looks from across the table—a couple guys you didn’t know at all, snickering at Tom’s discomfort (or nervousness, it seemed) and making it even worse on him. 

He doesn’t blame you—you were trying to make things less awkward, ease the burden, but now he has no clue how to respond. Touch you more? Touch you less? Does he go bold and make a move or should he just excuse himself and say it’s been a long day and head home.

And if you weren’t annoyed before, you were surely annoyed now and feeling a bit too protective over Tom as you look over, his face in perfect eyeline with your own.

“Too much?” He mouths, his legs parting slightly as you straddle his thigh, the movement nudging you forward and against the table, ass sliding back an inch.

Neither of you speak on it, but you can feel it. He tenses even more, but it seems less nervous.  

You shake your head, glancing up at the two obnoxious men briefly before returning to him, “Not enough.” You whisper, lips grazing against his temple at the action, leaning back to look at him for a moment.

He almost panics, but then you’re leaning in and all Tom can do is adapt. He brought this on himself, he remembers. He asked you out tonight, practically begged, and now he was reaping the consequences.

Not that this could be considered a punishment, far from it, actually. 

“Just act like you enjoy it, for their sake.” You tell him softly, a word of warning before your lips are colliding with his own.

They’re soft, not at all a surprise. Your thumb rubs at the joint of his jaw, the beginnings of stubble growing there, a few days past his most recent shave and he makes a noise, something that gets caught in his throat but you feel it, the sound vibrating against the fingers pressed on the side of neck. He opens his mouth briefly (probably to interrupt) and you jump on the chance, sliding your tongue past his lips to graze against his own, and he sighs against you, open-mouthed and husky. 

And just when you feel satisfied enough to pull away, Tom pulls you back in, eliciting a few wolf whistles from his friends.

“Seems like someone’s leaving early tonight.”

Tom pulls away with a deep chuckle, avoiding whatever expression was on your face when he looks away—luckily you’re good at masking the surprise of him going in for seconds, and it’s unspoken, but the energy thrumming between you both was high.

It was better excuse than any, eyebrows raising in question at Tom, silently praying and hoping he would put your misery to end and agree to leaving.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tom nods slowly, turning back to you sheepishly—there’s something behind his eyes, those wide, beautiful eyes; but he forces it back, turning back to his friends, “you assholes drink enough for me, yeah?”

“Not a problem, mate.”

The keys jingle around Tom’s finger as the heavy door closes behind you, gravel shifting under your feet.

“So,” Tom drags out, chewing at the inside of his cheek, “what was all that about?”

You turn back to him slightly, seeing him stuck in place, leaning against the brick wall now, still and unmoving.

“You like being shit on like that?” You ask, deadpan and serious. 

“Oh, what are you on about?” Tom asks, a groan on the horizon as he tips his head back, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket—he’s been nursing it for a few weeks, only smoking when he’s feeling really stressed, but now it seemed as a means to avoid the conversation.

You were having none of it.

“It’s always like this,” You argue, yanking the small pack from his grip and tossing it in the trash, “don’t start with that—you only ever smoke around them, you only act a certain way around them—what is it, Tom? What are you trying to prove?”

“Nothin’—why do you care even?” Tom asks, hands splayed out in midair, still confused at your sudden outburst. “Know what, I’ll do you one better—the hell was that in there? Flirting with me, kissing me—“

“And you needed to have your hands on me all night?” You counter, a vicious response that has Tom recoiling in on himself, “What exactly are you telling those fuckers when I’m not around?”

“You think I talk to them like that?” Tom asks, offended by the accusation. 

“Nice to see you finally bringing her out with you,” You mock in a low voice, lazily stepping toward Tom, arms folded over your chest in defense, a way to comfort yourself, “finally—really?”

“S’not my doing!” Tom snaps, forehead creasing in frustration as he pushes from the wall, meeting you halfway in your walk toward him, “They’re always talkin’ about how you look at me, touching me all the time—they just assumed.”

“Assumed what, Tom?” You ask carefully, voice soft but dangerous—a double-edged sword that worries Tom.

You’re lucky the parking lot is barren of people, everyone packed inside the bar. Tom sighs, a forceful breath through his nose.

“That why you ask me out tonight?” You question, “Tryin’ to paint me as yours, are you?”

“Fuck,” Tom groans in exasperation and the expletive shouldn’t invade your mind that easily, the audible frustration in his voice as he continues, “s’just—we’re close, ya know. They have questions, I never tell them anything. I’d never—I wouldn’t do that.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. Tom seems to have sobered a little at that, despite the alcohol on his breath. 

“What? Don’t take me for a good shag, no?” You tease, the words hitting Tom fast and hard and he’s interrupting just as quick.

“You lost your fuckin’ mind?” Tom asks, your silence a louder response than ever, “I meant I’d never disrespect you like that.”

You shake your head slightly, stubbornly. Tom can’t take it anymore, full to the brim with annoyance at how dense you’re being. 

He can’t help how easily you drive him mad, to the point of rash decisions and thoughts and he’s hauling forward before he can think, gripping your forearm to pull you around the back wall of the bar, a dark alley hidden away from everything else and private, quiet.

“Fuck is your problem?” You ask, yanking your arm away. 

“You.” Tom answers boldly, chest heaving heavily, struggling to take the deep breaths he knows he should.

“I was only trying to ease the teasing, Tom.” You reassure him, “They were laughing and I didn’t think—I kissed you to shut them up and I’m sorry but—“

“But?” Tom reiterates, eyebrows raising inquisitively.

“You didn’t need to kiss me back.”

“And I did.” 

You nod slowly, taking a long, calming breath despite your heart hammering in your chest. It was anger and everything that came with it, but it was also fear, excitement, the type of things that cloud your thinking and lead you toward making bad choices. 

Was this a bad choice? 

Tom’s eerily quiet, eyes directed toward the ground and hand rubbing the tense muscle of his neck.

You sigh quietly, speaking first.

“Let’s go.” You tell him, eyes pleading when he looks up at you. “Please?”

Tom relents, but the drive back is anything but easy; because everything with Tom was easy and now—you couldn’t even look at him. 

He pulls into his driveway before yours, forcing you to finally speak up.

“Tom, this isn’t mine.” You remind him, wondering if he was as hammered as his friends were teasing him about.

“No shit,” His voice cracks when he talks, “Come on.”

When you’re finally inside, no arguments to be had, Tom’s reaching into the fridge and pulling out a pair of beer bottles, cracking open the lids against his chipped countertop. He forces the beer into your hand, motion toward the small dining table. 

“I’m not in the mood for drinking, Tom.” You reply, taking the seat he demands, eyes following your movements. 

“You drive me mad.” Tom admits, his teeth seething around the word, taking a long sip that spills down his lips briefly, the bottle ringing as it hits the table, his fingers tracing the perspiration as the silence grows, your heart swelling in your chest.

Tom had a habit of leaving you speechless—usually it was crass jokes and ridiculous things you couldn’t find the nerve to respond to, but this was different.

“I promise ‘em weeks ago that I would go out,” Tom admits, “and it was stupid of me to think you wanted to hang out with them—I should’ve blown them off, grown a fuckin’ pair and invited you out.”

“Tom—“ You interrupt softly.

“It’s not that I’m scared,” Tom continues, “just don’t wanna ruin what we have—but there’s so much—I can’t help thinkin’ about you and not in the way makes you an absolute nuisance sometimes—“

“Oh, fuck you.” You retort, a giggle settling in your chest.

“I dunno if you even look at me that way,” Tom shrugs, feeling ridiculous, “but I can’t lie to you anymore.”

“Tom,” You start again, his name on your tongue making his cock twitch in his pants, “I make you fuckin’ lunch everyday, I suffer going out with your obnoxious friends, I let you hang all over me and you think I don’t look at you that way—“

“Should’ve done things like this,” Tom laughs to himself, self-deprecating and sipping at the lingering few ounces left in the bottle, “dunno why I forced you out tonight.”

“You didn’t force me,” You shrug, “—didn’t force me to kiss you either.”

Tom laughs slightly, his body shaking with the movement.

“Where do we go from here?” Tom asks, feeling lost in this area anymore, after Ruth. 

“Tom,” You say, voice lingering and teasing as you glare at him, head cocked to the side, “you brought me back here, didn’t you?”

He nods, unsure of where you were going. It’s sweet, endearing in the idea that he’s completely lost. 

You make the first move, resting the half empty bottle on the countertop behind him before you’re shifting over his lap, the contact of your bare thighs against his palms bringing him back to the surface, half empty beer bottle clanging to the floor behind you—

“Fuck, the mess—“ You glance back toward the noise but Tom’s quickly distracting you, a hand on the side of your face to guide you back to him.

“Yeah,” He nods, “fuck it.”

You nod silently in agreement, smiling as he leans forward to press his lips against yours. It’s hesitant, new, different from the kiss in the bar—that was performative, a means to an end.

This kiss was everything else. A first for you both—it was the first time Tom had kissed anyone outside of Ruth and for you, it was strange, kissing your best friend. But, it felt good. It felt right.

Tom sighs into your mouth, lips parting in a motion that allows his tongue to slip out, testing the waters as he grazes your top lip, his brow furrowing in concentration as your thighs tighten against his hips, rising on your knees as his hands traverse and explore lower, his fingers grazing the skin under your skirt, the loose fabric bunching around your hips, feeling futile and useless. 

It’s not long before there’s less coordination and more of your bodies rubbing against each other in a desperate need for relief, kisses having melded into breathing wantonly into each other’s mouths and Tom is the first to speak, breaking the comfort silence that had fallen over.

“S’not fair,” He whines softly, his hands appearing at your neck, fingers disappear into the root of your hair as he angles your chin up, giving him perfect access to exactly where he wanted to be, his lips latching onto the skin and your pulse stuttering under the touch, “god, it’s not fair.”

You pull back curiously, fingertips grazing the red tips of his ears, a sated smile on his. “What are you on about?”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t rush into things again,” Tom admits, his voice low, like he’s telling a secret he shouldn’t, “I’ve only ever been with her, haven’t been with anyone since—don’t wanna disappoint you.”

“That’s too bad,” You pout slightly, feeling a buzz flow through you, and given that you don’t drink often, it seems like that may be the culprit, “really wanted to get off tonight, but—“

“No, no—fuck, s’just, I don’t have anything here.” Tom explains, “It’s not on my mind lately, plus it’s usually just me—“

“Oh?” You perk up, voice airy as lean into, lips grazing his own briefly. He huffs a short laugh into your mouth. 

“Yeah, sorry—“

“Don’t be,” You swiftly assure him, “M’not judging. It’s kind of…sweet, actually.”

“That I’m jackin’ off every night?” Tom asks, pulling back with an ire of confusion on his face. “Love, I think you’ve had too much to drink—“

“That you’re not fucking a different girl every other night—not that there’s anything wrong with it. But, look at James,” Tom nods knowingly, “he up and skipped town because he knocked that one girl up, the last thing on my mind is kids or relationship, but I like you, Tom.” 

“I’d hope so,” He chuckles, “since you’re already pressed up against my cock and all—can’t even tell you the last time I thought about another girl that wasn’t you.”

You settle slightly, cunt pressed tightly against the zipper of his jeans, the hard and heavy line of his cock pressing against you. Tom hisses at the contact.

“So, you’re touching yourself to me?”

“S’that bad?” He asks, hoping it won’t send you running in the other direction.

You shake your head, adding a small tilt of your hips to drive him deeper into insanity, his hands latching onto your hips in an instant.

“Wanna tell me what you’re thinkin’ about?”

“Right now?” Tom asks, answering before you can respond, “You. This—how I’m probably gonna wake up and it’s just some fucked up dream I’m havin, my mind teasing me.”

You laugh at his rambling, pulling him back into focus with a cant of your hips, hands slipping under the hem of his shirt and pressing against bare skin, the soft outline of his toned chest. He’s proper fit, not defined, but he’s solid and sturdy and has enough strength to lift the heavy piles of supplies at work. 

