#passed over? ignored? uncared for? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

foli-vora · 1 year

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too close

joel miller x f!reader

a/n: more porn, idk what to say lmao. i want him to be cold and rough and i want it to hurt, y’ know what i mean?? anyway, here’s a supremely pissed off joel — enjoy! x

word count: just under 3.1k

warnings: swearing, very brief violence/mention of weapons, a close call, clicker attack, joel being a hero and being annoyed af about it, angsty vibes, the king of emotional constipation, SMUT 18+ ONLY: brief hand job, being restrained by being held down, unprotected p in v, very rough sex with bit of pain, no orgasm for reader coz punishment, cum shot over da assss

He hadn’t spoken.

Nothing. Not a single damn word since it happened.

Your heart still thunders in your chest, pounding in your ears and threatening to break free from its bone cage. The adrenaline has long worn off, leaving you with a tremble in your hands you can’t quite seem to get under control.

The weight of it still lingers on your body. The inhuman high pitched roar of it still circles your mind on an endless loop. The overwhelming rush of fear had paralysed you, frozen you under its brute strength and your touch had been numb around your weapon. That should’ve been it for you—done. Dead. Torn to fucking shreds right there on the filthy, muddied floor.

But he’d come out of fucking nowhere.

A body had rushed in from the side, the clicker barely able to turn towards the noise with a wailing screech before a weight spear tackled it and gave you the chance to roll back onto your feet. You had watched, through dazed eyes, as Joel had wrestled with the creature before firing a few bullets into its sickly orange flared head with his own roar of fury.

The snarl hadn’t left his face as he stood, glaring down at the clicker, almost daring it to fucking twitch, before he spun for you, tugging harshly at your arms and collar to look for any marks. He’d shoved you away after his hurried check, uncaring as you stumbled back from the unexpected rough touch and seemingly satisfied with your untorn skin.

He had ignored your shaky thank you.

Though he doesn’t talk, he still touches. His hands cover any sharp surfaces you pass, his forearm presses into your chest to keep you from moving forward when it’s too risky, his palm pushes at your head to ensure you get through the tunnel without hitting your head—

Little things.

Little things that let you know he’s not about to throw your ass out onto the streets of the QZ for being such a fucking idiot… you hope, anyway.

The silence remains, thick and uncomfortable, all the way back until you finally reach your quarters undetected. Joel dumps his pack on the floor without a care, striding straight for the bottle of shitty homemade booze left out on the table. You hang back, nervously fiddling with your fingers as he downs a generous mouthful, ignoring the drop that escapes his lips and melts into his patchy beard.

You swallow, tongue sweeping over your dry lips, “Joel?”

He doesn’t react.

Instead, he tears a chair out from where it’s tucked under the table and allows himself to drop into it with a sharp exhale, one hand brushing down his tired features. His eyes focus beyond the floor, the slosh of the amber liquid the only sound in the dark room as he nurses the bottle slowly.

“Joel.” Firmer. Harder. “Can we talk ab—”

“No. No, we cannot.”

The pure acid in his rumble of a tone burns. You shrink from the force of it.

“Joel, I… I’m really sorry—”

“Oh, well shit—that just makes it all better!”

“I’ll be quicker next time, it just took me off-guard, bu—”

“‘Next time’?”

It’s incredulous, spat through tight lips as if it’s the most absurd thing he’s ever fucking heard in his life. His wild eyes suddenly focus on you and your breath sticks in your throat. They zero in on where you stand, still hovering by the door, nervous to take a step further into your shared dwelling.

“There ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ ‘next time’. Your ass is stayin’ in the QZ—permanently.”

“What? Joel—”

“I do not want to hear it,” he snarls. “The hell were you thinkin’, huh?! It fuckin’ had you!”

It all comes back. The feeling of it hitting you, grabbing you, forcing you to the floor and screeching in your face. Death had been mere inches from you, death had had you in his damn grasp. The shadow of it brings a shiver along your skin.

“I know.”

It’s weak, pathetic.

“You can’t afford to freeze like that! Not out there. You get one chance to not fuck up—one fuckin’ chance! If I hadn't been there… Jesus Christ.”

He shifts to lean forward, resting an elbow in the upper crease of his knee as his fingers press tightly into his eyes and rub. You step lightly towards him, crossing the space between you and carefully reaching out to run a hand along the arch of his back, feeling the muscles jump under your touch.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, moving your hand up to the nape of his neck and into his hair, carding your fingers through his dry, mussed strands and softly working through the slight knots sitting there, “I really am—”

He bitterly knocks your hand away, jerking away from your touch like you’d burnt him, and it cuts into your heart, tearing through muscle and spilling a vicious icy ache through your chest.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” he mutters stiffly, standing from his chair and walking away from you.

You bring your hand back towards your chest and swallow the thickness building in your throat before you can choke on it. The rejection stings, and the tears that build along your lash line are automatic.

They blur your vision of him standing at the window, back to you, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He’s rigid, posture hardened by the mix of emotion filling him. You know better than to approach him again, and instead sink down into the chair he vacated.

Silence returns, the tension rolling from his shoulders in waves reaching you despite being across the room. You pick at your skin, peeling the flakes of dried mud from your hands and pulling at the stray threads loosened from your sleeves.

Was there any way of coming back from this? It had taken you weeks to wear him down enough to even think about taking you out of the QZ on a small run, and now? He’d never go for it again. You’re back to having the mile high walls as your prison, your cage.

You’re more capable than this, you’d just been surprised is all. Surely you weren’t the first person to have been taken off guard by their appearance? To wonder how the hell something like that could come from a human? You’d never seen one at that stage before… couldn’t he just understand?

There were others, a quiet voice rings through your mind, only they never made it to the other side to think about it, to question it.

It could’ve killed you, it could’ve killed Joel, and that was all on you. All the work, all the planning, all the potential earnings… gone to shit, because you couldn’t keep your head straight the second you ran into trouble.

“I’m sorry for ruining the run,” you mutter, quickly swiping away the hot tear trailing down your cheek, “I’ll find extra work and get you the ration cards you’ve lost from this.”

He slowly turns to face you, a deep scowl carved into his stone set features and his arms drop to his sides, his hands clenching into fists. You fight the urge to curl in on yourself and remain stiff shouldered, returning his glare with a shakily stubborn gaze despite the few remaining tears that slip free from where they gather along your lashes.

“Christ. Is that what you’re thinkin’ about right now?” He’s quiet, but the rage still simmers away beneath the surface of his tone, causing the already deep drawl to roughen. “I don’t fuckin’ care about the damn cards.”

“Then why are you so fucking mad at me?” You cry out, “I said I was sorry! I made a mistake, everyo—”

“I almost fuckin’ lost you!”

You freeze at the sudden volume of his voice, the low simmer now a full boil. His shout bounces off the cracked walls and brings a whole new kind of silence to the room, the sheer ferocity of it bringing your heart into your throat. He shakes his head and turns back towards the window, saying nothing more and leaving his words to hang in the dark.

The little thing between you and Joel had never been defined, and probably never would be. He just wasn’t like that. Sweet nothings and declarations of feelings had never, and will never, leave his lips. You weren’t even sure he liked you most of the time. You’re almost positive you’re nothing but an inconvenience to him, merely there to fill the deep void of loneliness the disaster of a world brought upon everyone.

But his words have your mind racing. Would it have bothered him that much? Does he see you as something more than an annoyance? Was it just as a companion, or maybe it ran deeper? Do you dare let the small bud of hope growing in your chest blossom into something stronger?

“Joel—”

“You should get some sleep.”

There’s no room for argument.

You give a small nod and stand, shedding the thick jacket draped from your shoulders and kicking your boots off. He doesn’t acknowledge you again, never moving his attention away from the window as you do a quick once over your dirtied skin with your damp rags before slipping under the thin, patched together blanket draped over the bed.

“Are you coming to bed?” You ask quietly, eyes following the curve of his side profile illuminated by the hue of street lighting seeping through the glass.

“No.”

Swallowing the discomfort starting to constrict the back of your throat, you give a strangled, “Okay,” and roll over, turning your back to him and burying your face into his pillow to hide the tears that escape when you squeeze your eyes shut.

He does.

Sometime in the early morning, your hand brushes against his back and it’s enough to bring you out of your troubled slumber. You’re careful not to jolt the bed too much as you shift closer to him, pressing up tight against his back and carefully smoothing a hand along his side.

You soak in the warmth his body provides, inhale the familiar waves of dirt and sweat that constantly roll from his skin. If you focus enough, you can detect the faint traces of mint that linger beneath the grime from the bar of soap it had taken you weeks to save for. You knew he liked it.

He’s awake—you can feel it. The tension is still wound tight in the muscles of his shoulders, his body still practically trembles from anger, but at least he doesn’t push you away again. Your hand wanders further, smoothing down to run over his stomach and up to his chest, resting over the heavy drum of his heart.

“Are you still mad?”

Silence follows your question. Did he hear you? Maybe you’d been wrong in your earlier observation and he was, in fact, asleep. Or he was just simply ignoring you, but then finally—

“Yeah,” he answers in his thick exhaustion riddled drawl, the word rough on his tongue.

“Oh.”

There’s nothing more to say. What could you say to make it better? Nothing. It had happened, and now you simply had to wait it out until the rage started to seep from his system. Would it take days? Weeks? Your hand starts to wander as you think, and you pay no mind to the paths it makes until you feel him stiffen under your touch.

You feel your fingers brush along the waistband of his jeans and your heart jumps in your chest, beating just that little heavier. He still doesn’t push you away. Maybe there’s nothing you could say, but maybe something you could do? Give him an outlet, a chance to work the anger from his system—

Heart pounding, you let your fingers slip beneath the denim and rake through the thick patch of curls there before finding his soft cock and carefully taking it in your grasp. There’s not a whole lot of room to work with the unforgiving stretch of his jeans, but you settle for what you can do, keeping your strokes light and restricted.

It doesn’t seem to matter.

His cock swells in your hold, the soft flesh thickening and hardening until it strains against its confines, throbbing heavily in your hand. The feel of him responding to your touch lights a fire in your core, every shallow jerk you make over his cock sending waves upon waves of warmth through your system until it builds in the pit of your stomach.

This could work. This could—

A hand curls around your wrist and tugs, tearing it out from inside his jeans and throwing it back towards you. Your stomach twists at the harshness of it, a brief flutter of panic shooting along your nerves as Joel tears the sheet away from his body and turns on you.

“What the hell are you doin’?” He demands in a rough grumble and you’re rolled onto your stomach before you could even think of uttering an apology, pressed into the unforgiving mattress by the weight of him straddling your upper thighs. “You think jerkin’ me off will make everythin’ better? You think it’ll make me forgive you? Huh?”

“N-no—”

“No?” He parrots gruffly, taking a wrist in each hand and pressing your hands into the bed. “That’s what it fuckin’ feels like.”

“That’s not—” you shift under the weight of him, attempting to adjust his grip on your wrists only for him to briefly tighten his hold, “��Joel, I—”

“You think I’m gonna soften on you just coz you’re touchin’ my cock?” He continues as if you hadn’t said a word, pushing himself roughly off your wrists and curling his fingers into your waist until it stings, forcing your ass up until he can curl over you and shove a hand to the front of your pants, “Think again, girl.”

He tears them open and straightens, fingers digging under the waistband of both your jeans and your underwear before tugging harshly at them until your ass is bared to him. He doesn’t bother taking them completely off, merely shoving them down enough out of the way so he’d be able to reach your cunt.

It’s a rush. Your heart thunders in your ears, your nerves wind tight in anticipation. He’s not gentle. Your skin burns where the denim had been yanked down, his hands grab and squeeze until an ache follows his touch.

You’re barely able to comprehend the faint sound of a zipper before the blunt head of his cock is suddenly pushing between your thighs and nudging at your folds. It’s instinct to tense, knowing you’re not even slightly ready to take him, but you find yourself arching into him nonetheless.

He lines himself up, probing at your entrance before letting his hips slam forward in one savage thrust, forcing you to take the entire thick length of his cock and crushing you into the mattress. Your cry of surprise, pain, melts into the bed; your hands scramble across the bedding in search of something to hold, something to steady yourself with as he starts to move in earnest.

His pace is brutal.

It’s quick, hard.

A clear punishment, and you take it all eagerly, muffling the various noises he rips from your throat into the bedding. Arousal steadily builds as you flutter and clench around him while he takes what he wants, the feeling of him hitting a spot that feels almost too far in your cunt shooting right through your system until you feel tears sting your eyes.

Every hit to that spot is blissful agony, your body jolting and twisting from the feeling of having him practically in your stomach with every upwards thrust. The more you try to squirm away from him hitting so fucking deep, his hands tighten and tug you back, pressing you into the mattress and unable to move away from the steady force of his hips.

A hand curls around the nape of your neck, pushing and pushing you further into the bed and keeping you completely still and at his total mercy.

It’s too much. It’s fucking perfection.

None of it is for you.

Your swollen clit throbs from the lack of attention, the ache in your core only growing wilder and wilder as his cock continues to pound into you with no end in sight. There’d be no edge, no release. Only Joel and the way he seemingly tears you apart from the inside out, forcing your body to take the weight of his fury, the weight of his fear, again and again.

The cry that leaves your lips is sharp when he eventually rips himself away, his broken exhale mingling with a downright obscene grumble of a moan doing nothing to temper the relentless fire birthed from his aggression. He finishes over your ass cheek after fisting his cock and giving it a few firm jerks, painting your skin with his hot cum and letting the weeping tip of it slide through the mess as he comes down.

You pant into the bedding, your fingers still clutching the sheets for dear life. They ache when your grip finally loosens, your joints protesting the sudden relaxing of the digits. You hurt. You throb. You tremble from the rough fucking, your cunt quivers and weeps for more despite your walls feeling tender from his merciless entry.

He rolls off of you to sit on the edge of the bed, raking a hand through his now wild hair and drawing in a few deep breaths. Your eyes begin to flutter, your body heavy where it sinks into the mattress. He leans forward and braces his forearms on his thighs, barely sparing you a look at you over his shoulder.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he warns lowly, bringing you briefly out of the haze coaxing you further and further into an inky black abyss, “do you understand me? Never again.”

The words go unspoken, like so many had done before—I can’t lose you, too.

everything pp: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld, @juletheghoul, @punkerthanpascal, @itswanktime, @karolydulin, @pedrostories, @fabilei, @ghostwiththemostbitch, @omlwhatamidoinghere, @cannedsoupsucks, @chaoticemz, @hows-my-hair, @alexxavicry, @cran-berry-vodka, @deadhumourist, @outercrasis, @thisshipwillsail316, @toxicfrankenstein, @hotchlover, @ew-erin, @mishasminion360, @jitterbugs927, @penelopeimp, @woodland-mist, @pedro-pastel, @spaceserialkiller, @adriiibell, @1andthesame, @elegantduckturtle, @captain-jebi, @magpie-to-the-morning, @sharkbait77, @sleep-tight1, @musings-of-a-rose, @Karlawithacapitalk, @woomen23, @frasmotic, @songsformonkeys, @loonymagizoologist, @aynsleywalker, @ruhro7, @bluestuesday, @what-iwish-you-knew, @princess-djarinn, @totallynotastanacc, @girlofchaos, @pjkimrn, @bangaveragewhitewine, @trickstersp8, @rominaszh, @gooddaykate, @ms-loverman-066, @bunniwarrior, @detectivecarisi-1, @tintinn16, @iceclaw101, @bport76, @thatpinkshirt, @tusk89, @withakindheartx, @curiouskeyboard, @pedropascalsx, @sirpascal, @racetrackheart, @patisseriel, @timpletance, @titabel, @xdaddysprincessxx, @dnxgma, @astronomeoww, @dindjarinswhore, @alwaysdjarin, @mando-amando, @mx-ferelden, @trinkets01, @jxvipike, @thesmutslut, @thereisaplaceintheheart, @scentedthingtidalwave, @mwltwo, @loveslide, @artsymaddie, @untitledarea, @sukunababe, @emiemiemiii, @your-slutty-gf, @wisecolornight, @emilianamason, @justreblogginfics, @marcmurdock, @everythingisspokenfortbh

joel miller: @jujuliaispunk, @joelmiller67, @tubble-wubble, @uwiuwi,

plus my two gorgeous babes who i think will enjoy: @charnelhouse & @frannyzooey

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #pedro pascal x reader

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sinofwriting · 6 months

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Girls Are Private Creatures - Pierre Gasly & Charles Leclerc

Words: 2,399 Summary: Pierre and her have always been best friends, having a baby together didn't change or complicate that until he says something he doesn't mean to. Note(s): Was very fun to write and somehow Charles managed to sneak in his way into this as a love interest, still not too sure how that happened, lol. This is a one off, no part two, sorry everyone! Also, I don’t speak french and while I didn’t use google translate for the french, I still used a translator.

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“Ah, there are my favorite girls!” Charles exclaims, jogging over to them, exchanging kisses on the cheek with her before taking the baby out of her arms. Elodie gives him a gummy smile and he coos at her, nosing at her hair, before pressing a kiss to her cheek, a giggle leaving her because of the smacking sound it makes. “So, beautiful, Miss Elodie. I shall have to keep you and your maman close.”

She shakes her head at the poor wink Charles gives her, but gives a nod, stepping beside him as he begins to walk around the grid.

“Is that Elodie?” Max asks, as they start to pass the Red Bull garage. “Can I?” He asks, looking at her, with his arms already reached out to take her from Charles. Charles pouts at her, but she ignores him, looking at her content baby. “Elodie.” Her little head turns to look her way. “You want to go to Uncle Max?” Elodie gives a little squeal at the name, hands shaking and she smiles, nodding. Max eagerly takes the baby from Charles' arms. “I can’t believe you are letting Max Verstappen hold her.” He pouts. “You are just mad, your Elodie time got cut short.” She playfully scolds, bumping their hips together. He pokes his bottom lips further out for a second, before throwing an arm over her shoulder, tugging her close for a side hug as they watch Max talk to Elodie, bringing her into the Red Bull garage and pointing out different things to her.

“How are you feeling?” She sighs, drawing away from Charles. “I’m fine, Cha. You don’t need to worry about me.” He frowns at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “You are my friend. I will of course worry.” He then tilts his head to nod at her face. “You have circles, chéri.” “I have a six month old. Sleep is not a blessing I get.” Her french accent is thicker and his eyebrows raise, her upset clear just from that. “You only get circles when you are worried and not sleeping. What is happening?” She swallows, eyes locked on Elodie who now is babbling to Max in her babytalk, the driver has such a serious look on his face, as though he understands every word of it and is taking notes. The words are bubbling up in her but she sees Christian joining Max and Elodie and upon spotting her, he smiles waving her over. “It is nothing, Cha.” She shakes her head, giving him a smile, before reaching forward to squeeze his arm. “Let me know if you’d like to stay the night with us. Elodie always loves seeing her godfather.” “Of course.” He murmurs, watching as she leaves to join the trio in the Red Bull garage and before he can think better of it, he’s moving to Alpine’s garage.

He’s easily able to get to Pierre’s drivers room and he doesn’t bother knocking, just throws the door open, uncaring of the near naked state of his best friend and his protests as he shuts the door behind him, hands settling on his hips.

“What is wrong?” “Charles!” Pierre is looking at him with wide eyes, a hand over his crotch despite the fact that he has underwear on and it’s nothing that Charles hasn’t seen before. “Get out!” “Non. What is going on? Y/N and Elodie are here, you are nowhere to be seen. She isn’t sleeping and is worried about something but won’t say what.” Charles pokes at his chest, harshly, ignoring the yelp it earns him. “What did you do?” “Why is it me who did something?” He protests, the hand that has been hovering over his crotch, moving to rub at the spot Charles had poked. The younger looks at him unimpressed. Pierre sighs, sitting on his massage table. “I, uh, I fucked up.” “That is obvious.” “Thank you, calmar.” Charles shrugs. “I said it was a mistake.” His brows furrow. “What was a mistake?” Pierre winces and he braces himself on the table. “All of it. Us kissing and then starting our, uh, benefits. And uh Elodie.”

His head wipes to the side before he knows it and he can feel the sting on his cheek and something a bit wet on his lip. His tongue darts out and he can taste a bit of blood.

“Tête de noeud.” Dickhead. Charles spits out, glaring at one of his oldest friends. “Comment pourriez-vous dire une telle chose, penser une telle chose.” How could you say such a thing, think such a thing. “Je sais.” I know. “No, vous ne faites pas de lien. Elle est votre fille.” Charles hisses. No, you don’t. She is your daughter. “Et elle est votre plus grande partisane, la seule personne qu'elle aime le plus est Elodie et pour vous,” He stops himself, shaking his head. Anger and sick tangling together and sitting heavy in his stomach. And she is your biggest supporter, the only person she loves more is Elodie and for you too, “Je ne peux même pas te regarder. Tu me dégoûtes, Pierre. Je ne veux pas vous voir près d'eux ou moi. Et j'espère que personne ne s'en posera la question. I’m not feeling kind.” I can’t even look at you. You disgust me, Pierre. I don’t want to see you near them or me. And hope that no one asks about this.

Before Pierre can say anything else, he leaves throwing the door opening and ignoring the looks from fucking Esteban of all people as he leaves the stupid French garage.

Hours later as she burps Elodie, humming softly as she walks around the hotel room, she hears a knock.

“Charles.” She greets, opening it. “Chéri.” He greets back, pressing a kiss to her cheek before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “She ate already.” He notes with disappointment, spotting the cloth over her shoulder. She throws him a sorry look as Elodie lets out a burp, making them both tell her good job and she pats for a few more seconds before rubbing at her back. “She’s been hungrier recently. You missed out by ten minutes.” “Is she still eating at night?” He asks, taking Elodie from her and cooing at the baby, rubbing their noses together just to see her little eyes go cross eyed before pressing a kiss to her forehead, inhaling the scent of baby with a bit of vanilla from that perfume he had bought Y/N for Christmas last year. She watches him with an amused smile. He always did the same thing with Elodie. “She wasn’t, but for the past few days, yes.” “Perfect.” He beams. “I will take the midnight feed.” “Cha,” she warns. “You have free practice tomorrow. You don’t need to exhaust yourself.” “It is free practice. Besides, I've driven the tractor hungover once already this season. I can handle a little free practice with some exhaustion.” He rolls his eyes at the idea of being exhausted from Elodie. She was many things but never exhausting and he tells her that.

“Exhausting, miss Elodie. Why I’ve never heard such a lie!” The baby giggles at his exaggerated tone and expressions, little hand going up to rest on his cheek and he pretends to eat it making her squeal. “Exactly! Your maman is crazy for saying so.” She stares at the two, feeling a pang in her heart as she’s reminded of all the times Pierre did something similar.

He always wanted the late night feeds, really any feeds he could get. He took all the diaper changes too, uncaring of the blowouts or when she started to move more how difficult it could be to get a new diaper on.

Tears prick in her eyes as she thinks of him, a weird concoction of sadness and anger dwelling in her. She knew he had been lying when he said that Elodie was a mistake. Pierre loved being a father. It hadn’t been something he wanted so young or expected but he loved Elodie, truly loved her. She was less sure about them kissing for that first time and then continuously falling into bed together. He could think of that as a mistake. But it was a mistake that led to Elodie. So could it really be one when it gave them such a perfect baby?

“Pierre told me what he said.” Charles murmurs after he sets Elodie on her playmat, which she grunts at before getting distracted by the toys hanging in front of her. She shudders, arms going over her chest. “He is a dick.” “Not in front of Elodie, Charles.” She warns. She didn’t care that Elodie couldn’t truly understand what they were saying or even hear them. She wouldn’t have Pierre insulted in front of her. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes, eyes flickering over to her before returning to Elodie whose babbling. “He shouldn’t have said those things.” “He shouldn’t have said that she was a mistake.” She corrects. “Pierre can say what he pleases about me, not her. Never her.” She murmurs. “Nor you. If you won’t stand for him saying such things for Elodie, which I will as well, I won’t stand for him saying such things about you.” “He didn’t mean it, Cha.” She shakes her head. “He loves her, adores her. Do not burn bridges you’ll regret.” “For you, I could never.” Her eyes snap away from Elodie and meet his eyes. “Charles.” He shakes his head. “Don’t say anything. I’m just telling you. You are worth more than he has given and ever thought of giving you. And if,” he pauses, lifting her hand, her left hand, to his lips. “You ever want to give us a chance, I will be here. And even if you don’t, I will still always be here for Elodie and you.” She watches with wide eyes as he presses another kiss to her hand before dropping it and pressing his lips to her forehead. “Lay down, relax, chéri. I will take care of Elodie.”

She does lay down, but she is unable to relax. Because hadn’t Pierre teased for the last year and a half that Charles had a thing for her? Something she ignored, thinking he was pulling her leg, being a little shit like normal. But to know it was true, to learn the truth of it. It sat heavy in her heart and god it aches at the thought of Charles and his feelings.

Charles wasn’t perfect, no one was, except for Elodie, but that was a bias that the majority of them had when it came to her little girl, but he was amazing even with his faults. His people pleasing ways, pushing his feelings away, not putting himself first, the anger he sometimes carried with him, the grief that still sat heavy on his shoulders. But there were his pluses as well, his dedication and focus to racing, his love for his friends and family, his ability to not have to be on all the time, to be able to sit at home or somewhere and chill, and his patience. He was unbelievably patient but also knew when to push, to not give up or in.

Something warm starts to bubble in her as she considers, admittedly not for the first time, a relationship with Charles. The way he’d come home to her and Elodie after days away. The sweaty hugs after getting out of the car. The dinners and vacations with his family. The gentle way he’d touch and hold her. Not like she was fragile, but something important. And Elodie, the way he’d be with Elodie, more so than he already was. She can see the days and nights when they have Elodie, not Pierre, how they’d put her to sleep together, play with her, read to her. Watch as she crawls and then toddles around. Can see him bringing her around Monaco to the spots he grew up with as a child and sharing them with Elodie.

The thoughts and near dreams are overwhelming but in the best way possible. However there is Pierre to consider. He wouldn’t disappear from their lives, he could never, not just because of Elodie, but because he was a best friend to both of them. He would always exist with them and she knew that Charles could handle her past with Pierre, he had already dealt with the knowledge, had a constant reminder of said past in front of him in the form of Elodie. But would Pierre be able to handle her and Elodie having a future with Charles?

They weren’t in love with each other. They certainly loved each other, but there was a reason that they only had sex and never went on dates and always made faces at the jokes and ideas of being together. Sex was a different beast than a relationship. And they both never wanted a romantic relationship with each other. They both had gone on dates with other people during their time as friends with benefits. She had only stopped after learning she was pregnant and once she was further along, Pierre had too in solidarity. It hadn’t lasted too long as soon as Elodie was two months he went back on the scene, but it had been something.

Her lips twitch into a smile as she's reminded of how excited Pierre had been when he came back from his most recent date. Rambling equally to both her and Elodie about how pretty and smart his date was and how she even liked kids, babies at that.

She’s jerked out of her thoughts by the sound of her phone chiming. Grabbing it, she sighs seeing Pierres name but opens the message.

Could I say goodnight to Elodie. Just goodnight. I won’t stay longer She sighs again, quickly typing out of course and sending it.

“Pierre is coming to say goodnight to Elodie.” She tells Charles, sitting up. He frowns, scooping Elodie up and sitting on the bed beside her before setting Elodie down to the left of her. “Will you be okay?” “I’ll be fine.” And she reaches out to him, taking his hand in hers and intertwines their fingers, earning wide eyes from him. “Besides, I think I need to talk to him.” “You mean?” “I mean, let me talk to Pierre. Make sure he’ll be okay with this. He means too much to both of us to not check.” “I will hit him again if he’s not.” The promise makes her jaw drop, “You’ll what? What do you mean again?” “Ah.” He swallows nervously, and he’s suddenly able to feel the ring that caught Pierre’s lip earlier more than ever. “Nothing?” He offers, with a smile.

@cixrosie @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @badbatch-simp24 @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @copper-boom @benstormy @boiohboii @iloveyou3000morgan @topguncultleader

#pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine

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raineydays411 · 9 months

Text

My Father's Daughter pt 14

Summary: Dick and the others have finally caught up to Y/n and her "Red Team", but have they gotten there too late?

Dark.

That's all you saw, just darkness. You felt like you were floating in a sea of pitch black water, unaware but uncaring at the immense peril you were in. You floated, faintly hearing a noise in the background, something telling you to wake up and fight. But you wanted to ignore it, it felt good. Good to just float, not worrying about a thing.

But then there was a light.

A piercing bright light that hurt your eyes as you stared into it. And a ringing. A ringing that made your eardrums feel as if they were about to burst.

"Hello."

Who the fuck was that?

"Who the fuck are you?" You say with a hoarse voice, still not grasping the situation you were in.

"Such a foul mouth." The man tskd, " The signature of a Stark I guess."

You look around and feel the restraints on your wrists and ankles. You look down to see that you're splayed out on a table.

"That, unfortunately, shall be the first thing to go."

Panic floods your body.

You finally realized what is happening.

They got you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

" What do you mean she's gone?!"

Christine screams at the her children, " She- She was just here! She was in her room! She was safe!"

Dick looks up from the ground, feeling like he was twelve again, " Mom they.. they just came from nowhere. We had just gotten there when they attacked.."

Bruce was already making his way towards his suit, Dick and Jason had burst into the house, rushing the battered Peter, Wade, and Dopiender.

They were all caught off guard when they had finally found you, literally across the street only to see a group of armed men dressed in black descend on your unsuspecting friends.

They took out who they thought would be the biggest threat, Wade Wilson.

Or at least they tried to. They first shot him in the chest, hoping that the blast would take him out of the game, but to no luck. He flew back allowing them to shoot you with a tranquilizer, but he quickly rose and started firing back. It was only when they got him with a headshot that he went down and stayed down.

Peter, although he didn't have his suit, tried his best to get to you dodging multiple tranquiliser darts and managing to knock a few of them men to the ground. He was however overwhelmed and swiftly knocked out by a hit to the back of the head.

Dopinder actually managed to kill two men before he was shot in the arm and passed out from the blood.

By the time the shock from it all wore off and the Bat crew rushed to the scene, it was all over.

You were gone, and weren't even able given the chance to defend yourself.

The sight of your limp body being carelessly lifted haunted Jason's mind. He chased the SUV for twelve blocks before he lost them. By the time he made it back to the abduction spot, Peter had woken up and was panicking.

His best friend had just gotten kidnapped and he was being interrogated by Nightwing and Robin. Jason, fueled by adrenaline and rage tried to slam Peter into the taxi but was deflected by said boy. Surprising everyone and sending into attack mode.

But before any fighting could happen, Dick came in to be the voice of reason.

They piled into the nasty taxi and headed off back to the Batcave to allow Wade and Dopinder to recover and to think of a plan to rescue you.

"Jason," Bruce said, " What are you thinking?"

Jason looked at him from where he stood, " They were watching us."

Bruce nodded, " They knew she was here the whole time."

Christine stopped her yelling, " What?"

Bruce looked at her, " They knew she was here. That's how they were able to grab her so quickly. They had a plan."