“I meant when you touch yourself, Tom.”

“Oh, uh—mostly your tits, I guess.” Tom admits, “You never button your tops when we work, can’t help it. And uh, your mouth.”

You nod in response, lending your lips to press against the side of his jaw, mouth a wet, sloppy trail along the skin.

“Yeah—yeah, like that, but—“ Tom sighs shakily, his fingers digging into the soft, suppleness of your ass, thumbs pressing against your hip bones and rubbing you slowly against his groin, “mostly on my cock, too.”

“Is that what you want?” You ask softly, “My mouth around your cock?”

Tom laughs nervously, “Yeah—I just—I got something else in mind.”

“Yeah?” You question, the tone in his voice making you curious, body straightening as you look at him.

“Yeah,” He confirms, “Table.”

It’s a one word response. Not a question or a statement. A demand. And normally you’d throw a hundred questions his way, but you can’t be bothered, quickly lifting yourself up a few inches to sit atop the table, sturdier than you expected.

“You trust me, yeah?” Tom asks, more reassuring himself than you, but he needed to hear it. 

“With everything.” You answer without hesitation, watching as he sank to his knees, hands wrapping around your upper thighs to pull your ass flush with the edge of the table. “Why?”

“Just checking.” He shrugs, lopsided smirk painting his face.

That was the Tom you knew, the one you saw everyday. The one that cracked jokes and playfully shoved you out of his way when he was walking down the hall toward the arcade, the one who, despite his obnoxious tendencies, would kneel to tie your laces back up when they came undone.

Except now he was kneeling for different reasons, pupils blown wide as he yanked at your underwear, slipping them over the tattered shoes still stuck to your feet, knowing that all of this was spur of the moment and rushed. You were both running on pure adrenaline and booze, but there were worse ways to spend your night.

“You ever—“ Tom lingers around the words, not saying but implying.

You shrug, noncommittal.

“Only a few times. Never came, though.”

It always sucked. Tom gets the idea, smiling slightly as he leans, teeth latching into the flowy material of your skirt and dragging it up, his lips dragging along the soft skin of your stomach as his nose nudges the sweater up too. 

You were braless underneath, unbeknownst to him. He could figure it out himself, but at the moment, he was much too eager to delve in and consume you.

He latches onto you with no warning, lips suckling at your clit for a brief moment, an intense sensation that has you keening off the table, fingers disappearing into his hair and holding on tight, his short cropped curls giving little to keep you grounded.

He moans still, trailing down to dip his tongue inside of you, a feeling that is indescribable to you now, lost in the feeling. 

It’s ridiculous. No one - not a single fucking soul - should be this good, this easily tuned in to your body, but Tom knows. He knew everything and nothing in the same note and it drives you mad. He knew you—your deepest insecurities, your darkest secrets, the weird little quirks you had when you thought no one was watching. But he also knew you and everything that made you tick; the moans and whimpers fell like a flood, his tongue working tirelessly against your cunt, all soaking and wet as it drenched his mouth, his chin, the ludicrous sound enough to make anyone embarrassed. Your head falls back, hands moving away from his hair to grip the table for purchase and he’s tapping at your thighs for attention, a small movement of his finger. 

And he’s staring—full on grinning behind what part of your cunt was covering his face, skirt having fallen slightly and bunched into his hand to keep it away.

He’s daring you to look at him, watch him bring you to the edge and let him watch as you fall apart.

You let him—but it’s a steep reminder of how easily you’d let him do anything; just a look and you were done for. His eyes said a lot, even in the moments when you were silent, staring each other down from across the room. 

You clench around the tongue that’s buried inside you, his nose rubbing against your clit in a beautiful accident, forcing a surprised gasp from your chest as you lean forward, nearly sitting upright. 

“Oh, right there,” You acknowledge, voice light and airy, “fuck, right there, Tom.”

He moved up a fraction, tongue flicking over your clit wildly, stopping briefly with a question posed on his lips, all shiny and wet with you.

“Your tits—can I see them?”

He feels silly, like he’s back in school and asking a girl for the first time and you laugh, which makes it even more nerve wracking.

“Thought you said it wasn’t because of the tits,” You tease, “that I’m just like all your other mates.”

“You know you’re not,” He tells you, “you’ve never—you’re so much more, you know that.”

You smile slightly, nose scrunching up at the action as you stare at him accusingly, “Alright then, go on.”

He looks surprised almost that you’re asking him, leaning forward an inch more until his hands can sift under your sweater, pulling the fabric over your head in one fluid movement. 

He’s stricken, eyes wide and puppy dogged as he licks at his bottom lip, rising slightly as he nods toward your chest, “You were like that all night?”

You nod shyly, feeling bashful as his hands graze your sides, thumbs rubbing along the underside of your breasts. He’s drinking you in, distracted enough that he doesn’t feel your hand graze the front of his jeans until you have them half undone, fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers.

“How long you been like this?” You ask, hands grazing over the small wet patch in the material, fingers cupping the hard line of his cock, shoving his jeans down an inch further. “Since we got here, since we left that bar—“

Your words drift and lull, dragging out as he felt ashamed to admit it. 

“Wasn’t that bad until you sat on my lap,” Tom admits, “and then you fuckin’ kissed me—“

“Yeah?” You reply, pulling him forward gently by the front of his shirt, pressing your lips against his in a messy exchange, tasting you on him. He moans brokenly, the shift pulling you closer and pressing your bare cunt against his dick, ruining the material further, “You mean like that?”

Tom nods desperately, wanting nothing more to fuck you against every square foot of his trailer.

“S’getting late, Tommy.” You say, a tad antagonizing as you pull away, staring at him sternly, “Should I leave?”

“Fuck, sorry. Sorry.” He apologizes, leaning down swiftly to capture your pebbled nipple between his teeth, mouthing brief at the valley of your breasts in a way that has you giggling out loud before he’s sinking back down and burying his face into your cunt, relentless as his pace is furious from the jump.

His fingers join gradually, thick digit sinking into your pussy and clenching, the movements of his tongue deliberate of your clit as he finds that sweet spot, curling his finger inside you until you’re gasping out loud, both hands shifting to cradle his head.

He encourages it, a small noise of acknowledgement as he moans against you, silently begging you to take what you need, riding out the high of your orgasm against his tongue as you come.

“Hu–oh, fuck.” You sigh, his mouth overstimulating as he laps you up, “Tom–fuck, Tom, too much.”

Tom laughs, finally releasing you to nestle between your legs, smoothing your skirt down as he hooks you knees around his hips, “Come ‘ere,” Tom whispers, tipping your chin up until you lean forward, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss.

“Tom–Tom, hey,” You tell him softly, trying to garner his attention, hands reaching for his opened jeans, “let me–”

“Mmm, yeah–’s okay.” Tom assures you, looking sheepish as he glances down toward your fingers trailing against the thick band of his boxers, “I uh, already came.”

“Oh,” Your voice is small, a smile creeping on your face, “O–Okay.”

“Next time.” He assures you, nodding slightly as your grin grows wider.

“Next time?” You reiterate, tone playful and inquisitive. 

“Uh, unless I’m reading this wrong,” Tom recoils, “I mean, you’re half naked on the table I fuckin’ eat on, s’not like I planned to kick you after either.”

“We’re really not mates anymore, are we?” You ask, watching as he cracks a laugh, shaking his head.

“Don’t think we ever were.”

And considering your current situation, you don’t think things could ever go back to how they used to be, but you didn’t want them to.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#tom grant x you #tom grant x y/n #tom grant x reader #tom grant smut #tom grant make up #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #tom grant #joseph quinn #my writing

[latteart98]

I keep rewatching scenes from Hidden Love because I simply can’t get over the drama and if I had to pick a favorite scene, it would be the airport scene in episode 7 when her heart gets completely shattered. Listen the drama is packed is so many cute scenes that I’m totally in love with, but the scene that really, really gets to me is that one.

Can you imagine being in SZ’s shoes? Anxious and antsy all night, she showed up in his city despite knowing the huge trouble it will get her in back at home.. all because she needs to ask him in person if he is really dating someone or was it just a lie? But poor girl didn’t even get to voice her questions because his coworker, whom she mistook as the girlfriend, came along with him.

The moment DJX appears at the airport with the lady tagging along with him, SZ’s eyes are on the lady not him. Not her crush whom she hasn’t seen in so many months but the lady. He’s all worried about her safety and mad out of concern for her but all she can think about is “who is she? Is she your girlfriend? You promised me that you would tell me immediately if you got a girlfriend. Why didn’t you keep your promise?”

Notice how she’s not mad at him for dating because she knows deep in her heart that she’s too young for him and he has never seen her as anything more than a friend’s little sister. No, she’s not having any false hopes. Rather, she’s hurt that he didn’t remember the promise he made to her. And as a result, it became apparent that she was no one special to him nor were the times they spent together was of any significance to him. That he was only nice to her because she was in front of him and had it been anyone else, he would’ve behaved the same way. All the while she held on to every memory, every gift like a treasure.

And just because she knew that she never really had a chance with him because of the age difference, doesn’t mean it hurt any less to see him with someone else. She kept hoping against all hopes that she would, eventually, grow up and he would then notice her a woman but she figured he’s already found his “someone better” - someone that’s not her, that will never be her.

And when she gives him one last sad smile and starts walking away, leaving behind the teddy and pieces of her heart with him, it’s a cinematic masterpiece. She’s walking away and with every step, her mind flashes back to a montage of DJX being kind to her and smiling at her and being full of warmth- all the things that made her fall for him to begin with. And she realizes that those memories, those little smiles of his, those gestures are just gonna forever remain as little treasures in her heart. Even before she leaves the airport, when she wishes him happiness and leaves the teddy with him, we know she’s bidding farewell. She’s mentally getting ready to never see him again. Oh, it’s breaking her heart and so is the audience’s hearts. The montage, the walking away first, the one last turn back, the background music, the fact that it’s at an airport… everything was so perfectly put together.

And finally when her brother comes to pick her up, she starts sobbing in his arms. He’s holding her and trying to comfort her through promises of buying her her favorite food or comic books or even beating the guy up.. all silly stuff thinking it was just an online fling. As if her whole teenage years’ worth of hopes didn’t just crash at her feet. As if her innocent little heart didn’t just break into a million pieces.

Listen I know teenagers are dramatic (gosh I would know, I used to be one) and most of the times, the love/crush they have as a teen is cringe and melodramatic… but sometimes, only sometimes they are capable of honest sincere feelings so when it hurts, it fucking hurts. We might say they’re being dramatic because it’s only their first puppy love but God, that’s exactly why it hurts so much. Because it is their first love. Because they didn’t know any better, they put so much of their mental space and time and hopes and fears into this one person and when it doesn’t work out, it fucking sucks. Yes they will move on, yes they will get over it eventually, yes with time they might even look back at their teen self and cringe. But this moment, the moment your heart breaks for the first time whether you are 17 or 30 or 49, it’s not a moment you will ever forget. This moment becomes a landmark in your heart.

#hidden love #zhao lusi #chen zheyuan #偷偷藏不住 #cdrama

[mhathotfic]

I mentioned merging these and now I can’t not do it so here’s toxic baby daddy Bakugou

Warnings: toxic relationship, dubcon, manipulation, afab reader with she/her pronouns, unprotected sex

Paring: Katsuki Bakugou x reader

This relationship was messy from the start

They honestly couldn’t even call it a relationship in the beginning

It was a “friends” with benefits situation, playing loss with the term friend

They never really got along except for when he had her face down ass up or her legs over his shoulders

Really, she only dealt with him because of his dick

So the cute coworker she had eyes for finally asked her, she didn’t hesitate to break things off with Bakugou

Who was livid about it

Months of sleeping together, trying his hardest to get on her good side so she’ll want more than just dick

And she throws him to the side so easily?

At least she tried to

She was meant to be done with him, but she got pregnant fast with new guy.

Too fast

Her estimated conception time didn’t line up with when they started dating let alone sleeping together

It couldn’t have been his which meant

“How far along are ya?”