Dick looked angry," We don't even know who these people are! How are we supposed to get her back?"

And for once, Bruce didn't have an answer to that. Despite the amount of time you had been with them, there has been little to nothing found about the people who were after you. Not by Bruce and not by your father. He had spent nights sitting in front of that computer trying to help figure out how to keep you safe. But without whatever information Tony had found, he knew next to nothing.

Christine held in her tears, she thought she had ran out of tears earlier but here they come again. She had that feeling again. The same feeling she had when she left you. The same feeling she had when she listened to the voicemails and read the emails you sent her. The same feeling she had when the movers told her about your outburst, and the same feeling she had when she saw you at that gala.

Was it sadness or guilt? She couldn't tell anymore.

But she was afraid.

Afraid for you, and what these people had planned for you. This was the one thing she had been terrified would happen and it's happened. They've taken you from her.

"It's my fault." She cried," If I had just listened to her-"

"Miss Christine, I'm afraid now is not the time for your pity party." Alfred said from where he had been helping Dopiender, who was stll unconscious.

" Alfred." Bruce said in an exhaused manner

"I am sorry Master Bruce, but I believe it's best if we focus on Y/n and not tiptoeing around Miss Christines woes of failed motherhood."

The whole room froze. It was rare for Alfred to criticize Christine for anything, as she was his favorite.

"Woah..harsh Jeeves"

Everyone turned to see Wade rising froom his bed, wound healed.

"What the fuck?" Jason said, " This dude took a headshot!"

"Not the first time" Wade shook his head, forgoing the dirty joke that popped into his head, " Now where the fuck am I?"

Everyone again froze, but Bruce emerged from the shadows, full on Bat mode.

"Who are you."

Wade took one look at Bruce and laughed in his face.

"hahahaha oh oh I'm sorry- I just hahahahaha" Another burst of laughter came from his mouth, "You're so scary I promise!"

The room looked at the man uneasily. The one person that was crazy enough to laugh in Batman's face was the Joker.

"Wade stop it." Peter said from where he stood, "Y/ns gone."

Laughter ceases immediately, an eerie aura fells the room, " What was that bugs?"

"They got her."

"Then what the fuck are we standing around here for!" Wade shouts, the sudden shift in personalities making the family of bats unsettled.

Except for Jason.

"Can I just ask who the fuck are you?"

Your two friends turn to him," We're Y/ns family."

Jason pauses and nods," Okay then."

Then proceeds to give them the rundown on what they have discovered, which is not a lot.

There's a heavy silence that fills the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Panic fills your veins.

"That will be the first thing to go."

Those words riddled your brain as you were strapped down to this table. The room was white, almost like a hospital room.

Now, this wasn't the first time you had been kidnapped, but most of the time it was petty. Ransoms and whatnot. And your dad always managed to find you within the hour.

This was different. This was people who truly had no good intentions.

You were scared. Your dad had no idea where you were. You were worried about your friends, and even about the Waynes.

You had no idea on whether they were looking for you or still thought you were in your room. For all you knew, they were having a grand time thinking you were sulking and weren't going to discover you were gone till it was too late.

And what would happen to your dad if you die? He could barely take care of himself when Christine left him. He needed to you. He needed you to be okay so he can be okay. You couldn't dead. And your mom, you couldn't leave her to pick up your dads pieces. She didn't know how. Not like you did. and what about Jason-

"Ah, you're aware."

A woman came in this time.

"I apologize for the rather rude introduction, I'm afraid men just don't have the same gentle touch as us women."

She had a small frame. She was pale, almost deathly so. With graying hair that had no cut, just long and curly. She didn't look old however, that's what unsettled you the most. She looked about a few years older than you.

"Please don't pay no attention to whatever these men say to you, we do not intend to cause you any harm."

Her voice was calming, it soothed your panic and eased your anxiety. It made you feel like you were floating.

"Now, Ms. Stark I know you are probably wondering why you are here."

You couldn't even bring yourself to care, you felt at ease. A frail cold hand carding through your hair.

" This building we're in used to be a prestiges lab. We studied the human mind and its capabilities. With the rise of people such as Wanda Maximoff and such, this research was well needed. We searched far and wide for the people with these capabilities. Which was hard because they are so rare as I am sure you know."

She rises from her place next to you, hand leaving your hair. She walks over to a table next to you. When did that get there?

"Well, the search for these people was fruitless as you can imagine. Not many people are as forthcoming with their capabilities as we hoped. It became so bad that we had to force these poor subjects out of their hiding spaces. But even then the search didn't turn up much. So we decided that we would make our own."

You really didn't comprehend what this woman was telling you. All you wanted was to go back to sleep. You felt so relaxed.

"As you can imagine, that didn't particularly go as planned. We didn't mean to kill them, their minds just weren't strong enough."

Wait what?

"There were many that came through ; young, old, male female. And only one group was ever rarely successful. And can you guess who it was?"

A cold chill went down to your bones as you were piecing together her story.

"Young women, age 15-25." She said calmly, " Of course they did."

You didn't respond, just stared into this womens pale eyes. She was starting to creep you out.

"Now, I bet you're wondering where you factor into this equation." She hmms, hand back in your hair. A little rougher.

'Well my dear, I am afraid you just got caught in the crossfire. You see, one of my little experiments just so happened to escape." She sighs, eyes showing some sort of emotion, "She was beautiful, with a strong mind. I even came to view her as a daughter of my own. My little petal."

"Wait..what?"

"Don't interrupt it's rude." This women chides, not cruelly but you knew not to say anything else.

"Now, escaping just wasn't enough for my little petal, oh no. She decided that she needed to expose our...little secret. It was all covered up of course, you know how the government is about things like this, but our funding was cut and our doctors were arrested."

While she was talking you can feel an intense amount of pain. A deep sorrow penetrating your soul and heart. You felt betrayed, hurt.

"Well, imagine my surprise when I turn on the television and see a girl who looks exactly like my little flower."

That's when you knew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the manor, Peter was frustrated.

All these people were doing was arguing. Arguing about who should've been watching you, Arguing about what they should have done, what they did do, what they should be doing.

It baffles Peter that these were the feared vigilantes of Gotham.

Bruce was too busy trying to figure out just where you were taken and Christine had deemed him too normal to even be able to help (They didn't know he was Spiderman). Dick and Damian were out trying to find any footage that might have been taken on the scene. Wade was out talking to some of his connections with Cass because Bruce didn't trust him to be alone. So he was stuck being babysat by Tim and Jason who are arguing about the best course of action.

"I'M SAYING WE GO BACK TO THE DINER AND RETRACE OUR STEPS"

"Oh yeah that's a great idea, go to the bad side of town and ask about that one crime that happened in that one alley at night. As if anyone will talk."

"Well it's better than sitting here all-"

Peter tunes them out. He tunes everyone out. He's worried about you.

He knew that you only came here to make things easier for your dad. So he didn't have to watch you 24/7.

But the ironic thing is, Tony was worried out of his mind. He worked endlessly to find these people, people that he may have crossed in the past, people who may want to hurt him through you. Just to turn up with nothing everytime. Peter knew everyone one missed you. Your presence was not unnoticed.

He hated not being able to talk to you everyday, it was like you just didn't exist. He couldn't imagine how you felt, cut off from the only life you'd known

And all that pain for what? Just for the one thing no one wanted to happen come true in the end.

"Ahem." a throat cleared, breaking Peter out of his thoughts

"Sir, I don't mean to disturb you but perhaps now would be a good time to...call in some reinforcements." Alfred implied, softly talk as to not alert the other members of the family of his plan.

Peters brows scrunched in confusion before rising in clarity. He nodded softly, before standing and pardoning himself to the bathroom that Alfred showed him to.

When he was safely away from the commotion, he pulled out his cellphone.

*ring* *ring*

"Talk to me."

"It's Peter!DeadpoolkidnappedmetocomeseeY/ningothamandnowshesgoneandidontknowhattodoan-"

"Woah! Woah slow down Spiderboy, what do you mean you're in Gotham? That's a terrible place to be in."

"No it's Y/n sir! SHe's gone!"

A pause hits Peters ears, he almost thought he got hung up on"

"Peter, what are you saying?"

"They got her Mr. Stark. I'm sorry."

......

"Give me your location, we'll be right there."

#marvel x reader #marvel #tony stark x daughter!reader #reader insert #dc comics x reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #x reader #bruce wayne x daughter!reader

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penny00dreadful · 9 months

Text

Just had a thought about Steve and Eddie headed out to the gay bar for the night. Not quite there yet, but just on the cusp of something. Like less than an inch from the edge.

When Steve’s ex made an appearance.

Clearly smug, clearly trying to flaunt how he had moved on, how he was doing so much better than Steve right now with the guy he'd arrived with.

They don’t really talk, Steve was pretty content to ignore the attempts to reel him into conversation, happy to continue on with the only acknowledgment being a roll of his eyes in Eddie's direction.

Until the guy, clearly frustrated at a lack of response, tried to pick on Eddie.

And, like, Eddie didn’t need people to stick up for him, he could do it on his own. He was wild and weird and unsettling and he leaned into it when he needed to, with relish.

But he also knew Steve and knew that Steve was not going to stand by and let the insinuation that Eddie couldn’t fuck him as good as the ex pass without a response.

So he just leaned back against the bar with a grin and a little nod that said ‘get her, Jade’ while he watched High Bitch King Steve come out.

Steve verbally eviscerated his ex while expertly weaving in a bit of pity and commiseration towards the little otter the ex had come in with who was looking increasingly uncomfortable.

And when the ex snapped “Don’t lie to win an argument. You always enjoyed everything I gave you.”

Steve just stopped dead.

Then his breathing started to pick up.

Soft little whimpers fell out of his open mouth as he panted.

He tipped his head back and fluttered his eyelashes, little whimpers turning to soft moans turning to breathy chants of “Don’t stop. Please. Oh my-”

Steve was standing in front of the bar giving a one man show and completely uncaring about those overhearing, getting progressively louder and louder, calling out "Oh, yes! Yes! Harder! Oh, fuck!"

Eddie took a glance around to see the other patrons looking on in confusion or intrigue, some even looking thoroughly entertained, like they knew exactly what was happening.

With one last shuddering cry, Steve rolled his whole body forward, allowing his breathing to even out before tipping his head back down with a sigh.

He let out a muttered “Sorry, just gotta clean up real quick, I’ll be back in a minute.” before he allowed his face to melt back into one of pure condescension.

“Like that?” He asked plainly, almost bored.

Eddie couldn’t help himself anymore. He pushed off the bar and got right up in Steve’s space.

“I’ve never been more attracted to you than I am in this moment.”

And Steve just fixed him with a devilish smirk, not even bothering to look back at his ex as he took Eddie by the hand and called over his shoulder “Sorry, got somewhere else to be.” before dragging him off to the bathroom.

This message has been brought to you by the mother of all head colds and surprisingly not When Harry Met Sally, but instead Legally Blonde the Musical.

#steddie #stranger things #steve x eddie #eddie munson #eddie x steve #steve harrington #penny00dreadful #penny ficlet

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mysticworks · 5 days

Text

One day too late ~ LN4 x Reader (Preview)

Lando x Pregnant! Reader; Coworker! Reader; Very Angsty; mentions of intimacy but nothing explicit; Borderline Forbidden love; Reader & Lando are friends with feelings

S Y N O P S I S :

Carried away at the party, you and Lando share a beautiful night. You both move on and pretend it never happened, ignoring your feelings for each other...until 6 weeks later you find out you're carrying his child.

Full chapter can be read -> Here

Lando’s POV:

They say you don’t know the value of something until it’s gone. I've learnt this truth the hard way.

I’ve watched her everyday since that night; desperately trying to catch her eye at work; take her aside and apologise. Tell her we can make this happen... start over, uncaring of the world and it's concerns.

I've watched her everyday, slowly starting to shrivel. The bags under her eyes, the tiredness in her smile. I’ve watched her at lunch, nibbling at almost nothing at her plate before silently excusing herself away.

It devastates me to know that this pain is from me. I have caused it and she didn't deserve it. How I wish I could tell her that I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.

I miss her smile. Her company; once a comfort. I miss having her by my side; encouraging; so full of energy.

And so this is my chance. My chance to finally set things right.

Clutching the bouquet - glitter roses I spent the last night making - I head over to the PR query desk, determined to start again, if she can give me the chance.

There’s a new member of staff at the desk; someone I’ve never seen before and he tilts his head up at me, hearing my approach, flashing me a smile.

He thinks I’m here for a project meeting and begins to rise from his seat, holding up a clipboard as if ready to pass it over.

“I’m looking for y/n, l/n.” A moment passes.

Legs jittering. Heart tight and constricted; there’s a sense of urgency swelling in me as if telling me to hurry, rushing me to make things right. My fingers tap at the desk, impatient.

He gives a sigh, furrowing his brows and lowering the clipboard back into place.

“I'm afraid she's not here. She gave in her resignation yesterday.”

The words hit me like a boulder to the chest.

My legs feel heavy, a tornado whirling in the pit of my stomach. My fingers unclench from the bouquet and with a soft thud, the flowers thud to the ground; petals ripping apart from impact.

They've crumbled. Glitter littering the floor.

It was over.

I was one day too late.

#ln4 #ln4 ang #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #formula 1 ang #formula one ang #formula one angst #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris angst #lando norris x #lando norris x you #lando norris x oc

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schrodingerspsycho · 6 months

Text

Another Shot - Chapter 2

Pairing - Sam Carpenter x Reader

Warnings - Mentions of alcohol, addiction, weed

Word Count - 5.1k

Summary - (Some of) the truth comes out. Tensions rise between you and Sam.

Chapter 1

Help Palestine by clicking this link!🇵🇸

You couldn’t sleep. Of course, you couldn’t. Sam Carpenter was in New York City.

All the memories you’d tried so hard to repress had come flooding back in full force, washing over you like a tidal wave. It hurt more than you would’ve imagined. And that fucking look in her eyes. As if she had any right to be angry with you. It made your blood boil. God, you wished you could hate her.

But you couldn’t. Yes, the memories were bitter, but they were still oh-so-sweet. You wanted nothing more than to crawl back to that better time when she was by your side and you were happy, uncaring of how the broken glass cut your hands and knees along the way. Then you remembered that fucking face, and you knew you couldn’t do that either.

You groaned and rubbed your eyes, which still ached from crying, and rolled over to stare at the clock. It was four in the morning. You wanted a drink. How ironic, Sam made you want to drink.

Instead, you opted for the one vice you still allowed yourself; weed. You stepped onto the balcony as you lit up, pulling your blanket tight around your shoulders. Just a few hits to help you sleep, you told yourself. The high would pass before your shift started. And just this once, you let that be a lie.

Luckily, you had an afternoon shift, and the weed was completely out of your system by the time you clocked in. Not that anyone would have cared, you wouldn’t be the first person to show up to work high. But you didn’t want to risk it. You couldn’t lose this job. So you made an effort to push Sam far from your mind and man the counter with a smile on your face. And it would’ve worked too, if it weren’t for her meddling little sister.

“Hey, Tara!” you smiled when she walked in. She waved back, clearly distracted. You took no notice, turning back to the lobby to go about your business. But Tara stepped out in front of you, blocking your path and nearly making you drop the menus you were carrying. “Shit! What the hell, dude? Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you cried.

“I want to know what happened,” she said, ignoring you. “Sam wouldn’t tell me.”

You stared at her. “Are you serious? I told you to drop it.”

“You didn’t really think that was going to stop me, did you?”

You sighed. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or maybe you were secretly dying to unload all the memories clogging your brain. And talking about your feelings was supposed to help, right? “If I tell you, you can never bring this up again, got it?”

“Got it.” She crossed her finger over her heart, excitement shining in her eyes. You hoped she wouldn’t regret asking for the truth.

“If you can get Jay to give us our breaks at the same time, I’ll tell you then.”

Tara nodded and rushed off to find your manager, finally leaving you in peace. Maybe after this, you would finally be able to put it all behind you. And if Sam didn’t want Tara to know… then perhaps you could relive it after all. Sure, it was petty. But after everything she’d put you through, you deserved to be a little petty.

Jay must’ve been in a good mood because he granted Tara’s request. She didn’t mention her sister again for the first half of the shift, choosing instead to gush about how Chad had surprised her by taking her out for breakfast that morning. You listened eagerly, glad to finally put a face to the name you’d heard so many times.

“He’s going to come in to have lunch with me tomorrow,” she smiled. “Are you working the morning shift? I want you to actually meet him. I think you’d get along.”

“Yeah, I’m working a double tomorrow. I look forward to it.”

“Yay!” she exclaimed, and you grinned back at her. She’d only been working at the diner for two weeks, and she’d already become one of your best friends. You hadn’t grown so close with someone so quickly since… well, you knew where she got her charm.

Your break time seemed to arrive faster than ever, and you steeled yourself for your unorthodox therapy session as you made your sandwich. Tara was watching you like a hawk as if she expected you to run away.

“You sure you wanna do this?” you asked her. “Last chance to change your mind.”

“You have to know that only makes me more desperate to hear this story.”

“Fine,” you sighed. You led her into the break room and shut the door, making sure no one would overhear. She gazed up at you, her eyes wide and serious now as you sat next to her on the couch.

“Take your time,” she said softly. You nodded in appreciation, and with a deep, shuddering breath, you began.

“We met through a Facebook group four years ago. It was for young people in Modesto who were trying to get sober. Like a support group, but without the stuffiness of AA.”

“Wait, when you say sober, you mean-”

“Alcoholics,” you nodded, a grim look on your face. “Some people were addicted to other things too, and we did what we could to help. Mostly cigarettes, like your sister. She’d weaned herself off the harder drugs by that point, thankfully. We would have meetings in coffee shops and cafes, and sometimes people would host at their apartments during the week. Then we would all go out to clubs or parties together on the weekend.”

Tara stared at you, bewildered. “What? How is that helpful?”

“It wasn’t. The idea was that we would do all our drinking in one night and stay sober the rest of the week, but there weren’t any professionals involved. Most people at least thought they wanted to get sober, but we all wanted to drink more. It was still better than getting hammered every night, but not by too much.” You swallowed, and your hands started fidgeting; one of your nervous habits. You hadn’t spoken this much about your alcohol problems in a long time. “Anyway, that’s how we met. I don’t remember which one of us joined the group first, it’s been such a long time. I mean, your sister was still using a fake ID to get booze back then!” You chuckled at the memory. “But we became friends pretty quickly. Then we realized our apartments were only a neighborhood away from each other, so we started going to meetings together. And after about a year of being friends, we started- well…”

“You started dating?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “God, no. She never would’ve made a commitment like that. She was kind of infamous for it, actually.” You took a swig of your soda, hoping to dowse the heat you felt rising in your cheeks. “But we were probably the closest thing to it. We were together just about every other night, we knew each other better than anyone, she knew I wasn’t seeing anyone else and after a while, she stopped seeing other people too. Pretty much all we would’ve had to do was say the words. But that was the problem. She never wanted to talk about anything real. Her past, her feelings, our relationship, nothing. I knew who she was, but I didn’t know anything about her. And believe me, when you drink with someone for that long, you get to know them really well. She knew how I felt about her, how much I cared for her, and she just wouldn’t reciprocate. But I told myself that being with her was enough. And maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. I don’t even remember.”

“Then what happened?” Tara asked, her voice small.

“About a year into us being… whatever we were, there was… an incident. We went out together, without the group, to a house party. That I invited her to. And we were having fun, y’know, drinking, dancing, just having a grand ol’ time. Then she asked me to go to the bar to get her another shot.” You ran your hand through your hair to try to quell the agitation bristling in your chest. “It took me two minutes to push through the crowd, get the drinks, and come back. Two minutes. But when I came back, she was… she was…” Angry tears welled up in your eyes, and you turned away from Tara. You hated that it still had such a hold on you, even after all this time.

Tara laid a shaking hand on your back and you let out a strangled sob. Why was this so fucking hard? You felt like you were back there, the pounding of your heart drowning out the loud music, your vision blurring, the taste of vodka burning your throat, and the feel of your stomach dropping down to hell.

“She was making out with someone else,” you croaked. Tara’s hand stilled, and from the corner of your eye, you saw her mouth open in a silent gasp. “It was some- some guy. Just a random, boring-ass guy. She didn’t even know his name. And when I asked her what the hell she was doing, she laughed. Like it was all just some big fucking joke.” Your fists were clenched, and you could feel your fingernails digging into your palms. Then the tears finally began to fall. “She told me we were nothing. That I meant nothing.”

“I… I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Tara breathed. You leaned back against the couch and wiped your eyes, chuckling in spite of yourself.

“We were both drunk and angry, so what happened next is kind of a blur. But we started shouting at each other, and I think I was crying. I don’t know. Then she slapped the drink out of my hand and spat in my face.”

“She what?” Tara uttered, appalled. You laughed again. It was a sinister sound, but Tara didn’t seem to notice and you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“That was actually the most normal thing she did that night,” you said, to Tara’s growing horror. “She’s an aggressive drunk, and it was far from the first time she’d spat at me. But she’d never done it as an insult before.”

“That’s disgusting,” Tara said. You finally turned to look at her.

“I want you to know, I’m not trying to make you think badly of your sister or anything. I think it’s great that you’re talking again, and I would never do anything to hurt your relationship. I’m just telling you my side of the story.”

“I know,” Tara assured you. “Thank you.”

You shook your head. “I’m not even upset that she didn’t feel the same way. I just wanted her to be happy, and we weren’t even together. But she just had to let me down in the cruelest way possible. She knew how much she was hurting me, and she did it anyway. With a smile on her face.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Tara grumbled, and you gave her a brief smile. “So what happened after that?”

“Well, I went home, and the next day I found out she had blocked me on everything. She even left the Facebook group. And the next thing I know, I hear she’s calling this guy her boyfriend and switched to a new shitty, minimum-wage job so she could work with him. She led me on for a whole year, then committed to him in one night. I lost my partner and my best friend at the same time. In two fucking minutes.”

You sat in silence for several moments, the conversation weighing heavily on both of you. When Tara finally spoke, her voice was thick with emotion.

“Thank you for telling me all of this. I know it wasn’t easy for you to relive it. I’m sorry she did that to you, and I’m sorry that I’ve brought it all back-”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you insisted. “She’s your sister, and you can’t help that I have a history with her. What happened with us- whatever happens with us- none of it is your fault.” She nodded, but the look in her eyes told you she didn’t believe it. “She told me about you, y’know.”

“She did?”

“Oh, yeah. I could never get her to talk about herself, but if you got enough alcohol in her, she wouldn’t shut up about her baby sister.” You grinned at Tara, and she smiled back. “You’re exactly the way she described you.”

“I’m gonna assume that’s a compliment,” she chuckled. Then her expression turned serious. “I really am sorry that she did that to you, Y/N. It’s… it’s horrible. But I can promise you, Sam’s changed. She’s sober now, and she’s reliable. She’s done so much work to be a better person. She would never do something like that now.”

You gave Tara a sad smile. “I’m happy to hear that, I really am. But I’m going to need her to prove that to me herself.”

“C’mon, Mindy, let’s go.”

“Can’t we just stay in our rooms? We won’t interrupt-”

“No.”

“She said she’d tell us later, let’s just give them some space.”

“Fine.”

Sam put down her book. The twins had been quietly doing their homework on the couch for the last hour, giving her a much-needed respite after the back-to-back six-hour shifts she’d worked at her two jobs today. But now their hushed voices roused her, drawing her from her room in time to see Tara ushering them out the door. “Hey, how was work?” she asked nervously. She didn’t like the serious look on Tara’s face.

“It was fine,” she said with a sigh. “We need to talk, Sam.”

Sam felt her heart rate spike, and her mouth went dry as her palms started to sweat. Truthfully, hearing those words from Tara was more terrifying than the five Ghostfaces she’d faced. She nodded numbly and took a seat at the kitchen table, following Tara’s lead.

“Y/N told me what happened between you two,” Tara began, and Sam’s breath hitched. She knew she should’ve expected this, but it caught her off guard all the same. “I don’t believe they would lie to me, but I have to ask… did you really cheat on them? After leading them on for a year?”

“Yes. I did.” Sam felt like crying. Having you as a reminder of her mistakes was bad enough, but now Tara was judging her too. She wanted to beg you both for forgiveness, but she knew she didn’t deserve it.

“Jesus, Sam,” Tara groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “That’s really shitty. Do you know how broken up Y/N still is about it?”

“I know. I’m so sorry, I-”

“I’m not mad at you, Sam.”

“You’re… you’re not?”

“No,” Tara said with a small smile. “I’ve forgiven you for worse. And I know you’ve changed. We don’t need to talk about what happened.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?”

Tara grinned. “Do you still love them?”

“What?” Sam stared at her, shocked. “Who-who said anything about love?”

“Okay, fine. Do you still like them?” she corrected, rolling her eyes.

Sam gaped at her as her cheeks started to burn. “It doesn’t matter how I feel. Y/N doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I need to respect that.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Did you see how they looked at me?” she deflected, beginning to sound choked up. “They hate me. And they have every right to.”

“They don’t hate you, Sam,” Tara said kindly, placing a comforting hand over her own. “Trust me. Yes, they’re hurt. Really hurt. But they wouldn’t be if they had moved on.”

“Or if I hadn’t cheated on them and treated them like shit,” Sam mumbled. She leaned against the table and put her head in her hand. Just like mom.

“I think you were wrong,” Tara said, ignoring her. “There is something you can do about it now.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“You can apologize!” she smiled.

“You don’t really think it’s that simple, do you?” Sam scoffed. “Apologizing doesn’t just make things go away, Tara. Not something like this. It won’t mean anything.”

“Yes, it will,” she said softly. “It’ll show them that you’ve changed and that you know it was wrong to cheat on them. It’ll let them know that you’ll be a better person if you start talking again. I mean, sure, it’s not gonna fix everything right away, but it would be a start.”

Sam shook her head. “That’s not enough. It wouldn’t be enough.”

Tara sighed. “Will you at least answer my question?”

“What question?”

“Do you still have feelings for Y/N?”

Sam stood up abruptly and turned away from Tara. She ran her hands through her hair and took a deep breath. “Where did you send the twins off to?”

“Seriously, Sam? Are you really just going to ignore me?”

“I was thinking I could make spaghetti for dinner, does that sound good?”

Tara glared at her incredulously. “You are unbelievable,” she said, standing up and stomping toward her room. She slammed the door, and Sam stared at it for a long moment. Despite everything, Tara was an optimist, and Sam admired her for it. But two little words wouldn’t mean anything in the face of what she’d done to you. No matter how much she wished it could.

After telling Tara the truth, the rest of your shift had felt awkward, with both of you staying uncharacteristically silent when you weren’t talking to customers. But luckily, everything was back to normal the next morning. You had teased her for being a few minutes late, she teased you for always arriving early, and you passed the time by joking around like you always did. She once again asked Jay if you could take your breaks together, and he once again obliged.

“Dang, he must really like you,” you smiled at her. “He never would’ve said yes if I asked him.”

She shrugged. “I’m very likable.”

“Yeah, you are. Little manager’s pet.”

“Maybe I’ll ask him not to give you a break at all.”

“What, am I suddenly not good enough to meet your boyfriend?”

“No, I’m excited for you to meet him,” she grinned. “He’s excited to meet you, too.”

“Then it sounds like we’re all excited. It’s going to be a very exciting lunch break.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, nudging you playfully as she went to make another pot of coffee. Usually, it was all the customers ordered at this time of day, which made the morning shifts more bearable. You were able to hang out and talk with each other while they finished their nearly forgotten homework and nursed their hangovers, frying up some eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns every now and then. It made the time fly, and soon Jay was calling you and Tara to go on break.

Chad arrived just as you finished making your food, announced by Tara’s squeal of delight. She ran to him and leapt into his arms, and he spun her around gleefully. The few customers in the lobby didn’t even look up from their phones.

“Y/N, get over here! I want you to actually meet Chad!” Tara called, beckoning you with her hand. You smiled and headed over, your tray of food in hand.

“Shouldn’t you let him order first?”

“No, it’s fine. He doesn’t need to eat,” she smirked. He gave her a look of feigned offense.

“Excuse you, I’m very hungry. I ate a very light breakfast so I would have room for an amazing lunch made by my beautiful girlfriend.”

“I’m not gonna make your food, I’m on break,” she said, turning to face him. “That was really stupid of you to not eat.”

“Well, then what did I come here for?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“You’re breaking my heart, you know that, Tara? You’re breaking your boyfriend’s heart.”

“Oh, please, you eat enough of my cooking at home,” she grinned, leaning in closer.

“Anyway, I’m Chad! It’s nice to meet you,” he smiled, looking up quickly when he remembered you were there. Tara blushed.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you chuckled. “I’m Y/N. Tara’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope?”

“Mostly.”

He grinned. “Well, I’m going to go order some food made by a stranger, and then I’ll join you.”

Tara stuck her tongue out at him as he left, and you followed her to the table where she had set her food. “Sorry about that,” she said sheepishly as you sat down.

“Don’t worry about it. You two are adorable.”

“Thanks,” she smiled.

After a few moments of eating in silence, Chad joined you once again. “Alright, where were we?” he asked, sliding into the booth next to Tara. You looked at his tray and smirked at her. He’d ordered exactly what she’d said he would.

“You were about to tell me about yourself,” you prompted. He smiled.

“Well, I’m Tara’s amazing boyfriend who’s known her since we were five, I’m studying sports medicine at Blackmore, I was the offensive lineman on my high school football team, Mindy is my twin sister, and my favorite Pokémon is Meganium. What else do you want to know?”

You laughed and Tara raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, that’s certainly an introduction,” you remarked.

“What? Those are important things to know about me!”

“They sure are, babe. You’re doing great,” Tara said, patting his arm.

“And you said you go to NYU, right? What are you studying?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t start until next year, but I’m going to study photography. I actually can’t wait to start classes, I’ve been saving up for it for years.”

“That’s really cool! What kind of photography do you do?”

“I want to study different kinds, but I love taking pictures of little moments in regular life. Like the little things that no one notices, the things that tell stories. Candid photography, I guess.”

“That sounds really interesting! I’d love to see some of your photos sometime.”

“Thanks! Yeah, Tara’s been wanting me to show her my portfolio.”

“And yet you keep denying me!” she accused.

“I’ve told you, they don’t look good on my tiny phone screen!” you replied. “I can’t exactly bring my laptop to work, can I?”

“I’m sure we can figure out a time when we can all see your amazing pictures,” Chad said, putting his arm around Tara.

“Yeah, maybe,” you mumbled, blushing a little at the praise. “It’s cool that you were able to go to the same college. And your sister, too. That must be really fun for you guys.”

“Yeah, we’re really lucky we found a place that has a good sports medicine program for me, a poli-sci program for Tara, and a film program for Mindy. Although, we probably would’ve gone to the same school no matter what. It’s important that we stick together. After all, we can’t split up-”

“Do not say it,” Tara scolded him.

“-the Core Four!”

Tara punched him in the chest and he swooped down to kiss her cheek.

“What is the Core Four?” you asked.

“Me, Tara, Mindy, and Sam! It’s what we call our little squad.”