Bakugou was way calmer than she expected

Truthfully he was ecstatic

“3 months”

He looks at her with what interpreted as stony gaze so she continued in hopes of assuring him she’s being honest

“I’ve been with him for a little over a month now so it’s not his and—”

“You’ve been crying”

“Well he dumped me so.…”

She brings a hand up to her face as if expecting to discover she’s shed a few tears again and he tells her he knew because she always acts tough like nothing bothers her when she’s been crying

She doesn’t know why he cares or why she offered up the information so easily.

But before she questions him he’s talking again

“Fuck him then, all that means is I don’t gotta beat his ass to keep him away. His loss anyways”

She assumes he’s joking to try and cheer her up, but he couldn’t be more serious

He regretted letting her slip away and now that he’s knocked her up

She’s stuck with him for the rest of her life

He’ll be sure no one tries to take her away from him again

He gives a month before he’s insisting she moves into his guest room and offering to help find an apartment that’ll accommodate her and the baby when they’re born

He didn’t expect things to move so fast after that

But your hormones drive her crazy and her libido goes up like crazy

And well…

He already knows how to fuck her right, and a warm body against hers feels so much nicer than her lonely little bed

And he definitely wasn’t complaining

Especially when she bit her lip and said the condom wasn’t necessary if she was already pregnant

It was nice

Like he wanted to make love and not just fuck her

Whispering dirty praises into her and playing with her clit and telling her how gorgeous her and her growing baby bump are

It’s easy to forget how much of an ass he can be when he’s like that

Easy to say yes to him when he asks if she wants to try a real relationship

But then they start arguing over stupid shit

And she starts remembering why they weren’t official before

Snd locks herself in her borrowed room and he wonders why she has to be so combative with him

Nothing ever gets resolved though because they always end up fucking about it in the end

By the time their daughter’s 2 birthday comes around she’s been moved out and they’ve broken up for the past year but it isn’t easy

Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible to get over him and his dick when she has to see him often, and he knows it.

He’s a good father, his daughter clearly comes first with him so she tolerate him being in their lives still

Because kids deserve to know and love their father

And doesn’t think their past is reason to keep him away

He’s well aware of that too

He knows she’s“over it” but not over him and he’ll be damned if he let’s some fucking loser extra come into her life and play house with his family.

So he keeps them at bay and flaunts the fact he’s the current number 2 hero and they aren’t on his level

Then reminds her of just how charismatic and charming he can be when he tries to be

Pushing all the right buttons and saying all the right things to get her to let him in her bed again.

She tries so hard to fight his seduction but she’s still fixated on him

Much to disappointment and displeasure, she finds she still in love with who she thought he was and sees parts of it in the way he is with their daughter

It’s hard getting over the past when you see glimpses of the future you could have had all the time after all

So yeah, when another date turns out to be a bust, she often finds herself comforted by the man who embodies her poor taste in men as well as the good

And unfortunately she tends to forget about the bad in the relationship and let’s him take her

In her defense

He’s an incredible lover

He’s attentive in bed, paying close attention to all her reactions and responding accordingly

He’s never too gentle or too rough, he’s a perfect in between in pace

And god the way he fills her out, she’s certain if a divine entity were to make a perfect cock it’d be his

#katsuki bakugou x reader smut #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader smut #tw toxic relationship #tw manipulation #tw dubious consent

[mossmurdock]

vampire!nanami is plaguing my mind rn. he gets bitten but doesnt even fully realize he's been turning into something a little farther from human for the past week.

he pins it down as some sort of overly punishing cold, a stomach bug working hard enough to have him call in sick from work for the very first time. all of a sudden his room is never dark enough and the pain in his neck is no longer throbbing; but he has to tell his boss to switch him over to the nightshift and there's something new building in his stomach, something that only grows at the sight of you.

at first, nanami would only rarely see you in the office, half asleep as you gathered the things at your desk and began to finally head home when coworkers were just beginning to settle in for the day. you're always slumped against the metal of the elevator, hardly able to keep yourself up in your brief moments of pause. he'd catch a glimpse of you before the doors would slide close, practically tipping over like a cut down tree.

now he and you somewhat share the same schedule. it's nauseating. a month into this and the proximity of the elevator is still too much to deal with. nanami had expected to adjust to this eventually, once he finally put two and two together and decided to address the odd sharpening of his teeth and senses. he isn't the type to let something like this get in the way of his life, so he heads to work, he gets things done, and he tries to remember to breath more evenly when he catches a particularly strong wave of whatever it is about you that drives him crazy.

nanami isn't one to lose his composure. there are other people in this office that work closely to him, that lean over him to point something out on his pc, that pat him on the back encouragingly when they see him making his first coffee of the night. not once does is he ever swallowed by the need to clutch these people in his hands and find out what's underneath their skin. sure, there's a curiosity, the natural type that he assumes comes with this sort of thing; but its one he's always been able to dismiss easily. blood can be substituted and he's more than content with that if it means he can continue living through life as normally as possible.

but there's a certain satisfaction that must be intimately tied into you, one that his body screams at him for trying dissolve. it's so juxtaposed from his normalcy that he isn't sure what to do with it.

he could change the timing of his leave from work, head into the elevator after you, but there's almost this unspoken routine now, and the last thing nanami needs is you thinking he's deliberately attempting to avoid you. although, a deeper, more twisted, part of him wants to maintain this small sample of you.

he eats, and tries to sleep, complains about work, reads when he finds the time, checks in with friends whenever they reach out, wears his reading glasses despite his vision getting better, and thinks about making plans to travel. these are small reasons for living, enough to keep him going. it wouldn't feel right to go about it any different way.

when you speak to him for the first time, the world feels like it's being violently torn apart.

the work day has ended for the both of you, dawn is much too close to rising and overtime is unfortunately a normalcy for you. you worked especially hard tonight. there's a bit of paleness to your skin and the whites of your eyes have been tinged pink. per usual, you're slightly slumped against the wall, hand brushing against the cold metal bar lining the thick panels.

he feels your eyes brushing over him tonight, they pause at his hands.

"was rain forecasted for today?" you ask. you're referencing the black umbrella in his hand.

"i have a long commute from here," he replies. which isn't a lie, but it isn't the whole truth either. today was forecasted to be incredibly sunny, not a cloud in sight.

your eyebrows raise, "you seem like the prepared type. that's a good thing." he doesn't know why you feel the need to clarify.

the doors open and nanami realizes his ears aren't ringing, rather it's just the intercom telling him his on the ground floor and that it was time to get off. you don't rush to leave him, no, you walk with him outside. you don't question why his umbrella is already open, though you do dare a glance up at the sky before eyeing him sneakily. the sun is rising and the streets are already busy with cars and people.

"rest well, nanami. and decent job at work today." you smile at him slightly, it's a bit tight at the corners. he wishes he could press the fatigue out of you.

"only decent?" he asks. its safe banter. your choice of words, even with only having spoken to you briefly, are deliberate sounding, almost like hooks in the water. so much purpose behind them. nanami's grip on the handle of the umbrella tightens. this is too much. he should leave this alone.

"being anything more than that would be insulting in this line of work, wouldn't it?" you laugh dryly, it shouldn't sound so tasteful.

he smiles, only slightly, he won't flash teeth. "ah well, decent job to you too. and rest well."

you lighten a little in the sun, brightening at his words.

he makes the mistake of breathing in too deeply once you've turned away. he smells it above anything else, the liquid pumping in your veins matches the heat of his.

nanami draws blood from his own cheek and reminds himself to take a very cold shower once he gets home.

#HEHEHEHE #my characterization of him is v much still in the works but i couldnt stop thinkingggg #the struggle to keep the normalcy in his life as a vamp like omg he totally would #like hey ur a bloodsucker now!! ur life is a bit more difficult #and he's like um??? no???? #and then you come along and just boom!! suddenly it very much is!!!! #i mean hows he meant to resist it? #moss writes #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #ch: nanami kento

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸. 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, toxic family dynamics, allusions to and depictions of mental/emotional/financial abuse, high functioning alcoholism | WORD COUNT: 3.3k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: When your friend shares some exciting news, you fear this is yet again someone in your life who will move on and leave you behind. Joel reflects on how far he's come in life after running into an old family friend.

“Here’s a nice tip for you, sweetie,” Mrs. Baker chirped with a bright smile. You watched her wrinkly, dry finger scoot a shiny half dollar across the counter towards you. You fixed your expression into a million kilowatt smile of gratitude. “Oh, that’s so kind of you, Mrs. Baker, but we can’t accept tips.” You’d told her this every week for the past several months – every time she came into the grocery store where you worked.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she giggled with a conspiratorial wink. You felt rather certain of that, if your growing suspicions about the state of her memory and mental clarity was anything to go off of. The fact that she was still making these weekly trips by herself was enough to make you uneasy, and the fact that she was the one driving herself here presented an entirely new level of concern.

It was one of the few reasons you’d managed to compile when you were looking for ways to cheer yourself up over having nothing but your old cruiser bike for transportation. You were nowhere near what you needed in savings to even begin thinking about affording a car and all the expenses that came with it. All the progress you’d made previously had been wrenched from you when your dad had found the jar hidden in your closet. It had made him feel vindicated in his “random searches” he liked to conduct on everyone’s rooms. It gave him some sense of justification whenever something cropped up, no matter how rare it was.

But, hey, at least your door hadn’t been beat off its hinges like Calum’s had. And, hey, maybe by the time you can finally afford a car, insurance, gas money, license and registration fees ….. well, maybe you won’t have to worry about encountering Mrs. Baker on the road. You feel a little guilty the moment you think it and feel even more guilty as you shrug and take the half dollar from her. “Thanks, Mrs. Baker,” you say quietly.

You tuck the coin into your jean pocket that doesn’t have the hole at the bottom and finish loading her groceries into her cart. You laugh to yourself when she just starts walking off - you assume the direction of her car. You hope she can remember where she parked it. Your coworkers and boss Jeremy were never as patient with old, confused ladies offering you insulting bits of change in exchange for bagging up all their groceries just the way they like, loading them up into the cart, following them to their car, and offloading everything into their trunk. You always pointed out that it didn’t really take that much time away from your duties and probably made a big difference for someone like Mrs. Baker to have that sort of help. Jeremy would always roll his eyes and mutter something about “not my circus, not my monkeys.” You were just glad Mrs. Baker always came when it wasn’t very busy. 

The 17 minute bike ride to and from work was shaved down to a clean 14 with a bit of encouragement from the gloomy clouds rolling in behind you. It’d been a wetter than usual summer according to the weatherman, and it was expected to continue into the fall and maybe even winter. Combined with the fast approaching daylight savings, you’d be in for a wetter, darker commute. Bad news for someone who relied on a bike for transport, but you tried not to dwell on it. You’d just have to divert some of your secret savings and buy a heavier coat, one close to the color of the lightweight one you already had so hopefully your dad wouldn’t notice a new purchase and demand an explanation.

“Dad, I’m home!” you call out. No answer, but that was typical. After all, it wasn’t him who was required to announce every movement in the house. You walked into the kitchen to find him hunched over the table with the paper. You carefully place the six pack on the middle of the counter, casual and unassuming as though it hadn’t become a learned habit after too many times of you having to deal with him running out. His eyes drift up from his work and land on the offering.

“What’s that?” he asks as if he doesn’t already know. You aren’t sure what the trap is or what you’ve done wrong, but you also know there’s no other option than to find out what grievance you’ve committed.

“Just saw it on my way after clocking out,” you lie. You had to double back across the store to pick it out. “Couldn’t remember if there was still some in the garage or not,” you lie again. There was plenty in the garage, but “plenty” in your terms and “plenty” in your father’s terms didn’t always align. Better to play it safe than have to bike in the rain to replenish his stock.

He leans back in his chair now, having decided what exactly he’s going to take issue with. Because it’s always something. “You got a real talent for just throwin’ money away,” he sneers.