“It’s what you call us,” Tara retorted. “He comes up with these stupid nicknames and doesn’t listen to us when we tell him they’re terrible.”

“Oh, c’mon, you secretly love my nicknames. Don’t you, Taradactyl?”

She looked appalled. “Yeah, that’s an immediate no.”

“But I thought you liked that one!”

“I absolutely do not. Get away from me.”

“Whatever. You like Core Four. You’ve said it.”

“I have not!”

“Yes you did, Sam told me,” he said smugly.

“Lies and slander.”

He stole one of her fries and she tried to shove him out of the booth, a goofy grin on her face. You couldn’t help but chuckle at their antics.

“You two are very entertaining,” you commented.

“Are you making fun of us?” Tara demanded, still grinning.

You put your hands up in surrender. “Not at all. Having a similar sense of humor is important in a relationship. You two seem perfect for each other.”

“Why, thank you, Y/N. I’m glad someone thinks so,” Chad said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you thought we were perfect for each other, then you would support my nicknames.”

“Oh, shut up,” she groaned, leaning back against him. He kissed the top of her head before turning back to you.

“Speaking of relationships, are you seeing anyone?”

“Nope,” you smiled. “I only moved here a couple of months ago, so I haven’t really had time to meet anybody.”

“Then we need to get on that!” he exclaimed. “We don’t want you to be lonely! I’m pretty sure we know someone your age who you’d get along with. What are you, twenty-four?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m twenty-five, and it’s rude to ask.”

“You’re absolutely right, it is rude. I’m sorry. But you know what, Tara’s sister is right around your age, and she’s single too! Her name is Sam, she’s the absolute coolest, and- hey, didn’t you say you knew her already?”

You shot Tara a look of disbelief, but she avoided your gaze. “I do know her. I was just talking to Tara about her yesterday. And you know what, I just remembered that Sam once showed me some of her baby pictures.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, she wouldn’t stop talking about you,” you said pointedly. “It’s all coming back to me now. Little baby Tara… in the bathtub…”

“Okay, okay! We’ll stop talking about Sam!” Tara cried, her face bright red. You smirked at her.

Shouldn’t have broken your promise, you thought. At least she had the decency to look guilty.

The conversation carried on normally after that, with you and Chad discussing your favorite action movies and comic books. Tara was right, you did get along well. As it turned out, he had already seen the movie you were looking forward to seeing this weekend on your rare Saturday off. Tara had to quiet him before he accidentally spoiled it in his excitement, but he gave it a rave review. It was enough to distract you from the fact that Sam was apparently single again, at least for a little while. And when Jay called you back to work and you bid your goodbyes to Chad, you decided that it had indeed been a very exciting lunch break.

Sam found herself spending her Saturday off at the movies. She hadn’t been to a theater in months for obvious reasons, but Tara knew she wanted to see the new comedy that came out this weekend and convinced her to go. She was anxious like she always was when she was out in public, but she was glad to be spending some quality time with her sister. Saturday matinees used to be their thing, and Tara still bounced on her heels while she waited for her popcorn like she did when she was little.

But something seemed off with her as they walked toward the theater. She kept glancing behind her as if she was looking for something. But before Sam could ask her what was wrong, Tara spun around and slammed into her.

“I think the popcorn needs more- fuck!”

Sam looked down to see the front of her hoodie covered in Tara’s soda.

“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, Sam!”

“It’s okay,” she sighed. “It was an accident, I’ll be fine. At least it didn’t get on my jeans.”

“Here, I’ll take the popcorn and save our seats. You go get some napkins and clean yourself up,” she said, gazing up at her apologetically. Sam nodded and handed her the bucket.

She pulled the sticky hoodie over her head as she walked, thankful that she had worn a tank top underneath it. And the theater still had the heat on despite the warming weather outside, so she wouldn’t be cold. It was still shaping up to be a pretty good day.

But before she could reach for the napkins, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you said as you looked up from your freshly buttered popcorn.

“Y/N.”

“Sam.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see a fucking movie, obviously,” you hissed. Sam rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“I should’ve known,” she mumbled, her gaze drifting to where Tara was spying on you from around the corner. Your eyes widened in realization.

“Dammit! That sneaky little- I never should’ve told her my weekend plans.”

“What the fuck did you just say about my sister?”

“Oh, you know damn well this isn’t about Tara! This is about us, and what you did- oh my god!” You had finally turned to look at her, and your eyes immediately went to her arms. Not because her biceps were even more muscular than you remembered, but because of the long, raised scars on her right shoulder and collarbone. Any anger you had been feeling dissipated, replaced with worry and a deep-seated need to protect. “What happened?” you asked softly, instinctively reaching out to comfort her. She flinched back, her eyes startled and scared, and you lowered your arm. She stayed silent, just standing frozen and staring at you like a lost puppy. It made your heart melt, just like it always did. “Sam, are you okay?”

“It’s none of your fucking business,” she snapped after a beat, her expression hardening back into the look of contempt you were starting to get used to. You glared right back at her.

“Fine. I don’t even know why I care,” you snarled. Her scowl faltered, but you just scoffed in disbelief and stomped away. That devilish woman may still have a cruel grip on your heart, but you wouldn’t let her see it.

“Hey, Y/N, I didn’t expect to see you here! How are you?” Tara called, running up to you. But you kept walking, your only response a look of disapproval and hurt.

“What the hell was that?” you heard her demand from Sam. “Why won’t you just apologize to them?”

“I told you, I can’t do that.”

Your vision blurred as you stepped out of earshot, her words hammering the final nail into the coffin of something that died long ago. You knew Tara meant well, but she’d taken it too far. You tried to focus on the movie as you entered the dark theater, but you knew no amount of explosions could save your ruined day.

All because of two minutes with Sam fucking Carpenter.

Taglist: @smut-religiously777

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #scream #enemies to lovers #scream fanfic #fanfic #another shot

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cinewhore · 9 months

Text

The Wrath of a Mother

Pairing: Thomas "Tommy" Shelby x fem!reader word count: 3k warnings: violence, heavy angst, kidnappings, blood, gore, guns, fighting. summary: Thomas Shelby discovers his wife's past. A/N: more peaky blinders brain rot for you all. not much else to say. no beta cause I say so! Enjoy. Credits to the gif artist.

The chaotic melody of jazz was cut off by the sound of screams.

Tommy didn’t like jazz which is why you waited for him to leave before putting the record on. It had been a tiresome day, dealing with the children, being the lady of the house. You sent the majority of the staff away, with the exception of a few maids to help with your children. The girls were young and foolish, always giggling behind their hands.

You pay the shouts no mind, until they grow louder, the high pitched squeals of the girls being intertwined with the yelling of men.

Suddenly, a shot rings out. You instantly cut the record, dashing into the children’s room. Oliver wakes up with ease while Alice fusses. You hated disrupting them but had no choice, telling them they were going to have a special sleepover in the guest room.

“Now, mommy is going to go and grab some snacks. I’m going to lock the door, to keep the pesky monsters away! Mommy or daddy will come back to get you, ok?”

Your oldest nods, the best big brother to his sister. You press a quick kiss to both their heads, not daring to look back at them before shutting the door.

The world seemed to slow down after that. You weren’t aware of how much time had passed, couldn’t ignore the ringing in your ears, the exhilaration of shock and adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream.

It was enough to blind a man.

Someone was hollering your name but you couldn’t make out whose voice it belonged to.

Hands abruptly clasp your shoulders and you shriek, twisting your body in a way to fend off whoever dared to attack you next. You try to ram the knife into the arm of your assailant but another pair of hands snatch your weapon away, leaving you defenseless.

Tommy crawls on his knees in front of you, grasping the side of your face tightly. You squirm and squirm but stop as he shakes you.

“It’s alright! It’s me! It’s just me!” He could tell that you were trying to comprehend what was happening and that your body was moving on its own accord, still engaged in fight or flight mode.

“Arthur, let her go.”

The oldest brother shoots Tommy a look. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Arthur drops his hold on you and you sag forward, arms wobbling against the wooden floors, hands drenched with blood.

“It’s alright, love. You’re ok, it's finished now.”

It was over. You had won, however, the thin veil between this life and the old one had been hastily torn down.

“Where are the children, hm?”

You shake your head, his words unclear to you.

“Our children, where are they?! Alice and Oliver, where are they?”

You raise a weakened arm and point towards the end of the corridor. “Guest room closet…I locked it-”

“Michael, go check!” Thomas shouts. His cousin takes off without another word.

It was all too much. The noise, the lights, the commotion. Pushing yourself up on your knees, you combat Tommy and the grip he held on you, dead set on getting into a place where you could shut it all out.

You stumble down the hallway and the flight of stairs, only tripping a few times before making it out the front door. You make it just past the hedges and collapse, stomach churning while you vomit.

Arthur was close by, tentative of his approach. He didn’t want to scare you off further. He advances steadily, arms outstretched to show that he meant no harm.

“It's ok, love. It’s just, Arthur. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

You nod, wiping at your mouth. “There were so many-"

“Yeah. Yeah, there were. You fought them all.”

“I didn’t- didn’t mean to kill anyone-”

You let Arthur close enough so that he could hold your hands, uncaring of the blood smeared across yours.

“Listen to me, eh? You’re gonna have the shakes. Your hands are gonna feel like they’re made of fucking lead. S’all normal. I just need you to breathe cause it looks like you’re gonna faint.”

You mimic Arthur as he breathes in and out, slowing down your beating heart. You surge forward and hug your brother in law, catching him by surprise. He panics for a moment before hugging you back, rocking the two of you.

“You did good, sister. You did good.”

You didn’t speak about it for two weeks.

You knew that he wanted an explanation, you felt it every time the two of you were in the same room. There was a lingering stare he would give you that he gave to each of his enemies. It was menacing, calculating and ominous. You knew the longer it took for you to offer up clarification for your actions, the more he began to suspect that you were placed in his house, in his bed, based off of an ulterior motive. If that were the case, you would’ve killed him by now but Tommy was no fool nor was he new to this type of life. He knew when people played with their food before eating and he refused to be swallowed by you.

His lovely, little wife.

It was a pleasant Sunday morning. You figured after breakfast you’d take the children into the gardens, perhaps have them splash around in the pond to tire them out before lunch. Tommy’s side of the bed was empty and cold by the time you woke up, which didn’t surprise you.

The lack of boisterous noise coming from the children is what tipped you off.

You remain calm as your lady’s maid helps you dress for the day, swapping out your gowns for a nice riding outfit.

“Lily, where are the children?” you query the young girl.

“Mr. Shelby arranged for them to spend the day with Ada, madam. She collected them this morning.”

You rock your jaw, vexation settling into your features. He secluded you, tapered off the one distraction you wouldn’t be able to use against him.

“Thank you, Lily. Where is Mr. Shelby?”

“He’s awaiting you in the dining hall for breakfast.”

Nodding, you finish your last little bit of preparations before seeking out your husband.

Thomas was a sight to behold. He sat in the chair facing away from the window, the morning glow casting a hazy aura around him. He held the newspaper in front of him with rigidness, eyes covered with his spectacles, long eyelashes gracing his cheeks whenever he looked down or blinked.

You don’t bother clearing your throat, knowing your husband was programmed with an innate capability of being able to detect when he was no longer alone. He huffs out an exhale, flipping the pages of the paper.

Frances pulls your seat out for you and you thank her, watching as she pours you a cup of coffee.

“Shall I crack your egg for you?”

You shake your head. “No, thank you. I actually find that I don’t have much of an appetite this morning.”

“Shall I ask the cook to prepare something different for you? Perhaps you’d like some fresh fruit? We just received some apples.” Frances tries again.

You give a sympathetic smile to the older woman, always grateful for her thoughtfulness and warmth. “I’ll just have some water.”

Frances pours you a hefty glass, bowing slightly as she exits the room.

You take a quaint sip from the glass as Tommy folds the paper, tucking it underneath his plate.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry? The toast was quite delicious.”

“You sent the children away without telling me.” You place the glass carefully on the table, using the condensation to wet your neck.

“I am their father, I can make decisions about where they go.” Tommy hums, rolling his neck to finally get a look at you. Even on low hours of sleep and no makeup, you were a natural beauty. You fixed your hair up in a way that he especially liked, the pins keeping it held firmly in an ornate fashion.

“You don’t send my children anywhere without me knowing about it.” You bite back coolly.

“Well,” He claps his hands together. “I figured we could use a day to ourselves. Frances has made us a nice picnic near the edge of the garden, our horses have been saddled and for the ultimate surprise, we’ll be shooting pheasants for dinner.”

You force out a grin, swallowing down the lump that was squirming its way up your throat. “What a perfect day.”

The picnic was gorgeous and you hated the way you tore into your food after skipping breakfast. Tommy made little conversation and you obliged him for the time being, willing yourself not to disassociate.

He was setting you up. While you remained neutral about the usage of guns and their place in the house, you always refused to shoot one if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Tommy had given you one for protection and you kept it locked in a box, stored in the back of your wardrobe. The last thing you wanted was for the kids to find it.

Maurice, a stablehand, was already stationed near the edge of the forestline, a trap full of pheasants at his disposal. Tommy hands you a shotgun and the both of you prepare them for the task. He’s the first one to shoot and achieves a few hits, your duo of foxhounds sprinting to capture them.

You check over your gun once more, ensuring that it wouldn’t backfire and injure your shoulder.

“I’ll take four.” You tell Maruice and he gawks at you before straightening his posture.

“Are you sure, ma’am?”

Raising a single eyebrow was enough to get the young man to hush, nodding his head that he understood. “Be quick when handing me the other gun.”

“On your signal.”

You raise your weapon upwards, relaxing in your stance and emitting a low release of breath.

“Pull.”

The flapping of wings alerts your senses. Watching them disperse into the sky, you aim your gun a few paces ahead, striking two birds instantly. Rapidly swapping out guns, you anchor yourself a bit before plucking off the remaining two. The dogs are happy as they trot to gather the rest of the birds.

Maurice seeks to hide his amusement but fails. “Great fucking shot, Mrs. Shelby!”

“Thank you, Maurice. Hang two of them for dinner, please.”

You don’t say another word as you set off for the stream nearby, Tommy close behind.

You strip off your shoes and socks, placing your slightly blistered feet into the running waters. Tommy takes a seat beside you, lighting a cigarette.

“Are we going to talk or keep playing the silent game?”

“You’re the one who makes speeches.”

Tommy chuckles. “You’re a great shot.”

“I know.”

“I just want to understand how a woman such as yourself swore of guns but managed to take on six armed men with the precision and execution of someone who enlisted.”

You snap your head over. “What, so you think I’m a spy now, huh? Is that it? A Soviet spy sent to crush Thomas Shelby and his empire from within? Give me a fucking break.”

“I’m not picking a fight with you-”

“But you are! That’s what this is, isn’t it? A fight that has gone on for far too long.”

Tommy goes silent, like he always does. At this point the both of you realize that you were no longer referring to the conversation at hand but what was left unsaid in between the lines. You let yourself wallow in the anger for just a few more moments before exhaling deeply.

Absent-mindedly, you pick at the tiny blades of grass, ripping and ripping until they scatter out of your hands like confetti.

“I was framed,” you start. Tommy perks up at the sound, lighting a cigarette. He attempts to pass it to you but you refuse it. “I was young, barely a teen. An orphan.”

“The New Prospects Orphanage in the Netherlands.” Tommy comments and you nod your head.

“On Wednesdays, we would take walks around the city so we could be shown what proper ladies were like. There was a girl, Claire, who would sometimes sneak in our group and walk with us. We were friends. The older girls were vile and teased her. Pushed her down a flight of stairs. She cracked her skull.”

You stop at the mention of your old friend, rushed memories of that fateful day speeding through your mind at the speed of light. You remember the blood slowly leaking out from behind her head, staining the white hair bow she wore.