You steady yourself as you wash your hands at the sink. Slow movements. Nothing challenging in your response. He loved to lob these decentering comments at you, a sort of puzzle you weren’t really intended to be able to solve. The takeaway was always meant to be that “the obvious” was right there and shouldn’t have to be spelled out for you, but you were just too dense to figure it out. His statement was vague enough that it could be taken multiple ways, all of which inevitably pointed to some failure on your part. At least you always knew that was going to be factored into the answer somewhere.

Was he saying you weren’t good with money because you’d bought more beer when there was already some in the garage? Was he saying that spending money on full priced beer was like throwing your money away? Was he saying that spending money on something frivolous like alcohol was a waste in and of itself in the grand scheme of things? You decide to go with your first interpretation. It felt safest.

“I guess there’s some out there then? I couldn’t remember, sorry.” Accepting some of the imminent blame was sometimes enough to soften the edges of whatever was going to be launched at you. Sometimes it backfired and just added to the fire: you can already see how you deserve this censure, so at least you understand your shortcomings are why this conversation is having to happen in the first place.

“Ever heard of buying in bulk?” he huffs. As if he didn’t stock up every other week at the wholesale store regardless of if it was on sale or not. “Price per unit?”

“Oh, yeah,” you respond in feigned recognition of your so-called error. “Sorry, dad. I guess the 24 pack is just sort of hard to balance on the bike. I’m always nervous it’s going to fall off the handlebars when I get the bigger sizes.”

As if your difficulties getting to and from work were of any concern to him.

“So you acknowledge that you were paying the unspoken price of convenience,” he drawls. Ah, of course. The two birds one stone approach of insulting your efforts and inflating his authority as economic manager. The idea that you would pay a few more cents per unit to make things easier on yourself, to not have to worry about dropping and busting all the cans of beer because you couldn’t balance them. “At least you can admit it.”

He drifts forward again to his work, numbers and charts and graphs that you don’t understand and wouldn’t be explained to you even if you asked. The reprimand had been the short, simple kind. You quietly walk from the kitchen, place the beers in the garage fridge, and head down the hallway to your room. You lighten the load of your backpack and work shoes. The rain pelts gently against the window and is a full on staccato against the pane by the time you get out of your uniform and into your sweats. Getting ahead of the situation – making the call to get more beer without being asked or ordered to do so – had been worth it. You sigh and stare out the window. Thank goodness it was going to be a day where you’d played your cards well enough to come out mostly unscathed. Thank goodness today had been worth it.

The only upside to sweltering August days in the middle of Texas was that contracting jobs slowed a little bit. Sure, interior renovations were still in full swing, but it gave that tiniest bit of reprieve for all the decking, roofing, and sweat-dripping-off-your-balls-it-was-so-hot sort of work that he only ever scheduled for in the “cooler months.” It was the closest thing to downtime he had all year round, even though it was mostly spent on office housekeeping. Catching up on clients and completed jobs. Fostering those relationships so they’d sign Miller Contracting on for another project. Building enough good will and enough happy clients that word of mouth could not only sustain business but had helped it grow steadily over the past decade.

Joel hadn’t ever been much into religion except for Easter Sunday growing up when his mom would give him and Tommy so much chocolate they had barfed it all over the backyard more than once. Yet, he couldn’t help but think about how blessed he felt. He and his kid brother were doing well for themselves. He just wished his parents were around to see it. It would make him happy to show them all their love and hard work had eventually paid off. All those tumultuous teenage years of Tommy getting into all sorts of trouble and Joel winding up a young father without much of a plan on how to support his sudden family. They’d only been witness to the very beginning of their comeback kid storylines, and he’d kill for 5 minutes to show them he’d managed to make something of himself and made sure Tommy was okay, too.

The icy wall of air conditioning smacked Joel right in the face the moment the grocery store doors opened. As nice as it felt to be out of the heat, the jarring change of temperature was something he’d never gotten used to in all his years in the South. He made his way to the convenience section and nabbed a lemonade. He plucked another from the spring-loaded tray just before heading towards the checkout. He wasn’t sure what Jordan liked to drink since he never seemed to have anything except water to offer anybody. At least this way it wouldn’t be so obvious if Joel showed up with a lemonade for both of them.

The wall of heat smacks him in the face this time, along with the blaring sun. He squints and holds a hand to the sky to block some of the blinding rays. He hears the rattle of a cart coming his way and glances over. There’s that cute neighborhood girl he’d see every now and again if he was lucky. He doesn’t remember much about you from when he first moved in – other than that whole strange thing with your mom. He tries to remember your dad’s face in his mind’s eye. Something sort of stony and serious conjures into view. He wonders if he’s just imagining it wrong because your face is never like that. He must be thinking of someone else.

Regardless, he couldn’t remember any of your names. He used to be better at stuff like that. When you smiled at him, he returned it with one of his own and headed towards his car. Yeah, definitely couldn’t have been imagining your dad’s face correctly. No way the snobby frown of a man that came into his head was possibly related to you with your shy but deliberate smile. How on earth someone so insanely gorgeous could only find work at a grocery store was beyond Joel. He wonders if you were even aware of how much money you could probably rake in as a bartender around these parts.

“Is that Joel Miller?” a frail voice calls out.

Joel looks over to see none other than Mrs. Baker. “Well howdy there, Mrs. Baker,” he calls back. He walks over to her four door and wonders how on earth she’s still a licensed driver. She’d been friendly in the church with his mom especially, and even as a kid he was never too impressed with her driving skills. He dreads to think what they are now, multiple decades later.

“How are you, sweet boy?” she asks, all warm and bubbly. He grins back and shrugs.

“Just keepin’ busy. You know how it goes, Mrs. Baker.”

“Well that’s better than the alternative, I guess. Gotta pay the bills somehow.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Joel chuckles. He glances over to your retreating back as you push the noisy cart back into the store. “You got these folks so wrapped around your finger they deliver your groceries straight to your car, huh? You always were a charmer.”

Mrs. Baker joins him in a light giggle and taps his forearm. “Now now, Joel, I think we both know who the real charmer is between the two of us.”

“Hey, gotta pay the bills somehow,” he laughs in an echo of her words. Her smile widens at his teasing banter. “And, uh, your kitchen still workin’ good for ya?”

She nods and squeezes his hand. “Oh yes, it’s just as lovely as the day you finished it. You boys always do such good work.”

“Thank you, ma’am. M’glad to hear it.”

He edges around to open the door for her, partly to play his role as Southern Gentleman but mostly to get out of this conversation quicker so he wouldn’t be late for his next appointment with Jordan. She thanks him for his gesture and gives a little wave and brief goodbye as he heads to his work truck. If he made all the lights, he wouldn’t be late. 

“But there’s something else, and, I’ll be honest, it’s sort of a big deal.” Kenzie was practically vibrating in place. Her high energy was the fun, infectious kind more often than the grating, off-putting kind. You weren’t sure how she maintained such enthusiasm when all she ever seemed to have was good things to share. Wouldn’t you get tired being so happy and excited constantly? It sounded exhausting in a different sort of way, but maybe it was a good thing.

She had a perpetually sunny outlook thanks to her perpetually privileged life, but you didn’t want to rain on her parade by saying things like that. After all, who were you to take away from someone else’s joy? Not to mention she was probably the only actual friend you had these days after all your high school friends had gone off to college or took up actual jobs and move out and got roommates or got married.

Kenzie was just busy and self-centered enough to not really pry too much into your life. It was a dynamic that worked for both of you: her with a constant audience for all her triumphs and growing life experiences, and you with the comfort of never having to say much about yourself or your home life.

“Well are you gonna tell me or are you gonna make me guess?” you tease.

“Uh, definitely not gonna make you guess because you seriously aren’t even gonna believe this,” she whisper squeals.

You have no doubt whatever wonderful thing she’s about to share is very much believable. Good things happened to people like Kenzie. It was never much of a shock when another ray of sunshine came bursting through the clouds of her life. You only wish that some of that “luck” could rub off on our own life. You raise an expectant eyebrow when she doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, so–” she peeks over her shoulders from where you’re both knelt on the ground stocking canned goods “–I’m applying for this paid internship thing my professor recommended me for.”

Your brow scrunches. You thought paid internships were something that existed in the old days when you could still smoke on airplanes and down a vodka martini 5 months pregnant without anyone batting an eye.

“I know, I know, internships are sometimes blegh, but it’s like a legit office and nice company and everything” she explains, wholly misunderstanding your expression. “It’s not like those old offices off the Milton exit.”

You don’t even know what she’s talking about, but you take her word for it. “Oh okay, cool.”

“Yeah, so I’m basically, like, a shoe in for the job since my professor wrote my recommendation. It’s not a full-time thing yet since I still have another two semesters, but over winter break I should have some opportunities to have something more like a real job.” She cringes at her choice of wording. “Sorry, not that the grocery store isn’t a real–”

“–I know what you meant,” you interrupt. “Keep going.”

She shoots you a grateful smile and launches back into her tittering announcement. “So anyway, yeah, if this all goes alright then I basically already have a full-time job set up once I graduate. Can you believe that?”

Yes, you can believe that. “That’s so crazy!” You shake your head and give her a big grin. “I’m sure that has to feel amazing, Kenzie. That’s so awesome, seriously.”

She was a few months out from graduating with her degree in marketing. Or was it communications? You can never seem to remember, and you’re too far into the friendship to keep asking clarifying questions like that. Anyway, it didn’t matter much which one it was since she had pretty much already landed herself a “big girl job” with matching “big girl pay.” The ever present and nagging voice in your head reminds you that she is younger than you and already so much more successful than you’ll probably ever be.

“Hey, y’all both don’t need to be in canned goods. One of you go see what Erin needs help with, huh?” Jeremy scolds from the end of the aisle.

Kenzie rolls her eyes at you with her back to Jeremy. “Alright. You got it, Jeremy,” she replies in a chipper voice. He stomps off as she promises to text you later with the rest of the details. You give her a quick side hug from the ground and tell her again how great the news is.

You stew in it for the rest of your shift. It turns and spoils in your mind no matter how much you tell yourself you should be happy for her and not so focused on yourself all the time. By the time you make it home, it was impossible to ignore the reminders that this was yet another person in your life that you were bound to grieve once they moved on from their station in life and did better for themselves than what they had here. First your mom. Then your brother. Now one of the few people who you’d managed to befriend since graduating high school.

You were left behind. Again.

You were never going to make anything of yourself like everyone else seemed to do.

You were going to be stuck in this place for the rest of your life.

You do your best to control the hectic breaths that start squeezing your chest, but you’re well into a full blown panic attack before you can even pinpoint when it started.

This was going to be the rest of your life, and there was nothing you could do about it.

#fic: Chrysalism #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction

[juceynightmare]

pink carnations part 1 - cody rhodes x reader

my masterlist

pink carnations masterlist

pairing(s): cody rhodes x reader, cody rhodes x brandi rhodes, slight (?) austin theory x reader

warnings: vomiting, swearing

genre(s): angst, fluff if you squint

<< || next part >>

hanahaki - a curable disease which grows flowers inside the victim’s lungs and usually born of unrequited love. in order to cure a person with hanahaki, the love must be returned by the outside party or the victim must undergo surgery which leaves the victim with no feelings towards the outside party. if hanahaki is not cured, the victim will perish.

he looked different now, and that’s not just the blonde hair that she’s talking about. cody rhodes had grown to be a beautiful man. his shirt had filled up nicely with the muscles that he had worked hard to grow and maintain. his face still looked as soft as it was back when they were in ohio valley wrestling together, but his eyes held a depth in them that let her know that he had grown wise in his art. his hands, once soft, had become calloused over the years of being used to punch, slap, and grab his coworkers, ring ropes, and other various objects that were used as weapons. those same hands were waving in front of her face now, as she phased out of her own thoughts.

“hey. earth to y/n. are you going to finish that or can i?” he asked her. without a second thought, she lightly pushed her tupperware of salad over to the overgrown manchild that sat across the table from her. she stayed silent, watching him as he finished the rest of her food and text his wife as he did so. his voice hasn’t changed from what she could tell. it may have some more rasp in it then it used to, but the lisp is still there and it is so undeniably cody’s voice that she didn’t think it changed.