“I reached out to try and grab her, if anything we would’ve fallen together but she slipped right through my grasp. I was blamed and whilst they were discussing what to do with the police, I took off.”

You look at Tommy, who was already eyeing you with precision. “I apparently made some very bad fucking enemies that day.”

He began putting pieces together mentally, filling in the gaps of his research. From what he had gathered, you were at an orphanage until you were twelve, moved to the States until you were eighteen before making your way back to London. You remained lowkey, worked jobs mostly as a secretary and lived a bland existence until he met you a few years after being back from France.

You steal his cigarette, sucking on the stick like it was the last one on earth.

“Claire came from a notable family within the Netherlands. Her brother wouldn’t stop until he saw my head on a stick. They sent people after me.”

Tommy sticks his tongue out to wet his lips briefly. “Eli Delbeke.”

“Eli Delbeke.” you repeat.

He was one of the six bodies Tommy discovered after the carnage. He knew who you were, the woman you tried to hide behind. He hunted you until he cornered you in your own house, threatened to feed your children to his dogs. Eli had sent nearly every thug, gangsta, and man for hire after you. You managed to defeat them all.

You didn't like how easy it was for you to snap someones neck, hated the way blood circled the drain during a shower.

“He knew you were going to be alone.” Tommy concludes. “He knew about the rally.”

“As far as I’m concerned, there shouldn’t be any more of them alive. I survived the onslaught. And you want to know what lesson he could’ve learned?”

You put out the cigarette beside you, coughing. “Grief isn’t good for business.”

It happened so fast that you didn’t have time to blink. The foundation was in full swing at its grand opening, members of high society swarming all around you. You wouldn’t lie and say you were thrilled to be there but this was Tommy’s moment and as his wife, you had to play your part.

Photographs were taken and you smiled politely, Alice in your arms and Oliver hiding behind your leg. The boy was utterly shy and you hated placing him in situations like this. Balancing Alice on your hip, you shoot an apologetic look at Tommy and the others, awaiting a photo op.

You brush back Oliver’s hair, trying to coax him forward. “Come on, Oli. It’s ok! We’ll smile very quickly for a photo and then we can go wait outside for daddy.”

Tommy grows impatient and grabs Oliver, taking him by surprise. He begins to sob and thrashes around in Tommy’s hold.

“Shelby family, look this way!” The photographer instructs and you all oblige. The flash goes off and the crowd around begins to disperse. A woman in a maid outfit reaches for Oliver and Tommy hands him off willingly, eager to get away from the clamoring of chatty women. You were busy adjusting Alice’s dress, setting her back down on the ground.

You look around for Oliver, noticing you couldn’t hear his cries anymore.

“Oliver?” you call out to no avail. “Oli?”

Clutching Alice’s hand, you ask around the room if anyone has seen a little boy. All people shake their heads, your panic grows more by the minute.

Polly senses your agitation. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“It’s Oliver. We just took a photo, I sat Alice down but when I looked up, he was gone.”

Polly gives you a look you know too well and your face drops. “Oh, Poll-”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

Polly alerts other members of the family, sending them in different directions. She then escorts you out into a more secluded area of the building.

Ada and John join you, all with forlorn expressions.

“Nobody has seen ‘em.” John reports, Ada backing his claim. She places a protective hand on your back, guiding you to sit on a bench.

“Let me hold her.” she says calmly and you reluctantly let go of Alice.

Arthur and Tommy march up to the family, fists balled and faces set like stones.

“He was seen being taken in a car by some woman.” Arthur shares, eyes downcast. You stand up abruptly, stepping a few paces away from everyone else. Breathing becomes a difficult task and you clutch at your chest.

The familiar sensation of rage and anguish sneaks upon you, digging its sharp claws deep into the fiber of your being.

Tommy folds himself over you in an endeavor to console you. “This is all my fault. I will fix it. Don’t you fucking worry, I will fix this. Those fucking Italian bastards will not get away with this. It’s going to be ok, I promise.”

You cock your head to look at your husband, the only thing visible from beneath your hat was your red brimmed eyes. A lone tear escapes and you refuse to let any others do the same.

It was if you were possessed by the devil himself.

You straighten yourself up, sniffling quietly. “Ada, give me my child.”

Ada does as she is told and if you were being more observant, you might say that Ada feared you in that moment.

You were going to see to it that whoever took your child would die by your hands.

They weren’t going to fear you as Tommy’s wife nor as a Shelby but as a fucking mother.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #Thomas shelby x fem!reader #Thomas Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x fem!reader #fic: The Wrath of a Mother

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reikaryu · 4 months

Text

real eyes (realise) ft. minghao

pairing : xu minghao x gen!reader

summary : that moment it all made sense to you.

genre : drabble, fluff

warning(s) : a huge party with potentially drunk people, reader panics at some point, not proofread, 607 words

requested by @piakae : hi raebae! could you do a ‘moment of realisation’, reader and someone (you can choose idm) have that silent moment, maybe something dire happened, maybe something happy happened, and they just have a moment looking at each-other across the room realising they’re the only people for each other. can be friends to lovers or just lovers idm!! love you 😘

you’re only laying in his lap, body resting sideways to comfortably watch your favourite show on the television, when you remember the night so many moons ago.

one of his hands’ fingers are threading through your hair absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the screen before him. his other hand is stationed on your elbow, thumb rubbing circles at irregular intervals.

the coffee table between the television and the couch has two glasses of water on it, one with tiny droplets of water on the outer surface. both your phones are lying next to each other, screen dark as a result of your “do not disturb” modes turned on.

the room is dim; curtains drawn and the only source of light coming from the kitchen. the evening is a little chillier than usual, and when a slight wind blows, minghao senses your shiver and casually drapes his jacket over your frame — the very one he pulled from his closet just in case you got cold.

you smile.

──────

you were panicking, unable to think straight as you pushed through the overcrowded dance floor to search for the person who brought you to this party in the first place — also inconveniently the only one you knew.

you felt tears pooling in your eyes and you but your lip, willing them not to come out. you never did good in such a place with so many emotions and people. honestly, you thought minghao was like you, reserved and preferring to stay at home than go to a huge gathering.

but, yet again, you were wrong, because if he was like you, he’d still be by your side, anxiously whispering in your ear about the unusual amount of people he couldn’t recognise.

you sighed, alas giving up, and you began making your way toward the exit. a moment later, you realised how far into the room you ventured, having passed by too many couples or situationships dancing to count. the exit sign was now just a bright green line that constantly urged you to go towards.

your journey to the exit was, as expected, tough. you tried not to separate the couples having their fun with each other, no doubt making you uncomfortable along the way. you also tried to avoid those holding drinks, uncaring of whether the liquid spilled over the edge of the cup onto someone else.

god, you would never go to a party ever again.

you might have been half way there when you swore you heard someone call your name. but you ignored it, blaming it on your depleting social battery and overall energy. then you heard your name again, and this time it sounded desperate.

you heard it three times before you turned around, searching for the source. you couldn’t not be hallucinating — no one here knew you, as far as you could remember. except minghao.

oh.

your eyes widened suddenly, as if you saw a dead body come to life. they locked with a familiar pair, so close but so far. minghao was looking at you with all the worry in the world, and you swore you could see some silver lining his beautiful eyes. ones that seemed to hold the galaxy.

that moment could have made it to the top ten most cliché scenes in real life. two people staring at each other like they held the world in their hands.

your face held relief and joy. his was full of distress and longing as he pushed through the crowd. the very second you were in reach, he pulled you towards him and held you tight. you felt a tear drop onto your head.

happy new year everyone !! now that my school term has started, I’ll be a lot more inactive but I’ll try to post a fic once in a while :) blessing all of you with a great year ♡

taglist : @i520cm @piakae @enhacolor @yourfavoritefreakyhan @f3v3rs @wonwoospartyhat @lesdevoeux @wonuulvr @svtcaratlove @amazingly-amazing-loser @ckline35 @woozarts @famouspoetrydinosaur @kokoiinuts @ahnneyong @kawennote09 @jcngh0-hq @marrgohh @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @sun-daddy-yoriichi @humankimbap @skztutu @bangtancritterrrr

if your username’s been listed here but you didn’t receive the notification, please check your visibility settings !!

#caratsland #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #svt imagines #svt x reader #minghao scenarios #minghao imagines #minghao reactions #minghao x reader #minghao fluff #minghao fanfic #xu minghao #seventeen #raena mini writes #raena’s requests

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jasonsmirrorball · 6 months

Text

SUNSHINE, BABY JASON TODD

↳ beach day with roommate!jason ft. older brother dickothy grayson

The sun beats down on the pavement and Jason grumbles as the both of you pile into the car. Behind you, his older brother follows, chatting a mile a minute excitedly. You catch Jason’s eye in the rear mirror, and bite back a laugh. Your roommate does very little to hide the disgust he feels at his brother’s ‘beach fit’–an obscenely printed button up he leaves open, and board shorts that clash terribly. The rubber floaty he packs into the boot squeaks when he closes the trunk and you think Jason might burst a blood vessel.

“Dickwad,” he seethes. “We are not bringing that to the beach.”

You settle comfortably into the backseat of Jason’s car, digging out the paperback in your bag and your headphones. It’s still early in the morning, and the beach is a bit of a drive away. You don’t plan to have any part in their squabble. When Dick begins to needle him, you’re glad to have thought ahead.

On first meeting Dick, you had thought it extremely unfair that your annoyingly attractive roommate had an equally attractive older brother–who was in charge of this? Seriously. The man had smiled a megawatt grin at you, and you’d mumbled out your name pathetically.

Jason hadn’t been impressed. He’d been even less impressed when you’d struck up a friendship with his older brother.

“Consider this payback for Roy,” the older man had said, slinging an arm around your shoulder in a move that was probably too familiar for only having met you moments prior, but you hadn’t minded too much, especially when you’d caught a look at Jason’s quickly reddening face.

In the end, Jason wins and the floatie does not make the trip to the beach on pain of being deflated with a sharp object that he definitely should not have in his car. You keep that observation to yourself, but privately share an incredulous look with his brother.

An hour or so later, you’re glad to push yourself out of the car. The smell of brine hits your nose first, the heat on your skin following close behind. Dick and Jason, still in the front seat, have not shut up for a moment since you’d left the city, and you lean down to peer through the open passenger seat window.

“No, you–hello there, sweetheart,” Dick cuts himself off, smiling prettily at you. You raise your brows at him, sweeping your gaze to Jason who sits in the driver’s seat, frowning at his brother.

“Are you guys going to sit the car the entire time?” you ask. “If you wanted to bicker I could’ve come by myself.”

Jason raises his eyebrows at your tone, leaning over the console to retort, “You wouldn’t have come by yourself. You refused to go to the store yesterday because I didn’t want to come.”

You scowl at him when Dick snickers at the comment. “Shut up and get out.”

Jason holds his hands up defensively, but gets out nonetheless and you move away. “So touchy.”

Dick takes off for the water the moment you get your things set up, leaving you with your roommate. You have to avert your eyes when Jason pulls his shirt off, rooting through the icebox distractedly so he doesn’t see your expression.

“Did you pack the watermelon slices?” you ask, and almost jump ten feet high when Jason’s bare shoulder brushes against your side, warm and soft. He smells like sunscreen, and you stiffen when he doesn’t pull away, either uncaring or ignorant to his skin touching yours.

“Yeah,” he rumbles. “Should be in there, lemme look–here.”

He pulls out the container, buried under ice and several bottles of water, and passes it to you. You brighten, opening the lid and picking out a slice, passing one to Jason before reaching for one yourself.

The juice rolls down your wrist, sweet against your tongue. You settle against your totebag, the makeshift pillow supporting your back. The sun is hot against your skin, but a light breeze flutters through the air, skittering along your arms and legs pleasantly.

The beach isn’t too crowded, and you’re glad for the lack of screaming families, dozing in and out of sleep to the sound of the waves, warm and sleepy. When you open your eyes, you’re not sure how much time has passed but Jason is still next to you. He lays on his stomach, your paperback laid before him.

He looks over, and laughs.

“Have a nice nap?”

“Yes, actually,” you say, sitting up and stretching. His eyes follow your movements. “Have you been here this whole time? Where’s Dick?”

A quick glance at the shoreline shows no sight of the older man.

“Chill, it’s only been a few minutes. He went to go get ice cream from that store a few minutes away, should be back soon,” Jason informs you, attention back on the book and turning the page. There’s a grin stretching across his face that you don’t like the look of, cocksure and mischievous. “Didn’t know this was the kind of stuff you were into.”

You lunge for the book, suddenly recalling its contents, but Jason holds you back easily with one arm.

“It’s not bad,” he says, but you can see a cheshire cat grin on his face.

“You are such an ass,” you hiss, pinching his arm. “Get a hobby.”

“Reading is a hobby, sweetness,” he laughs.

“Loser,” you mutter, shoving him once more for good measure before turning away. “I’m going to go swim.”

“Not without putting on sunscreen you’re not,” he says, not even looking up from your book. He reaches into his bag and pulls out the tube, passing it over to you. You roll your eyes even as you accept it.

Dick approaches as you’re slathering the lotion on your face, a rapidly melting ice-cream in his hands, and Jason looks up. He screws his nose up at the green sticking to his hands, mint chocolate chip pitifully sliding under the weight of the sun.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Dick says cheerfully, throwing himself down onto the blanket and you can’t help but laugh when his treat threatens to spill over the side of his cone.

“Gag me now,” Jason mutters, and you roll your eyes when they begin to bicker once more–this time on the merits of different ice cream flavours. When chocolate chip and strawberry prove to be too volatile of a conversation subject, you smack Jason’s leg, drawing his attention away from strangling his older brother.

“You both are so juvenile,” you say, adding before Jason can retort, “Help me with this sunscreen.”

He pulls a face at your demanding tone, scowling but accepting the bottle you hand him, gesturing for you to come closer. You shuffle forward until you’re sat in front of him.

“You’ve got no manners, you know that?” he tells you crossly, and you crack a grin at Dick, whose eyebrows have flown into his hairline. The sunscreen is cold against your back, but his hands are warm as he smooths it in, and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“You wanna do this yourself?” he demands and you sigh.

“You’re such an asshole, man,” Dick laughs and you nod your head.

“Hey–shut up, dickhead,” Jason snaps and your eyes widen, craning your head over your shoulder to look at him.

“What is wrong with you both?” you exclaim. “Like, seriously.”

“Would you chill out?” Jason’s thumbs dig into your spine and you bite back the urge to let out a sigh when he works out a knot. Dick’s miffed face changes, grinning at something over your shoulder. You can’t see Jason’s expression, but his smile is unnerving, and you shift in your seat uncomfortably. “You’re worse than Bruce.”

“No offence to your dad,” you bite back, reaching behind to pinch the skin of Jason’s knee. “But there’s no way I’m worse than him.”

You’ve met the man before. Bruce Wayne has, on multiple occasions, offered to outfit your entire apartment in state of the art security technology, and you’re not so sure he hasn’t succeeded, despite both your and Jason’s declinations.

Dick tilts his head thoughtfully, and nods. “Yeah,” he lets out a breath. “He freaks out if we breathe wrong.”

“I wonder why,” you mutter.

“‘M done,” Jason announces, patting your back–though he could be lighter about it, you fall forward under the weight of his blow. He’s grinning when you look over your shoulder with a scowl, but you decide the weather is all too pleasant to let your dickhead roommate get to you. You settle for flipping him off childishly, and scramble up from the blanket.

Despite the warmth, the water is cold, and your breath hitches as it rushes over your feet. It takes some getting used to, and by the time you’ve waded knee deep, you hear Jason’s voice from behind you.