“slow down, codes. how will you text my wife if you choke on the food? actually, go ahead so i can finally snatch her from you.” y/n joked, reaching over the table with her fork in hand to grab one more bite of her salad before cody could finish it all.

brandi. y/n remembered when she first heard about cody and brandi and how much her heart hurt, and how much it still clenches in her chest whenever she sees the two together. she remembered how hard she had tried to hate her when all she knew about them was through a screen. she remembered when cody had returned to the wwe and how brandi was there. she remembered when she ran into them backstage and thought to herself “wow” when she saw them. she remembered how nice brandi had been to her when cody introduced her as an “old friend” to his wife, and how she let cody go and catch up with his “old friend”. she remembered when brandi would always say hi to her before greeting her husband whenever she was backstage. she remembers all the laughs and good times she has had with brandi whenever they hang out for a “girl’s night” or even over a text conversation.

and yet brandi will never know about cody and y/n. the late nights after training that were filled of cody and y/n going to a random taco truck, sitting down and cheating on their diets “for tonight only”. those random wednesdays when cody would teach y/n how to drive as y/n was a late bloomer to a lot of those “normal” things people would do. that day that y/n had hit a parked car while trying to park and cody was laughing at the girl’s panic before calming her down and holding her. the way cody would guide y/n through the backstage area with a hand resting on the small of her back. the way y/n would turn down the brightness of her laptop screen whenever cody had fallen asleep beside her and she stayed up to game or watch videos. those stolen kisses backstage before either one of them would go out for their match for the night. the late night movies in bed turning into the two of them getting tangled into the sheets. brandi will never find out about all those times that happened all those years ago, and cody had made sure of that.

so, to everyone else in the locker room, their bosses, and brandi: cody and y/n have always been good friends and that’s all they ever will be.

“you keep yapping about stealing my wife, but if my memory serves me right: i do believe you are going through a horrible dry spell right now.” cody teased his friend, shoveling the last bite of the salad into his mouth after he spoke. he was smiling as he chewed, reaching over to pick up the lid of the tupperware and y/n’s fork. y/n wished he didn’t put her fork into the tupperware and close up the box before handing it back to her: it’d make it easier to find someone who would treat her half as good as he does.

“and you’re acting like i actually want to end my dry spell.”  she lied, knowing that the man she’d want to end her dry spell with was sitting across the table from her and happily married. “look codes, hypothetically, and i mean hypothetically, if i wanted to end my dry spell it would have been over long a long time ago.”

cody shook his head with an amused chuckle in an endearing manner. he got up from his chair, pulling it over so it was beside y/n’s own and sitting back down beside her. she tried to ignore how good his cologne smelled when he slung his arm over her shoulders. she tried to stop her heart from breaking out of her chest from how hard it was beating.

”hey, there’s something i’ve been meaning to show you. but try not to make a scene, okay? i don’t want anyone else to find out yet.” he leaned in to whisper in her ear, only pulling back to take out his phone. he kept his arm around the woman, who was now simply staring at him with a bewildered look.

try not to make a scene? she couldn’t believe what she heard him say. it was as if the man had forgotten how dramatic she really was. but nothing could have prepared for the heartbreak she was about to experience.

she looked down at her lap, where the man had rested his hand face up to show her his phone screen. she felt his arm tighten around her shoulder to pull her closer to his chest at the same time she could hear her heart slow down.

brandi’s pregnant.

it was just an image of brandi holding up a positive pregnancy test, and yet it hurt oh so much.

y/n turned in cody’s arms so she could face him, flashing him a large smile before wrapping her arms around him and resting her chin on top of his shoulder. “holy shit codes, no way! and you expect me to not make a scene you motherfucker. holy fuck! you’re going to be a dad! i’m going to be an auntie!” she whisper-yelled to her friend as he laughed and hugged her back.

he couldn’t see how fast her face fell as soon as she hugged him. he couldn’t see the sadness that had now pooled in her eyes or the way she was trying not to let the tears fall. and he couldn’t tell how hard it had suddenly became for y/n to breathe.

“we found out last month. it also might be a little early but, we’d love for you to be a godmother to the baby. which also implies there being a godfather so you better find yourself a man soon, little one.” he had laughed in her ear, squeezing the woman in his arms. he let go after hearing her yelp from the sudden squeeze.

“you won’t be calling me ‘little one’ when my godchild comes along, codes. and if you want there to be a godfather than by all means, go find one. i am completely fine on my own” she lied through her teeth, pulling back from the embrace and staring into his eyes with a wide smile on her face.

his smile reflected her own, before he stood up and brought the chair back around the other side of the table where he got it from. he walked back over to y/n, leaning down slightly to kiss the woman on her forehead. “alright, i’m off to get ready for tonight. i have to cut a promo with roman as soon as the show starts. i’ll text you later, and let me know if anyone causes you any trouble!” he said his goodbyes to her before walking off to the guys’ locker room.

and although it should be easier to breathe with one less person in the large catering area, y/n could only feel her heart and lungs tighten in her chest as she watched him leave. the kiss he had laid atop her head stung as if he had set her on fire. y/n was not aware she wasn’t breathing until she tried to gasp for air. she shot up from her seat, forgetting her tupperware and bag on the table as she walked to the bathroom.

and for once, the dramatic y/n did not want to cause a scene. her sudden motions had caused her to grow nauseous, and at some point she had taken in a large intake of air. she stumbled into the nearest bathroom - not knowing if it was the women’s or men’s room - and nearly fell into an open stall. she didn’t get a chance to close the door, nor did she care about the loud shrill of “y/n? are you okay?”

all she should hear was the sounds of her own dry heaving and hacking. all she could smell was something like flowers. her vision was full of stars. it came all at once and ripped through her chest and throat like someone cutting her open with a dull knife. and suddenly a single pink carnation flower fell into the toilet bowl.

she couldn’t believe her eyes as she stared down at the petal. a pink carnation. the same flower he had bought when he asked her to officially be his girl. the same flower that cody had given her before he had flown off to join the wwe main roster. the same flower that she would forever associate with him.

the pain flooded away, although y/n was still left breathless. she continued gasping for air as the stars cleared from her version. she could feel a hand rubbing circles on her back, and she hadn’t even noticed that her hair had been pulled back and away from her face in a makeshift ponytail.

“thank you” she whispered out after finally calming her breathing, sitting up from being bent over the toilet bowl. she felt her hair fall back down against her shoulders and watched as the person flushed the toilet for her.

“you’ll be okay, y/n. i got you” she heard him say behind her.

austin theory. an asshole to the wwe universe, but arguably one of the nicest guys backstage. the young man helped her sit with her back against the stall wall, and he crouched down in front of her.

she stared into his eyes, feeling tears pour in her eyes before she let herself fall forward and cry into his chest. she could tell austin didn’t know what to do. after all, the two were more acquaintances than friends and have only changed a few greetings here and there whenever they’d cross paths.

“don’t tell him, please. it’s pathetic.” she whispered, which austin acknowledged by wrapping his arms around the woman, knowing that all y/n needed right now was someone to be there for her.

hanahaki was not a common disease, but it was common enough that people knew about it. what was once believed to be a fictional disease turned out to be very much real. any doubt that y/n had about flowers being able to grow in one’s lungs simply because the person they loved didn’t love them back had disappeared in her mind. after all, she was living proof of the disease now.

“but why? why now? i’m over him. i’ve been over him. he’s married. he has a kid on the way. and i’ve been by his side for months now as just his friend. so why now?” she cried into his chest, feeling herself cough as she did so.

and if other people walked into the bathroom and heard her crying or saw the multitude of flowers that began to fall to the ground, no one said a word.

and if cody, who happened to ask around where y/n was after finding her things left out on the table in catering, had passed by the bathroom on the way to find her only to hear her crying from inside following by what he thinks to have been austin theory comforting his girl, he didn’t say a word.

and if he waited off to the side of the bathroom, waiting for you to walk out preferably without austin behind you so he himself could find out why you were crying and comfort you, he didn’t say a word.

but cody did wonder if you felt him staring into your back as he watched austin carry you out of the bathroom.

he knew austin definitely did. austin had acknowledged him with a nod the second that he had stepped out of the bathroom. and cody could tell from the way austin carried you away from cody and eventually out of cody’s line of sight, that austin did not want him anywhere near you.

|| next part >>

#cody rhodes x reader #cody rhodes fanfiction #cody rhodes imagine #cody rhodes #austin theory fanfiction #austin theory imagine #austin theory #wwe #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #wwe x reader #austin theory x reader

[ave09]

i promise

gk!harvey dent x reader

note: i’m so excited for y’all to read this! i don’t know how the two-face reveal will actual go, but this is my interpretation!

you hadn’t heard from harvey in weeks. 

you’d called, texted, emailed, you’d done practically everything to get in contact with him, and yet had heard nothing back. 

you couldn’t remember the exact date or time, all you remember is that it was just an hour before his appointment with the physiatrist, because despite ‘harvey’s warning’, you were determined to have his condition checked out. 

you were in the car, heading toward the clinic where harvey said he’d meet you when he called you up.

“harvey? i was just getting ready to head to the clinic-“

“honey, listen, i don’t have much time.” he spoke quickly, softly, as though he was hidden and didn’t want to be found. 

“harv? what-“

“i’m going away for a bit.” 

a gasp slipped past your lips, “what?? going away?? i don’t understand-“

“i can’t say. think of it like a business trip. i’ll be back soon.” there was a loud ruckus on the other end, panick struck you, “harvey, please, tell me what’s going on.”

“i love you so much. more than you could even imagine.”

“i-“

the line went dead. your breath came out in quick hyperventilated pants. what the hell was he doing? what was that noise? what was happening??

and as panicked as you were, he was your husband. you had to trust him. 

so that’s what you did. 

and you hadn’t heard from him since.

at week two, you decided to go to the GPD, to report a missing persons. but, apparently, harvey had taken leave, reportedly for almost a month. 

and there was nothing you could do. 

weeks flew by, and your worry only increased. your friends, coworkers, they’d stop by with gifts and kind words. but nothing helped. all you wanted was your husband back.

it was past midnight, and you could not sleep, not without him by your side. nightmares plagued your mind to the point that you’d barely been getting sleep at night. and it had taken its toll.

just as you were about to get up and find something to occupy yourself, your phone rang. you let out a soft sigh as you rolled across the king sized bed to your nightstand, the sound only growing louder. 

it was an unknown number, but you answered anyway. you’d given out your number at the GPD so if anyone had any clue where your husband was, they could give you a call.

“hello?” you answered, your voice groggy with sleep. 

“honey?” 

you froze, tears welling up in your eyes. you knew that voice anywhere. “harvey?” you whispered softly, your voice cracking slightly. 

“it’s me.” 

“oh my god,” you sobbed, unable to contain your emotion as a wave of relief washed over you. 

he was okay. he was alive.

“don’t cry, darling, please don’t.” 

“i’m just so happy you’re okay… where are you?” 

“um, about that-“

“harvey, i need to see you.” you said, desperation lacing your voice. there was a sigh on the other end, then silence. 

“harv..?” you questioned, “are you still there?” 

“i’m sending you a pin. you can meet me there.” 

“okay. i love you.”

“i love you too. i’ll see you soon.”

you had never driven faster in your entire life. the location was practically in the middle of nowhere, near one of gotham’s old rundown buildings. 

what he was doing here? you had no clue. 

you now stood in the middle of an abandoned alley, shivering from the cold. this was exactly where harvey had dropped the pin. he was supposed to be here. 

a startling sound of footsteps caused you to whip around to see a figure standing in the darkness of the alley. 

“you came.” his voice was gentle, almost as though he was surprised by her arrival. 

a small smile spread across your lips, “you called.” 

having him here before you made your heart swell. you had missed him so, and he’d finally returned to you. 

you took a few steps forward, only to see harvey stumble back slightly. this confused you. you had also begun to notice that when he’d spoken to you, he’d only kept one side of his face turned toward you. 