“What are you waiting for?”

“It’s cold,” you reply, eyes on the water even as he comes up by your side. He snickers, shoulder bumping into yours.

“Wuss.”

There’s something in his tone you can’t quite place and then, before you know it, the ground is falling away from you as you’re picked up. A scream startles out of your throat when Jason gathers you in his arms and wades further into the water, laughing despite the hits you’ve begun to land on him.

“Put me down, you idiot! You’re gonna get us both drowned!”

“You sure you want me to do that?” he asks, and you slap his shoulder, clutching him tighter when he pretends to drop you.

“I’m going to kill you,” you grit out, but you can’t deny the way your face flushes, adrenaline spiking at the press of his warm skin against yours, water rushing around the both of you.

The afternoon bleeds away in a slow, thick haze, saltwater soaking your limbs and the sun beating down against the sand, clinging to you in flecks. Jason lets go of you eventually, Dick wades back in and you laugh yourself hoarse fending off the waves they send your way.

The water you’d packed is sweeter somehow, you’re convinced, cold and spilling from the lip of the bottle as you tip it towards your mouth. The beach towels are warm beneath your skin, and you shiver a little as a breeze skitters through the sand, cooling against your still damp skin. Next to you, Jason makes his way through the container of fruit, periodically handing you a cherry, or a slice of watermelon. Dick lies next to you, dozing off under the sun. You think you spot a suspiciously reddening strip of skin on the back of his neck, and move the sun shade so he’s covered.

When you let out a yawn, Jason looks over, mouth quirking.

“Time to go?”

“Think so,” you affirm, stifling another yawn. The sun leaves you drowsy, and by the time you all manage to get everything packed up and trudge back up to where the car is–Jason kicking Dick awake, much to the latter’s chagrin–your limbs feel leaden.

You’re barely turning out of the beach road before your eyes are slipping closed, skin flushed and pleasantly warmed. With Jason’s hoodie strewn over your lap as a makeshift blanket, the air conditioning whirs quietly and you’re lulled into sleep.

#jay my heart #roommate!jason #jasonsmirrorball #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader

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kechiwrites · 1 year

Note

I need more babydaddy!ghost🙏🏾😫

ask and ye shall receive.

toxic baby daddy!ghost x reader continued

wc: 1.4k

cw: afab!reader but no gendered terms, angst, hurt/comfort, a lil bit of hope, no use of y/n ever, mdni.

find pt. 1 here

“Did you have fun, Boo Bear?” Your son giggles as he’s passed from his father’s hold into yours, his cherubic face and hands are sticky with god knows what but you barely notice when he rubs them over your skin. Sticky kinda comes with the territory. When he's securely in your arms, you press a kiss to the crown of his head, breathing in deep the smell of fried food and other people and baby beneath it all. These days you're rarely apart, your stomach turning uncomfortably when he's out of your sight, heart racing at the idea of what could happen with him out of your reach, your protection. But you'd promised Ghost you'd try.

So you're trying.

“Mhm!” Tommy bobs his head up and down enthusiastically, and begins recounting the dramatic highs and lows of his trip out with his “new dad”. The title makes Ghost wince, a small twitch he just can’t hide from someone who’d seen everything he had been, could be. A gesture that the person who sat with his nightmares, his secrets, his bouts with a cold, his backaches, his survivor’s guilt, wouldn’t miss. And a not-so-small part of you lavishes in his discomfort. A part of you thinks with so much vitriol; ‘This is what you deserve. You deserve your son being a stranger to you.’ You take the time to catalogue your ex. He looks so bizarre here. In your home, where he used to be so welcome, his wide frame crowded into your small kitchen where you smiled and kissed and teased when things were simple, when he hadn’t broken the two of you. His shoulders are hiked up around his ears, clearly on the defensive, waiting for you to drop the bomb that this was a one time thing, That somehow he’d gone and fucked it all up again and you were going to make sure he never saw a hair on Tommy’s sweet head again.

And you could.

And you want to.

With all the energy only a four year old could have, Tommy finishes his story with a flourish neither of you are prepared for; “Is daddy gonna come live with us, now?” A different kind of bomb drops in your kitchen, exploding with no sound but so much heat and pain in both of your faces, ricocheting off mismatched plates and lightly cracked mugs and refrigerator paintings with two figures and not three.

He swings his head back and forth between your faces, baby tooth grin wide and unbothered, uncaring in a way only a child could be. Expectant. Waiting.

“Thomas, why don’t you show us how fast you can get in your jammies for bed, huh?” You bend at the waist and let your son’s feet hit the floor, letting his question hang in the air, where it couldn’t hurt him, hurt you.

“Okay!” He’s easy to placate, happy to show Ghost exactly how fast he can be; “Daddy, watch!” His tiny form disappearing down the hall.

“You could have let me answer him.” He murmurs, covering his face with the huge width of his hand and keeping it there. Briefly, you wonder if it’s compulsive. You never noticed it when you were together. The mask was hard to ignore, but now with his face bare, you can see it causes him actual distress, even with you. “So you can pin the answer on me?” You scoff, turning to eyeball the dishes in your sink, there’s only three, remnants from your solitary dinner at home. You wash the dregs of pasta sauce off the ceramic plate, just so you have something to do. Just so you don’t have to look at him. “No, I’m good.”

Your back is suddenly, startlingly warm.

“I’m not trying to turn him against you. Or take him away from you.” He’s pushed himself into your space, like he’s become so good at doing lately, being where you don’t want him. Filling in gaps that have been empty for years, gaps that should’ve stayed empty.

“I don’t think you could.” He places both of his hands over your forearms, squeezing at the flesh of your upper arms, like he’s trying to reconcile that you’re there, that he’s in your home again. That he can touch you. That you let him touch you.

You let him turn you around. You let him take your face in his hands. You let him crowd close and press his lips to your face, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your lips. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs into your mouth, pushing his sorrow, his remorse inside you, planting it with his tongue. You kiss him back, because it feels good. It feels good and you deserve something good. You deserve to feel uncomplicated pleasure and a racing heart that only beats faster under the ministrations of heavy hands and a deep, quiet voice, like dark, black gravel in your ear.

“Dad! Come see my trucks!” Tommy's voice rips you out of your reverie, And you press your hand to your mouth, lips tingling in Ghost’s absence. You can’t even begin to articulate how much you missed it, the intimacy, the sensation. You’d insisted months ago there wouldn’t be anymore blurred lines, crossed boundaries. Co-parenting. No more hooking up. Those were the rules. The rules you made. It makes you sick. Disappointed in yourself, because no matter how bad he hurt you, how deep his serrated knife cuts, you want him, still. After everything.

“Go home Ghost. Go wherever, I don't care, just…leave.” Your throat feels like you swallowed glass, you want to scream so badly, it feels like screaming is the only thing that’ll alleviate that tight, dry feeling. “It’s what you’re good at, right?” He looks like he wants to say something, rebut you, argue with you, insist the kiss means something, anything. Instead, he follows your instructions with his regular military precision. He bids your son goodbye, promising to see him soon.

Later, after you’ve tucked Tommy in, after you’ve had time to reprimand yourself, he calls you.

“Did he go down alright?” You’re holding your phone between your cheek and your shoulder, which you hate to do, but having a four year old kind of necessitates both hands being free. You’d been folding little shirts with cartoon dogs and anthropomorphic cars when he'd called you to talk, and honestly, you’re surprised you even answered the phone when you’d just seen him an hour ago.

“It was a battle. Didn’t help that you loaded him up with all the sugar he could handle.” It’s neutral territory, easy to talk about in the wake of what happened, so you cling to it. The local street fair is hardly Disneyland, but it was loud and bright enough to capture your son’s attention while being small enough for Ghost to feel at ease with just sunglasses, a hat, and a hooded sweatshirt.

“I’m no good at saying no to him.” He huffs, and you can hear him settle into bed wherever he is. You assume some motel, with flickering lights and a lax policy on paying cash for rooms.

“It comes with practice.” You don’t say much more than that, but he holds on to it, clutches at it like the life raft it is. The promise of practice, the idea that he’ll get to see his son more, get to see you more.

It’s quiet for a while, you stay on the phone with him, going through your nighttime routine, flicking off all the lights in the house, picking up stray toys before you settle into bed yourself.

“Ghos-”

“Please.” He begs. His voice is so quiet it almost doesn’t register over the phone, you almost think you’ve imagined it until he asks again, insistent, like the soft, miserable apologies he’d kissed into your skin. “Please. I know I pushed too hard. Just for tonight. Just this time. ” The next breath you take is weak, rattling and tired, and your eyes prick with tears that shouldn’t even be there to begin with. He made his choice. He cut you out. And it hurt. It hurt like fourteen hours of labour on your own. Like pushing and breathing and crying out to God to never give you a man to love again.

“Simon. I need to go to bed.” You murmur, voice low and far too intimate. You can hear his inhale shudder into his lungs on the other end. His name doesn’t taste like you thought it would, after all this time. Like the ash and smoke and thick dark blood you’d expected. It does, however, taste a bit like losing. Like the deflated feeling you get in your stomach when you let your anger burn to nothing.

It tastes like giving in.

And it’s not nearly as bad of a taste as you thought.

series masterlist here

hope you all enjoyed! no smut this time, just feels. support city girls, reblog stuff u like.

#baby daddy ghost #ghost x black!reader #ghost x black reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod #cod x you #cod fic #cod x reader #kechiwrites #requests #cod mw2 fic #ghost x gn reader #baby blue fic

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.3K] prompt: "no reason." a house party, a needy girlfriend Steve can't say not to and some bathroom smut.

Steve hadn’t hosted a party at his house in an age. Years, maybe. But it was Robin’s twenty first and Nancy wanted to throw her a big surprise thing and well, with the size of Steve’s house and his parents always gone, it made the most sense.

And despite Robin being the birthday girl, Steve still garnered the same attention he had in high school, slapping shoulders and bumping fists with people he passed, pointing out the stack of drinks in the kitchen to newcomers, catching up with old school friends and pretending he didn’t see all the girls that were making eyes at him.

You did though.

It was becoming harder and harder to ignore them, especially when you’d been stuck on a sofa between Eddie and a dude you only knew from Biology, watching as your boyfriend played host. You stared at the girls with the big hair, the perfect curls, glossy lips and wandering hands. Their touch all over Steve, fingers grazing his chest, palms curled around his bicep as they leaned in too close, lips brushing his ear so they could be heard over the music.

And then the lights went off and Nancy came out of the kitchen with a cake littered with candles and everyone sang for Robin. You put on a smile for your friend, ignored the way Eddie frowned at the way you sat too tense, brushing off his offered joint, something you’d normally happily accept.

When the coloured string lights flickered back on, bathing the large living room in lime green, bubblegum pink and orange, you watched as Cindy Reed pushed her tits out at your boyfriend and reached up to drag a hand through his hair.

No. Absolutely not.

Eddie must have seen too, ‘cause he breathed out a choked laugh and didn’t seem all that surprised when you got up from the couch, immediately pushing your way through the crowd of drunks and dancers.

“Easy, tiger,” he called out after you, going ignored for the most part, his fingers bringing another rolled joint to his lips to lick.

To be fair to Steve, he looked completely panicked as Cindy continued to corner him, eyes wide as he spotted you, relief and only a little fear in them as you neared.

“Hey, baby, I’ve been lookin’ all over for you--”

You didn’t reply, you weren’t sure you even smiled. You simply raised your brows at Cindy as you wrapped your hand around Steve’s and dragged him with you as you walked away, daring her to say something. She didn’t.

Steve followed happily, at your heels, his free hand on your waist as you squeezed through the crowds. You didn’t stop and turn to him until you were out in the front hall, empty of Mrs Harrington’s usual crystal vases as a few partygoers bumped into console tables.

“Shit, babe, you’re not mad, right?” Steve looked stricken, brows pulled together as he reached for you, “wasn’t interested in the-- oh, fuck--”

He got his answer when you surged forward, pushed onto your toes so you could clasp his cheeks in your palms and pull him down to you. You lips met his a little messily, urgently, greedily. You sighed when Steve groaned, opening his mouth for you immediately. You licked into him, a hand dragging into his hair and tugging a little, the way that you knew he liked, not fucking Cindy Reed.

He pulled you closer, uncaring who was watching. It was his fucking house, right? His fingers hooked into your belt loops, tugging a little roughly until your chest met his and he could feel your grin against his mouth. You tasted like cherry vodka, sweet and tart and Steve groaned low when you nipped at his bottom lip, pressing a sweet kiss to it before you pulled away.

Not far though, he wouldn’t let you, arms wrapping around the small of your back to keep you close, grinning down at you with wild hair and glazed over eyes.

“Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?” he murmured it against your cheek, nuzzling there as he pressed a line of kisses over your jaw.

Steve wasn’t dumb, he knew. He knew you. You tasted sweet and nice and a little like jealousy and he’d a stupid, stupid man to not enjoy it. He leaned into the way you carded a hand through his hair, painted fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp, just enough pressure to make him shiver for you.

“No reason,” you lied.

Steve just grinned - smirked, really - letting you drag your hands over his broad shoulders and down his chest, preening up at him as he grabbed at your ass, pushing you into the half hard length that was becoming too obvious in his denim jeans.

Robin walked by in a plastic tiara and Steve’s sunglasses, two bottles of beer in each hand. She barely glanced at you both, but she’d seen enough, knew you both well enough to mutter out, “gross.”

Her comment went ignored, except from an uptick of Steve’s brows, a sly smile as he continued to love on you, your head tilted up to let him. He pressed kiss after kiss along your throat, humming happily when you moaned softly for him and just as you were about to suggest a quick visit to his bedroom, Jonathan was turning the corner and shouting out for Steve.

“Harrington, you got a mop?”

There was thud from the kitchen before Steve could ask why, the telltale sound of glass breaking just heard over the bass of the music.

“And a dustpan?” Jonathan added.

Steve groaned, pulling away from you grudgingly, whining a little when you pouted at him, hands clinging to the hem of his shirt until the very last second.

“Shit, hold on,” he told the other boy before turning back to you, eyes pleading. “I’ll be right back, baby, yeah? Promise.”

You didn’t see Steve for another hour, both of you caught up and distracted by other people, loud music and dancing, the dramas that always came with a party with too much alcohol. You found the boy in the kitchen, busy talking to a guy you knew he was once on the basketball team with and although he didn’t pause his conversation with his friend, Steve smiled and held out his arm to you as you pushed yourself into his side.

You let their talk of league tables and who had signed with what college team blend in with the rest of the party sounds, the blur of music and bass, people yelling and ice cubes scattering across the kitchen tiles. It was easy to let your hand wander, sneaking up the side of Steve’s ribs, fingers pushing underneath his shirt to find bare skin, rippled with goosebumps at your touch.

His breath hitched, unnoticed by his friend, felt by you as you lay your head to his chest, the picture of innocence as you cuddled into your boyfriend, hands wrapped around his waist. The arm that Steve had draped over your shoulder squeezed a little, a soft warning, a silent ‘behave.’

But you kept up your pestering, hand travelling down, over his stomach and the small trail of hair there until you could hook your fingers into the waist of his jeans, still hidden under his shirt. You felt the muscles in his abdomen tense and contract, and Steve’s hand found the back of your neck, cupping and squeezing gently.

If he didn’t know you as well as he did, he would’ve missed the way your brows lifted, the way your lips parted for him.

He only paused his conversion to turn to you for a few seconds, his pretty face dipping down to meet yours, noses bumping. “Baby,” his voice held the hint of a threat, too nice, too sweet for you to take it seriously. “Be good, c’mon now.”