“harvey. come here.” you said, your voice stern. but your husband remained still. so with a sigh, you marched toward him, and now that he was near the dead end of the alleyway, he had nowhere to go.

as you neared, you noticed his face seemed different. and when you saw him fully, a gasp ripped from your throat.

the right side of his face was burned, the melted flesh a mixture of pink and purple. the right side of his lip was gone, leaving only his teeth bared. but what hurt the most, was seeing that his right eye, which used to be a vibrant blue, was now a milky white. 

you choked back a sob as you lifted a hand to the scared side of his face, gently placing it upon the deformed cheek. 

“oh beautiful..” you whispered, blinking back tears. the man scoffed but did not shudder at your touch, “how? how can you call me such a name when i look like this..”

you furrowed your brows, “what?”

“i was afraid to meet with you. i was afraid how you would react, i was.. i was afraid that you couldn’t find it in yourself to love…” he raised a hand, gesturing to his face, “this.” 

a soft smile tugged at your lips, “harvey, i did not fall in love with you because of your looks.” you let your hand fall from his cheek and move to rest upon his chest, where you could feel the thump, thump, thump, of his heart. 

“i fell in love with this. with your heart. i will have you, harvey dent, with a face or not.” 

harvey let out a soft chuckle as you continued, “and i will always be here for you. and this, we will get through this together.” 

you could see a single tear slip down the left side of his face, “you promise?”

you leaned forward, pecking your lips gently against what was left of his, sealing the deal. “yes. i promise.”

#misha collins #spn family #gotham knights #harvey dent x reader #harvey dent #zaddy dent #two face #supernatural #the cw

[rowdyhughesy]

I’m not great at surfing - T.Zegras

“Said shit I'd never do. Wonder if you think it's what I meant. You know I'm into you. Strawberry blonde hair runs for miles. Two summer sources last awhile”

- strawberry blonde, raspy

Idk shit about lifeguards because we don’t really have them in Sweden but I tried

Every summer since you could remember you had worked as a lifeguard at Hermosa Beach. The smell of sea water, family’s playing in the sand, teenagers playing volleyball or surfing. You loved it all. Mostly it was an easy job, there never really were any emergencies or someone getting hurt.

Most days you just chilled in the lifeguard tower playing cards with one of your coworkers, listening to the radio and walkie-talkie in case anything happened. “Hey Y/N I’m taking my break so can you keep watch outside for a couple of minutes?” Your coworker pops her head inside the tower, her nose a faint red from the sun and sun bleached hair in a bun atop her head. “Sure I’ll be out in two seconds.” Grabbing your sunglasses and whistle you wander outside.

The sun is beating down and you can’t help but feel impressed that you haven’t gotten any heatstroke calls yet today. Climbing up the lifeguard chair you just sit there watching everyone in the water or laying around in the sand.

A group of boys around your age catches your attention, one of them flailing his arms around sitting on a surfboard. Cheering one of the others on as he catches a wave. They don’t look like the usual surfer guys. Someone tapping the legs of your chair makes you tear your gaze away. A little girl stares up at you. Her black hair in two pigtails and a cute ruffled bathing suit. “I want to be a lifeguard when I grow up, you’re like a superhero.” Cooing at the small girl you tell her thank you and remind her to drink water before she skips back to her parents.

The walkie talkie sparks to life by your arm catching your attention. “We have a potential ongoing drowning, do you copy guard tower two.” Scrambling down from the chair you let out a quick command in the walkie that you’re on your way.

Locating the group of guys you had seen earlier you see that the one who had been sitting on one of the boards is missing. You have no time to think as you swim deeper into the water. It stings your eyes as waves crash against you but all you can focus on is trying to find the person who’s drowning. You find him rather easily, he’s floating with his face down. There’s blood trickling down his forehead and you know he must’ve been hit in the head by the board hard.

Swimming to the shore with the dark blonde in one of your arms, his friends frantically paddling after you on their surfboards. “What’s his name and what happened?” As soon as you lay him down on the sand you start CPR. “Trevor, I uh didn’t see everything but I think he wiped out and the board flew in the air and hit him.”

You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears as you continue CPR, one of his friends are pressing a towel on the gash on his forehead to stop the bleeding. Who you now know as Trevor starts sputtering, turning him on his side you try to soothe him as much as you can while he gets all the water out of his lungs. Running a hand through his wet hair and the other rubbing circles on his back you ask one of his friends to get one of your colleges that can fetch a first aid bag. “Hey Trevor can you hear me? My names Y/N.” Trevor blinks at you, squinting his eyes against the bright sunlight. “Hey.” His answers earns a chuckle from his friends, all happy that he’s alive.

“How are you feeling?” He ponders for a moment before mumbling out a like I died and came back, a half smile on his lips. Taping the wound on his forehead and getting him some water you advise the group that they should get him to a hospital. Just to make sure that he doesn’t have a concussion or anything else you can’t see on the outside.

Trevor stops just as they’re about to walk away, turning to you. A look in his eyes you can’t place but it gives you butterflies. “I think we’ve established that I’m not great at surfing. But you basically saved my life so what do you say about me taking you out for brunch someday? As a thank you, if you want to of course.”

Blushing you ask for his phone so that you can put your number in. “I’d like that Trevor, just stay away from surfing yeah?”

#trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras #nhl imagine #hockey blurb #trevor zegras x reader

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

here to stay | rhett abbott x oc

Summary: Tessa's coworker, Linda, has a thing or two to say about the Abbotts. And on Sunday, Tessa has the day off to spend time with her family and go to her special place. (wc: 4697)

Warnings: a flashback, no actual rhett in this chapter, background ocs

✎……PREVIOUS CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || NEXT CHAPTER

Tessa clicked the door shut quietly and stared at the painted wood grain. Thankful that the boys were gone to school and the house was quiet. 

Rhett Abbott. Gone was the boy she remembered from high school. All baby faced and hair kept short with a curl perpetually dangling over his forehead. Now, his cheekbones were more defined. His jaw and upper lip lined with stubble. The longer hair that curled out beneath his old brown stetson suited him. He had gained a bit of muscle since then too. Shoulders rounded and broad, but still lithe. The body of a rancher — of a cowboy.

He didn’t remember her. And in truth, she couldn’t blame him. They barely talked to each other during their school days. And while she had seen him plenty around town, running errands or out with his friends, she never said anything. Only took note of him from a distance then carried on with her own chores or focused on the people she was with.

But no matter how much she excused, no matter how much she rationalized, it didn’t stop the sharp sting of being forgotten from piercing her heart.

“Come on, Tess, you gotta tell us who’y’re crushin’ on!” Laney crooned loudly from her spot perched on the bed.

Tessa only hugged her knees tighter to herself, trying to make herself as small as possible, and hide her growing blush from her friends. She knew this topic would come up at some point during the sleepover. She just hoped Laney would start waxing poetic about Walker and everyone would want to move on from the subject to get her to shut up. Her hopes were dashed, however, when the conversation was immediately started by Laney asking her which boy she liked. 

“Why?” Chessler asked, taking a sip straight from the bottle of whiskey they knicked from her parent's liquor cabinet. 

“‘Cause then we can help her get the fella to notice ‘er!” Laney replied with a sweet smile that didn’t make Tessa feel any better. “Get’er a date! Everybody’s datin’ now.” 

They were fourteen, and it certainly felt like all of a sudden everyone was seeing somebody. Or liked somebody. Or was caught kissing so-and-so in such-and-such a place. Just last week, Shania Lovegrove walked into school with a rounded stomach she could no longer hide. Tessa’s parents, when she told them about it, discussed Shania and the baby in a sad way. But all her classmates simply marveled at the fact that she had sex. Wondering if and when they could do that too.

Chessler scoffed. “Boys’re stupid.”

“Y’re stupid,” Laney defended.

Thus another one of their arguments began. Common amongst the two friends so different from one another. But always ended in that way that was easily forgotten, and always was. Tessa was just thankful that all of the attention was off of her for the time being.

Until Riley sat down on the floor beside her. 

Riley Lopez. Tessa’s best friend since daycare days, when they were just learning to walk and playing with the toy horses together. Hair dark and curls unruly with eyes to match, Riley was a leader. Always had been. She was confident and caring, stood up for herself and for her friends. She was late to everything, a trait inherited from her mother, but you could always count on her to show up eventually. She listened well, and liked listening to Tessa best. 

“You like someone,” Riley pointed out quietly as their other friends continued to bicker.

Not a question. A fact. Straightforward but kind.

Tessa’s cheeks heated up again, her heart pounding in her chest. “H-How do you know?”

“‘Cause’y’re all red in the face.” She leaned back against the wall. “Wanna tell me who?”

“Y’gonna tell ’im I like ‘im?” 

Riley gave her a look. “Y’know I wouldn’t. Won’t even tell Laney.”

That made Tessa laugh quietly, releasing some of the tight grip she had on her knees. She leaned back against the wall with her friend and sighed. Her heart rate only slightly slowed. 

“‘S’Rhett Abbott. I really like ‘im.”

Tessa shook her head and picked up the box at her feet. Just a stupid adolescence crush. She got over it eventually and he never found out about it. Mostly because if he ever did she was sure he would reject her. Or she would just keel over and die. Either or. It took a long time for her to be confident enough in herself to go after what she wanted. And by that time, her crush on Rhett Abbott was long forgotten. 

Or at least that’s what she thought.

She could still feel the lingering heat in her face and neck over the way he said her name. At that small smile that showed more in his blue eyes than anything else. It was as if she was suddenly fourteen again — admiring from across a circle of friends and looking away anytime he caught her eye. 

“Who was that?” Linda asked as Tessa walked into the living room.

“Just another donation,” she answered, lifting the box slightly before setting it down with the rest stacked in the corner.

They were working on sorting it all by size so they could then be washed. A few days from now, the five boys under their care would get to take their pick from the clothes for the new school year. Tessa sat down on the couch and began going through the trashbag she left to answer the knock at the door. Linda sat on the couch to her right doing the same.

“Talked for a long time,” Linda mumbled.

Linda Sarver was a caring woman, but particular and oftentimes came across harsh. Heavy-set with dark hair kept short and beady eyes hidden behind purple, wire-frame glasses. In her mid-fifties, she was unmarried and bitter about it. She would never blame the job for her circumstance, but really it was the root cause. Linda was wholly dedicated to the Home and had been for nearly twenty years. It was her life’s work, her everything. It and its inhabitants always came first to her. At the cost of her personal life and potential personal dreams. 

Tessa liked to think if she at least got laid, she would be a little less uptight. But she loved her co-worker all the same.

“He’s a friend from high school,” she answered, fishing out a shirt, checking the size, and throwing it in the proper pile.

Linda clicked her tongue; threw a pair of jeans. “Just watch out for that Abbott boy.”

“Oh, so you were listening.” 

“‘Course I was.” Linda glanced at her sharply. “Those Abbotts’re strange — you should steer clear is all m’sayin’.”

Tessa’s brow furrowed. From what she remembered of the other Abbotts, they seemed normal enough. Quiet, old-fashioned to some degree — classically Western and mild-mannered. Always went to church and never caused a fuss save for those boys of theirs. Her parents telling stories about Perry getting into fights before he went off to college and finally settled down. And Rhett of course drinking too much, too young. But she supposed, after all she had learned, there was always a root cause for children acting the way they do. 

And nine times out of ten it was the parents.

“What makes ya say that?” she questioned.

Linda paused her sorting, set the sweater she held down in her lap and leaned in closer. Tessa raised her brows in interest, also pausing her work to listen.

“I remember when Royal first arrived in Wabang. I’s’just a kid. He just showed up on the Abbott land one day — outta the blue. And none of’em would say where he came from. What he’s doin’ on their land in the first place. Just that he was runnin’ from somethin’ and he was gonna be livin’ with ‘em from now on.” She spoke in a hush, as if the Abbotts were right around the corner and would hear her. “It was the seventies, y’could do that sorta thing back then — nobody kept any record’a kids like they do now. But, anyway, Royal grows up on the Abbott Ranch and when him n’that Cecelia were old enough…They got married.” 

“Oh,” Tessa said, head cocked to one side.

She had never heard that story before. Had never even thought to ask. That meant Royal wasn’t even Abbott by blood. And the ranch wasn’t his at all. It was Cecelia’s. She was going to have to ask her parents about this the next time she saw them. While she believed Linda, she wondered if they even knew.

“Exactly.” She whipped the sweater out of her lap to check the size. “S’like marryin’ your brother.”

Tessa didn’t say anything more and it was quiet for a long time.

As much as she loved her, she didn’t want to end up like her co-worker. 

Though Tessa loved her work and the Home and all the boys under their care, she didn’t want to suddenly be fifty and single and as bitter to love as Linda Sarver. But so far, after working there full time for two years, Tessa didn’t see a way to avoid it. Her hours were long. Her days off were few and far between and often interrupted by a call that she was needed. The few dates she did schedule moved around until they gave up or canceled altogether. She didn’t even have a place of her own. All she had was a small room in the upstairs portion of the Home — in case of an emergency — and that was it. No privacy. Just Linda across the hall like some ghost from her own future. Showing her exactly what she was going to end up being if fate didn’t intervene. 

Angry at love, alone, and buried in rewarding work — but still nonetheless buried.

On Sunday, Tessa had the day off and had almost completely forgotten about Rhett Abbott. She packed a bag, and left the Boy’s Home with hugs and promises to be back on Monday morning. 

She spent the day at her parent’s place. A horse ranch with acres of wide, open pasture and two dozen or so horses in their care. Some of the other ranchers of Wabang liked to call it a tourist ranch due to the cabins on their property they rented out for a bit of extra cash and the horse riding lessons they offered. Her parents had always paid them no mind. Liking to remind them that their children usually came to their ranch to learn how to curve barrels and weave polls. That usually shut them up nicely.

The house nestled just off the main road, dividing the line between their east and west pastures, was small. A rebuild in the sixties after the original farmhouse was knocked down in a storm. No one was alive who remembered the storm — but according to the stories it was the worst Wabang had ever seen. Made of yellow siding and stone, the house barely contained the Abernathy family of five while Tessa was growing up. But now all three daughters were older and moved out and the tiny house suddenly felt like too much room for just Nathaniel and June. 

Tessa pulled into the short drive with a smile. Her older sister’s car already parked near the front porch. 

Inside, the house was bustling with life. Her sister’s three children running around on the hardwood floors, being chased by their Poppy. A George Strait record was playing, filling all the corners and cracks with I Can Still Make Cheyenne. Distantly, she could hear pots and pans clattering together in the kitchen. No doubt her mother and sister trying to coordinate cooking breakfast together. The furniture was old but comfortable — well lived in. A quilt made by her mother draped over every couch and chair. The walls were covered in family photos and art bought at craft fairs.

It was nothing special. But Tessa felt her very bones settle into the space. A weight from weeks spent away lifted from her shoulders. This was coming back home. A release and an anchoring.

Her brother-in-law, a ranch hand who seemed perpetually tired, was the first to greet her from his spot on the living room sofa, looking at his phone. “Hey, Tess.��

“Hey, Slick,” she answered as she toed off her sneakers at the door.

The kids ran by giggling and screaming on their way to the dining room to then loop back through the kitchen and the living room to do it all over again. They were slowly pursued by Tessa’s father acting like a monster. His hands raised high over his head and loud roars added to the cacophony of sounds. The sight made her laugh as she dropped her overnight bag on the floor. 

But he stopped the act once he spotted her. His wrinkled face as treated leather lighting up as he brought her into his arms. 

“Tessa-Bug!” he laughed heartily as he squeezed her into his broad chest. “Oh, I’ve missed you!” 

She wrapped her arms around him, feeling like that same little kid but all grown up all at once, and took in his familiar scent. Hay and Old Spice soap. 

“Missed you too, Dad.” 

“Tessa’s here? Oh, thank God!” her sister Shiloh called from the kitchen. 

Her mother chimed in loudly. “Honey, we desperately need your assistance in here!”

“They’ve been tryin’ t’make y’r quiche for twenty minutes,” her father muttered to her like it was a secret. 

“Oh, geez,” Tessa laughed, releasing him from their embrace. “Better go help then.”

After the quiche was correctly put together, Tessa explaining that the egg mix needed mayo which was why it didn’t look right, her mother and sister got started on the other breakfast items. Biscuits and gravy, sausages and bacon, and french toast for the kids. Shiloh broke out the things for mimosas and made each of them one with a mischievous smile. The kitchen soon filled with the smells of good food, laughter, and singing along to Do the Right Thing.

“Wish Rachel was here,” her mother commented on a sigh as she got down the plates. 

Shiloh and Tessa shared a knowing look. Rachel was the oldest Abernathy sibling. She lived two hours away in Casper and didn’t come out to visit her family much. Her excuse was always that she was busy. Which was taken as truth for a few years after she moved back from New York. She did just open her own law firm, after all. But as the years went by, the excuse was taken with more and more grains of salt. Everyone knew why she didn’t come to visit very much. A little bit of shame can go a long way, it seemed.

Only June Abernathy still held out hope for her oldest daughter. And would do so until the day she died.

Tessa, on the other hand, couldn’t help but think poorly of her sister. She was raised in Wabang, on that same horse ranch, just like the rest of them. But then she went off to New York and met that accountant — and suddenly she was too good for this place. For her family. It made something sour rise in her stomach. Share a glance with Shiloh who harbored similar feelings.

Mostly, she just hated the looks that would overcome her parents at the mere mention of Rachel. The sadness. The hope. How could she treat them that way? How could she make them feel like there was anything to be ashamed of?

Neither Shiloh nor Tessa made any reply to their mother’s quiet comment — continuing to cook breakfast in silence.

With the table set and the kids wrangled into staying in their seats, breakfast began. Praises and thanksgiving were passed around along with all the different dishes and sides. Nate groaned loudly as he took the first bite of quiche, giving Tessa a thumbs up and a slow nod of appreciation. She just laughed and rolled her eyes affectionately.

Slick helped one of his sons cut up his french toast and poured an appropriate amount of syrup over top. Then he leaned over and kissed his wife’s cheek with brown eyes brimming with love. He may have always been tired, but Slick Vawter loved his wife more than anything in the world. 

And Tessa wanted what they had. Those love-filled looks. That trust and respect and care. That hand on her thigh beneath the table, letting her know she was on a team. She wasn’t alone. They were in this together. 

But instead, she was surrounded on either side by her parents. Who laughed and told stories from the weeks since she last saw them. Who insisted she get a second helping of quiche. Who looked at her with love in their eyes but it wasn’t the same. 

It wasn’t what she couldn’t seem to find.

“Saw Rhett Abbott the other day,” Tessa commented off-handedly when the conversation seemed to lull, pushing around the last bits of sausage on her plate.

Her intent was to ask them all the story about Royal and Cecelia Abbott. If there was any truth behind Linda’s words. Who, after a few days to think about it, seemed oddly disgruntled about the whole thing. Part of her wondered if Linda was at all jealous of their relationship — even going so far as to imagine that once upon a time Linda had a schoolyard crush on Royal. But bringing up Rhett seemed like the best way to ease into it. After all, she knew her family, and knew that they liked a good lead-up story. 

Shiloh perked up from the other side of the table. Her children long dismissed to keep playing. “Didn’t you have a crush on ‘im in high school?”

“Maybe.” 

“He the bull rider? Royal’s kid?” Nate questioned with a furrowed brow, leaned back in his chair to continue sipping at his black coffee.

“Yeah. He’s pretty good,” Slick chimed in.

June’s face lit with recognition. “Oh! He’s the one y’wrote in y’r diary ‘bout!” 

“Ma!” Tessa hissed, exasperated, already feeling a heat rushing to her cheeks.

Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up Rhett after all.

“Wait, what’d she put in’er diary?” Shiloh asked, grinning ear to ear.

“Ma, don’t you say a word!”

“Not much,” June answered, glancing over at her daughter with a grin over the lip of her coffee mug. “Just Tessa Abbott over and over with a bunch’a hearts n’all.”

“No, she didn’t!” Shiloh laughed.

“Ma!” Tessa crooned, slapping her hands over her face to hide her embarrassment and hunkering down in her chair. 

There was no way her sister was letting that go anytime soon. 

“What? S’not my fault ya left it open right there on y’r bed!” 

“It’s embarrassing!” she argued.

Nate leaned in closer to his daughter. “Gotta admit, sis, it’s a lil’ funny.”

Thus began an Abernathy argument about privacy and high school crushes. Linda’s story concerning the Abbott’s history completely forgotten.

In early September, the morning was bright and clear and warm. A light, cooling breeze was carried off the mountains in the west. The blue sky dotted with white clouds like tufts of cotton. The rolling green fields swayed with the long grass as a sea. It was beautiful, and it made Tessa ache with the bitter tang of nostalgia.

So similar was it to the days of her youth, and yet so far removed. 

Inside the stables, she found her horse waiting for her. A beautiful chestnut pinto mare with a long chestnut mane and tail. Her face had a white blaze down the center, her eyes big and brown, and held what to Tessa looked like a kindred soul. 

“Hey, Peaches, my girl,” Tessa greeted as she approached with saddle in hand. 

The horse whinnied sharply and tossed her head. Excited to see her rider after so long apart. Peaches was usually out in the pasture with all the other horses. Brought in occasionally for a visitor to ride when needed because she was one of the more well-behaved and patient horses. But it was clear that Peaches missed being ridden by Tessa. The girl who stayed up all night to watch her be born, named her, and was the first person to ever sit on her back. And who also wasn’t afraid to let her run at full speed. 

Tessa slung the saddle over the edge of the stall and scratched at Peaches’ head. “Y’ready to ride?”

After Peaches was properly saddled and fed one of the three apples stowed away for later, Tessa climbed onto the horse's back and set off at a trot out of the stable. The sun was hot but cleansing — and beautiful. It shone in Peaches’ mane and upon the still dew-covered earth. Birds chirped from their nests high in the stable rafters and the sky overhead. Distantly, she could hear her father singing as he worked in the garden by their house, her nieces and nephews screaming with glee; and it made her smile. 

She set off through the west pasture, towards the old creek and the mountains beyond. Once they were clear of the fence, Peaches took off at a gallop with Tessa’s gentle urging. The wind whipped through her hair as she crouched down closer to Peaches’ back, reigns only held loosely in her hand. Peaches knew where to go. Towards the hill that overlooked the valley below, a single oak tree standing resolute at the top. 

Her spot. Tessa’s spot since she learned how to ride. The place she would go when she just needed to be alone, to take a minute to breathe, to let the world settle around her. She always felt her most happy on that hill. Where the sun shined and the wind cooled her skin. Where there were no worries about school or jobs or relationships or anything. Where it was just her and Peaches and the great Wyoming sky — stretching forever and infinite. 

Recently, however, there has been a new addition to her hilltop sanctuary. 

The man in the valley. 

Beneath the hill, further west, was a parcel of land not owned by the Abernathys. The great oak tree, really, was the border of their property — the fence only a short way down the hill. For years, nearly all of her growing up and even some of her adult life, the land wasn’t owned by anyone but the state. Left wild and overgrown but beautiful. The valley below filled with wildflowers of all colors, a little stream, and surrounded on all sides by dense forest.

Until one day, coming on five years ago now, Tessa rode up to her spot on the hill and found there was a gravel drive leading into the valley — and a nice solid foundation had been poured. From her perspective, it was no bigger than the size of her thumb held up to one eye. She asked her parents who had finally bought the parcel, but they had no idea who it was, just that they must have gotten a mighty good deal on it since it had been sitting for so long. 

In five years, not much progress had been made on the house. 

As she got down from Peaches and fed her the second apple, she looked down into the valley to see what had been added since the last time she was able to get out there. The framework appeared almost finished. That alone took him almost two years. 

Him. The man in the valley. The only person she had ever seen working on the house. 

Tessa couldn’t tell much about him. Except that he liked to wear hats, drove a blue truck, and was slow with construction work. Those were really the only facts she could assume. Everything else, she made up some story. 

She liked to think he was building the house for his future bride. Making it big enough for them and a few kids — the kitchen with a lot of windows just how she liked. Only working on it when he could find the time. Ring tucked in his pocket to keep it safe. Tessa liked to think he listed to Kenny Rogers and George Jones while he worked. That he cursed really loud when he hit his thumb. That he loved his girl so much he wanted to give her this. A beautiful home on beautiful land, just for them, made with his own two hands. But it wasn’t ready. Not yet. 

It made a sigh, longing and heartache, well up inside her as she gazed down into the valley. Hands in her back pockets, brown hair picked up by the breeze. A beautiful fantasy, one that probably wasn’t even real. But it was fun to pretend. To think that stories like that still existed for some people. 

Even if it would never be her. 

Tessa perked up, however, when she noticed that the man’s truck was in the drive. She always felt a bit like a creep when they were there at the same time, but really, she couldn’t help but love watching him. Fantasizing about what he may be like and what he was building for.

He was wearing his regular hat today — not his stetson. Dark hair peaking out the back. The truck bed was open, tools and two-by-fours spilled out onto the hatch. He walked around from the other side of the house, flannel in hand. It was starting to get hot as the sun rose in the sky and noon approached. Chucking the shirt into the bed of the truck, he picked up a water bottle and titled his head back to drink. 

Surely he was handsome. A ranch hand with lean, farmer’s muscles to match. A rugged sort of beauty. Someone who worked with his hands and smelled like Marlboro reds. Wore his boots until they were falling apart and liked his beers chilled. Her man in the valley.

Turning on her heel, Tessa walked under the shade of the oak tree where Peaches was already taking refuge from the sun. She could still see the man, leaning against his truck and staring at the house, from there. Her parents could probably tell her who bought the land now. But at this point, she didn’t want to know. The story she made up for him and his house too sweet to be soiled by reality. So, she sat down with her back leaned against the great big trunk, and she watched quietly. 

Not even an hour passsed, the man moving back and forth between the area behind the house that still needed framing and his truck for wood, when her phone began to ring in her pocket. Another perk of her spot on the hill. It was high enough that she still got some cell service. She smiled, Riley was calling her. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Tessa answered. 

“Hey, babe,” Riley replied, clearly working on something in the background. “This’s a Sunday you have off, right?”

“Sure is. Y’wanna make plans?”

“Yeah. Rodeo’s tonight — that sound good?”

“Sounds great.” Tessa got up from the ground, wiping the grass and dirt from her jeans. “Meet you there?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll meet ya there. By the uh — by the funnel cake stand,” Riley said, sounding distracted — most likely from finishing last-minute paperwork for her father’s construction company. 

“Funnel cake, gotcha.” 

They spoke for a few more minutes, mostly about how they hadn’t seen each other in a while and they were excited to do something together for once. But eventually, they hung up, Tessa bringing Peaches out from under the tree branches so she could hop back into the saddle and start heading home. 

But she couldn’t help but look down into the valley one last time. One last glimpse at the house and the man who was building it one day at a time. Only, it looked like he was staring up the hill at her, somehow. And she wondered if he knew there was a girl on the hill who liked to dream about him.

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#oc: tessa abernathy #fic: here to stay #fd: outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fanfic #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott imagine #outer range #outer range fic #outer range imagine #outer range oc #ocapp #chapter update #fic rewrite #rhett abbott x tessa abernathy #lewis pullman

[oohnotvery]

Wherever Is Your Heart (Chapter 3)

A breakfast of toast and coffee helps soothe her stomach some, and an aspirin does the trick for her headache, but nothing can stop the anxious pounding of her heart.

She debates calling Mulder. Her brain tries to come up with a million reasons why it’s not as bad as it seems. Maybe he was drunk too and doesn’t remember much of it. Maybe she didn’t say or do all of the things she thinks she said and did. Maybe it was all just a horrendous nightmare, and she cabbed home by herself and then had a very vivid dream about trying to seduce Mulder.

Mulder.

Oh . . . god. Her one and only friend, her partner, her family. All of that, ruined in one terrible, mortifying stretch of evening.

Simply put, he told her no. Whether that was because she was drunk or because he simply didn’t want her, she fears she’ll never truly know.

For the millionth time since Melissa’s death, Scully wishes she could talk to her sister. To ask her what to do about this heartbreak, this humiliation, this rejection, this mortification.

How can she and Mulder possibly continue on after this? Every time he looks at her from now on, she’ll see his pity, his rejection, his secondhand embarrassment for her. Things will never be the same.

All morning, she debates calling him and apologizing. Really, that needs to be her first step. She acted out of line and if she wants any chance at salvaging the relationship, a properly worded phone call will do the trick.

But she can’t bring herself to dial his number. She raises the receiver three times and slams it down three more times, unsure how to do this. How does one even begin to apologize for sexually harassing one’s coworker?

She’s standing by the phone debating her next move when it rings. She has the receiver to her ear before she can psych herself out of not answering.

“Scully,” she answers, digging her nails into her palm nervously.

But it’s not him. It’s her mother, triple-checking that they’re still on for Christmas Day. The tears that spring across her eyelashes at her mother’s voice surprise her.

“Dana?” her mother asks after a period of silence. “Is everything alright?”

Scully sniffs discreetly and wipes at her tears. “Everything is fine,” she promises as cheerfully as she can manage. She clears her throat. “I have a bit of a cold.”

She cringes at the lie, sinking deeper into the unenviable realm of self-hatred. It’s unclear whether Maggie Scully buys the fib or not, and they spend another few minutes on the phone hashing out the details of who’s supplying which pie.

Towards the end of their call, there’s another long pause that makes Scully grow fidgety.

“You know Dana,” her mother begins gently, “you can always talk to me if something’s bothering you. I know after Melissa died, you not only lost a sister, but a confidante.” Both women fall silent, and Scully imagines her mom wiping away tears of her own. Her mother’s voice is raspier when she speaks again. “But you can always talk to me.”

“Thanks, mom,” she manages to reply, her voice pitching higher with emotion.

After that, Scully takes a break from waiting by the phone. She tidies up her apartment, fixes herself a second coffee, and flips through a few magazines. But her mind keeps wandering.

Maybe Mulder will call to ask how she’s doing. Maybe he’ll call and broach the subject first, telling her it’s all forgotten, all okay. We never have to mention it again, he’ll say cheerfully after a few below-the-belt jokes.

In the end, the phone doesn’t ring again. She starts to wonder when exactly he left. Was it right after she threw up? Or did he wait til morning? And when did it get too much for him that he needed to physically remove himself from her space?

Her heart cracks open at the thought of their partnership floundering under this new embarrassment. She does not think she can carry on, not like this. It’s one thing to drunkenly ask someone for a romp in the hay. It’s another thing altogether to say I love you. That’s the part that hurts the most, the baring of her naked soul.

She tries to put herself in Mulder’s shoes. What would she do if he had gotten drunk, tried to seduce her, and told her he loved her? Well, it would be a very welcome change of pace, that’s for certain. If Mulder put his feelings out in the world so blatantly, she wouldn’t have left his apartment in the middle of the night. No, she would have stayed there so that in the morning, she could reassure him of her love.

But he hasn’t even called or checked in. He hasn’t even bothered trying to tell her that all is well. The cold, hard facts to which she so faithfully clings are a painful pill to swallow: he’s trying to distance himself from her.

Sunday passes in a blur of headaches, stomachaches, and reeling thoughts. She stays up half the night nervously wondering how Monday will be. She practices her speech. She will apologize, because that must come first. She will then ask him to please forget it ever happened.

But every time she gets to that part of her speech, a part of her starts to fantasize that he stops her in her tracks. “It was embarrassing, yeah,” he will admit with a slightly goofy smile, “but I actually feel the same way.” A very secret, very private part of her starts to hope that this will all turn out for the best in the end. And maybe this was just the first horrifying, awkward step in their realizing their feelings for each other.

It is on that wing and a prayer that she enters the office on Monday. Mulder is already at his desk spinning a pen between his fingers. With hope and bravery twin companions in her heart, she walks up to him and clears her throat. He swivels expectantly and she watches his face closely for a sign. But he just looks at her the way he always does—kind interest, open expression.

“Hey, Scully,” he greets her, and it’s so normal she almost falters.

She swipes at her upper lip as her cheeks turn pink under his gaze. “Can we talk?”

He sucks in his cheeks for a minute and then stands, nodding. She turns and shuts the door quietly behind her. The room is suddenly too constricting.

He leans hipshot against his desk and she twists her fingers uncomfortably. “I wanted to apologize,” she starts, the beginning of the rehearsed speech. “For what I did Saturday night. As I hope you know, after almost five years of working together, it was extremely out of character for me. Although there’s no excuse, I was intoxicated and I’d really like to just forget it—”

He nods a little and before she can continue, holds up a hand. “It’s okay, yeah? No harm, no foul.”

He’s playing it really cool, which she partially expected. She holds her breath for a moment, waiting for him to say something else. It wasn’t that your advances were unwanted; I just didn’t want to take advantage of you, he might say.  

“Thank you,” she finally says when it’s clear he’s done speaking.

“Alright,” he says with an eager look, “back to it?”

She is dumbfounded, stunned into silence. That’s it? That’s all they’re going to say about the absolute disaster that was Saturday night? She was half-expecting him to at least make a bad joke. And at the very most, she was hoping he would admit that her feelings were mutual. In stupefaction, she just nods.

They get called out to Washington State later that day and Mulder is booking them next-day flights before she can even wrap her head around the trip. She doesn’t know how to manage close quarters with him after the humiliation of their weekend, and starts to wonder if she should back out of it altogether.

She’s in the breakroom pouring coffee when she sees it. A woman—someone she’s never seen before—pulling Mulder into a private conference room. He sits down in a chair and the woman leans onto the conference table beside him, her hips touching his shoulders. They look comfortable together. Easy. Familiar.

The woman laughs at something he says with a pretty smile and Mulder grins. Her blonde hair swishes across a designer blazer and Scully watches in horror as Mulder taps the woman on the knee. Her bare knee. It’s so intimate that Scully overpours her coffee and curses as scalding liquid burns her hand.

It hits her all at once. Whatever hope she was carrying that maybe things weren’t so bad is now gone. Mulder wasn’t just rejecting her out of gentlemanly concern for her state of mind; he was rejecting her because he has no interest in her like that. She humiliated herself for him. She tried to seduce him and failed. And he rejected her.

Their professional partnership, she slowly realizes as she makes her way over to her desk, isn’t the only thing that matters to her. It’s him. It’s the personal connection with him. And that is being ground to dust before her eyes.

Scully lingers in the break room for a long time, wishing she could hear what they were discussing, wondering who this pretty blonde agent is. When ten minutes have passed, she gives up and heads back down to the basement, feeling defeated and on edge. 

At five p.m., she makes her decision. She will not go on the trip. She sends Mulder a short email, embedding in it a lie that he will or won’t believe—I’m too sick. Go without me. She hasn’t called out sick in years. Not even during her cancer.

The rest of the week passes without Mulder. They barely talk. There’s no reason to communicate across the distance. It feels healthy, almost, without him here. He doesn’t want her in the way she wants him, and the pain of that realization is easier to bear when she’s not face-to-face with his handsome jawline and disarming humor.

When he returns to the office on Friday, as chipper and unbothered as he had seemed on Monday, Scully makes a decision. She will not pine for him; she will not waste time on love unrequited. It’s time to move on.

#x files #msr #msr fanfic #mulder x scully #dana scully #txf #fox mulder my beloved #the x files #x files fanfic