So you huffed, petulant, pulling away from your boyfriend to pout and find something else to do. You didn’t see the way Steve frowned at your lack of contact but he watched you pick up another bottle of wine and plop yourself down beside Robin in the still busy living room, the lights turning you crimson and aquamarine.

You caught his eye, felt his gaze and kept up your bratty demeanour, tongue stuck out at him before passing the open bottle of rose to the other girl. You didn’t like being told no, Steve knew that, and fuck, he didn’t say it often.

But it made him grin, the way you held his stare, chin tilted up, a little defiant and you only broke away from looking at him when Robin tried to pour the sweet wine into your mouth for you, the pink liquid trailing messily down your lips and throat.

You didn’t have to look back at Steve to know he was staring.

It was passing one o’clock in the morning when you were pushing through the thinning crowds, people slipping into the shadows and corners of Steve’s too big house to do all sorts of nefarious business. That’s how you found Steve out in the backyard, strong profile and wild hair lit up by the pool lights. He hung back from Eddie, who was standing around one of the sun loungers, baggie in hand as he watched two boys you didn’t recognise count out a stack of cash.

Eddie always grabbed Steve when he made more expensive deals, feeling a little safer with his friend lurking nearby, ready to step in if his customers tried anything funny. You knew that. Steve knew you knew that. ‘Cause both boys had told you before that they didn’t like you hanging round any deals in case shit kicked off.

And yet, there you were, the hem of your short dress lifting in the cool night air, bare feet cool on the patio bricks and you barely made a sound as you wound your arms around Steve’s waist, nose pushed to the nape of his neck.

“Baby,” you whispered, sounding as needy as you felt.

Steve turned, a little surprised to see you considering you knew why he was outside. So he tried not to frown - not meanly, not really at you - just at the situation and your proximity to the shady looking strangers that were now staring at you from beside Eddie.

“Sweetheart, go back inside, please?” Steve tried to reason, voice gentle, “I’ll be in a minute.”

His voice left no room for arguing and his reasons for it had always been clear but you’d been dying to get him alone since you were forced to watch Cindy put her hands on him hours before. So you rolled your eyes and huffed, pulling at the hem of his shirt in a weak attempt to get Steve to give in.

“Miss you,” you breathed out softly, doe eyes staring up at your boyfriend as you let your gaze drop to his lips. “Don’t you wanna come spend some time alone with me?”

Steve softened a little at your words, as desperate for you as you were for him. He tangled his fingers in yours to bring your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your palm, only to tilt his head back to the door.

“I won’t be long, babe.”

You narrowed your eyes, more than a little annoyed now and if you weren’t as tipsy as you were, as pent up for the boy as you’d been all night, you would’ve been much more understanding. But you’d been vying to have the boy to yourself all night, feeling far too greedy to share anymore. You knew when the party ended and Steve had ushered all of your friends to the spare rooms and couches, he’d take you to bed with him and you’d get what you wanted.

You knew that. But the issue was, that you were feeling like a downright brat and you wanted your boyfriend now. Cindy Reed was in the kitchen, still lingering, sipping on a drink filled with ice and she was staring at you and Steve through the glass doors.

That certainly didn’t help.

“You’ve barely hung out with me all night,” you mumbled, frowning up at the boy. “Everyone else is more important, huh, Stevie?”

Steve caught your chin before you could pull away, finger and thumb on either side of your jaw and he tilted your face up to him, squishing your cheeks lightly. You kept up the one thing you’d done all night, always consistent: you pouted at him.

“Baby, you’re pushin’ your luck tonight,” Steve murmured, and as smooth as his voice was, all honey and sweet, you knew he was telling you to wind it in.

Too bad you weren’t one for doing what you were told.

So you pushed yourself to your toes, further into his hold and managed to drag your lips over his bottom one, catching the pretty curve of it in a messy little kiss. He didn’t pull away, Steve would never, he couldn’t have even dreamt of committing such a crime but his sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Baby,” you cooed, sticky sweet for him, smiling wide when his touch dropped to your neck, warm palm and thick fingers fluttering over your throat. “Baby,” you whispered again, “don’t you wanna come upstairs with me?”

You saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his lashes fluttered when you pushed a hand to his stomach, dragging fingers over his hip bone. Steve took one look over his shoulder at Eddie, watched how the money had exchanged hands and the strangers were walking away. The boys nodded, an uptilt of their chins and Eddie smirked when Steve grabbed your hand and pulled you back into the house.

He didn’t say anything, just ushered you in front of him with a possessive hand on the small of your back, gaze trained on the way the hem of your dress danced around the tops of your thighs as you both walked passed a disgruntled Cindy. Steve coaxed you up the stairs and he didn’t have to tell you to head to his rooms, neither of you paying attention to the old school friends and guests that catcalled at you both as you passed.

Your plans were ruined when you opened Steve’s bedroom door to find Robin in Steve’s bed, passed out and drooling on his pillow. She wore the only pair of pjyama’s Steve owned, a plaid pair that his Grandma had bought him last christmas, unused by the boy and buttoned up squint by the birthday girl. She still wore her tiara, soft snores comin from her parted lips and god, you loved her, but you’d never wanted to kill Robin more.

“Fuckin’ hell, Buckley,” Steve swore softly, letting go of you only to throw a blanket over his best friend before ushering you both back out the door.

“Steve,” you were whining, running a little to catch up with the boy’s long strides, his hand clutching yours as he pulled you along behind him. “I need--”

“I know, baby, shit, I know,” he groaned out, impatient as you were and he led you to a small bathroom that was nestled between two of the guest bedrooms, hardly used. “C’mon, in here.”

Steve used you to close the door, grabbing you and spinning, your back pressed to the wood as it clicked shut and the lock snapped. He was on you instantly, mouth open and slanting over yours as he licked into you dirty, moaning when you whimpered, finally getting what you wanted. You clung to him, desperate, eyes shut tight as it all became too much and you decided you needed everything the boy was willing to give you right away.

“Steve,” you moaned, breath catching in your throat your boyfriend was pulling away, a wide hand cradling the side of your face, fingers spanning over you cheek and jaw.

“Nuhuh, pretty thing,” Steve chastised, tilting his chin up and away from you so you couldn’t chase his kiss. “You need to learn a little patience, don’t you?”

Your jaw went slack, lips parted and eyes glassy, ‘cause the night was turning into early morning and it felt like too much time had passed since Steve last touched you. You were greedy, wanting, selfish about the way you needed him.

He kept you against the door, fingers grazing over the column of your throat, and if he felt the thumpthumpthump of your pulse point, Steve didn’t mention it. He hummed, satisfied with the way you fell silent, looking up at him like you wanted to cry and Steve knew it was a little bit sick, but he always thought you looked so pretty like that. Big eyes all soft and wet for him, pleading a little, gazing at him like you’d do anything he asked.

So unlike the greedy little thing who’d been pushing his buttons all night long.

“You’ve been a fucking menance,” Steve murmured, soft and achingly sweet, “haven’t you?” His thumb moved to push against your bottom lip, tracing the curve of it, all swollen and slick from his rough kisses. “Testin’ me all night, just can’t wait, can you? Gotta get what you want, when you want it, huh?”

You whined, a little cry that had Steve’s cock jumping against the confines of his jeans.

“I just wanted you,” you told him, as if that was more than enough of an explanation.

Maybe it was, you’d thought, ‘cause Steve had grinned, like he’d won a prize and he sighed all dreamy as he pushed his thumb a little further, watching you in awe as you wrapped your lips around the digit.

“Look at you,” he whispered, staring at the way you sucked on his thumb, cheeks hollowed out and tongue licking at him. “Pretty girl. Such a pretty, needy little thing. You couldn’t wait, no?”

You shook your head, mouth opening to gasp for a breath, and Steve took the opportunity to press down onto the flat of your tongue, watch as you let him drag your thumb across it and back over your lips. He groaned, bending down to nudge your nose with his, nuzzling into you as he peppered some sweet kisses to your cheeks.

“You’re so spoiled,” he grunted, his free hand dropping to drag your dress up your thighs, showing off bare skin and red lace. “So fuckin’ spoiled, thinking that you can get what you want from me when you want it.”

“Stevie,” you were mumbling, voice a little shot from panting for him, “don’t be mean.”

The boy let out a huff of laughter, bending down to crowd into you, lips pressing once, twice, three times on yours, a series of pretty kisses that had your lashes fluttering for him.

“M’not being mean, baby,” Steve tutted, “it’s true. You know I’ll always give in to you, don’t you? Know I can’t say no to that pretty, little face? Those pretty, pretty eyes, fuck, sweetheart.”

You hiccuped a soft sound, preening as you clung to his shoulders, nodding at his words. Fuck yeah, you knew that.

“Yeah, thought so. M’too soft for you, s’ridiculous what you do to me, Christ.”

You were pawing at him, chest heaving, trying your best to get what you wanted without asking for it but Steve wouldn’t let you move from the door and when your eager hands tried to yank at his belt buckle, he caught them both and pinned them to the wood above you.

“Ah, ah,” he tsked, the line of his nose tracing up yours. He smelled like cologne and bourbon, the sticky sweet scent of alcohol and weed and Steve. The music from the still ongoing party downstairs made the door vibrate, the bass giving the house its own pulse. But Steve was making you throb in completely different ways. “Good girls ask nicely.”

You huffed, tried not to grin, ‘cause it was always fun to let Steve think he was in charge. So you arched your back and pressed your tits against his chest, both hands stuck in his bigger one as his other hand cupped your cunt.

He groaned when he felt how warm you were, how wet, lace damp against his palm, and well, shit. Maybe he was in charge this time.

“Please?” You asked sweetly, trying your best to push your hips down onto his fingers, grinding against the little friction he gave you. “Please, baby?”

“Sound so pretty,” Steve cooed, voice a little rough around the edges. “Just so damn cute when you actually do as you're told for once.”

You laughed when Steve smirked, leaning down to mouth at your jaw, nipping at the shell of your ear until you whined.

“What do you want?” The boy asked you, “hmm?”

“You,” you told him simply, head falling back against the door to let him kiss a line down your throat. “Inside me.” A tug at his hair, a groan, an awfully pretty noise. “Immediately.”

“Dirty,” Steve grinned. “Greedy. Demanding.” Steve caught your mouth, licked into you deep with a low groan, pulling a sigh from you that made his dick twitch. “Spoiled.”

“Well,” you pouted, “just give me what I want then.”

It seemed like an age before Steve spoke again, his fingers still rubbing slow, messy circles over your underwear, his rough pads doing awfully nice things on your clit. He let you pant into him, chin tilted up, lips parted and barely touching, Steve’s mouth curled into a satisfied smile.

“So spoiled,” he repeated, trying his damn best to act like he was never going to give in to you immediately. “Hands on the counter, pretty thing.”

You tried not to act too smug but a little noise of excitement slipped out from your lips as Steve finally let go of your hands and let you sneak out from between the door and his body. He laughed at the way you leaned onto the counter by the sink, back arched and ass popped out for him, chin hooked on your shoulder to gaze back at him.

“C’mon, big boy,” you smiled, too sweet for the words and the way you said them, looking at Steve through the line of your lashes. “Your adoring fans will be looking for you soon.”

Steve huffed out a laugh and shook his head at you as he approached, hands smoothing over your hips, the line of your spine. He pushed his cock against your ass, making you both stutter over a breath. No one time was wasted as he dragged your dress up, hitching it over your hips so he could pull your underwear to the side, fingers sliding through your folds to gather the slick there.

“Fu-uck, baby,” Steve sighed out, dropping his head to the space between your shoulder blades, pressing kisses on the bare skin there. “You’re soaked.”

“I told you,” you huffed out, fingers curling around the countertop as Steve circled your clit and then slipped a finger inside you. “Wanted you all night. Can you fuck me? Please? Please?”

“Can’t say no to you,” Steve grunted, voice rough and wrecked, desperate for you. He only took his hands off of you to fumble with his belt, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his aching cock, rubbing the head of it along your folds. “Can never say no to you, spoiled, little thing.”

You gasped out when Steve pushed forward a little, slipping his tip into your cunt and hissing. You stared at him in the mirror, posed pretty behind you with his hair wild and his head thrown back. His hands squeezed tight at your waist and he stayed still, letting you adjust to the thick of him, stretching you out in the best way.

“Stevie,” you wanted to cry, you felt like you were about to, eyes glassy, breath coming too quick and it kept catching in your chest. “Move, baby? Yeah? Please?”

“Yeah? You good, sweetheart?” Steve groaned out, staring down at where you were joined, his cock throbbing as he watched the way you clung around him. “Want it all? Gonna take all of me like a good girl?”

You nodded, desperate, jaw slack as you let yourself drop down to your elbows, ass pushed up and out for him. “Mhmm, yeahyeahyeah.”

So Steve shifted his hips, gripped you tighter when you cried out for him, his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips as he pushed him further inside of you, swearing softly at the feel of you wrapped so snugly around him.

“That’s it, there you go baby,” Steve whispered, too far gone to take a proper intake of breath. His chest was burning as he tried his best to not lose his shit, way too close already. “Oh, good girl, good fuckin’ girl.”

He set a fast pace the minute he bottomed out inside of you, hips snapping back before pushing the full length of his cock back into your cunt, the sounds of your heavy breaths and his hips slapping off of your ass bouncing off the tiles.

“M’not gonna last long,” you mumbled, eyes unfocused and glassy as Steve reached around you to rub at your clit the exact way you liked. “Steve, shit.”

“Thank god,” Steve groaned, leaning over you to kiss and bite at your shoulder and neck. “Fuck, baby, so fuckin’ close, you feel too good.”

Steve came seconds after you did, cheeks flushed and eyes squeezed shut at the feeling of your clenching around him, crying out his name between hiccups and gasps. He pulled out, swearing, fisting himself roughly as he spilled over your ass, getting the lace trick of your underwear a little messy.

“Oh fuck me, fuck me, look at you,” Steve whined, “you’re too much, sweetheart.”

You were too busy trying to catch your breath, hair messy and stuck to your forehead as you smiled sleeping at him from the mirror.

Steve landed a pretty tap to an ass cheek, grinned as he watched it bounce, his sticky mess shiny in the low bathroom light, dripping down the curve of your ass.

“Fuckin’ spoiled, told you.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #UDWS10K

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aneveningsword · 5 months

Text

𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader warnings: not proofread, some tough love, mentions of drug abuse words: 713 summary: Spencer needed help and if no one else was going to help him you would.

masterlist

It wasn't the hardest to see the change in Spencer after his time with Tobias. How on edge he seemed, snapping at people for the most minor offences. How uncaring of the feelings of those around him, saying whatever he wished. Everyone tried to turn the other cheek knowing the pain and despair he must be in. But they could only allow the infractions to go on for so long before they grow tired of it.

Everyone knew what exactly was going on, everyone could see the signs. Yet no one wished to acknowledge that it was happening. Maybe if they forgeined ignorance then it wouldn't be true, it would just silently go away and no one would have to worry about it.

But you couldn't, you couldn't keep turning a blind eye, watching the pain he was in. You couldn't stand by as he destroyed himself. That's what brought you to his front door, a bag full of flyers and hand banging loudly on his door. You weren't leaving until you got through to him.

It wasn't long before the door opened, the wood replaced with Spencer's exhausted features. Before he could even open his mouth to question why you were there you pushed passed him. Entering his house like you owned the place instead of simply visiting. A small grumble was heard from the man behind you as the door shut once more.

His annoyance did little to against the determination flowing through you, turning to face him you spoke. "I know." Confusion washed over the lanky man's features, unsure of what you meant. You had bargained into his house after nagging on the door like someone was chasing you, one to declare you knew something.

"You're using." You clarified taking note of his confusion, faked or not you didn't care. You wanted to rip the bandaid off, not give him time to try and snake out of it or distract you. You knew he was smarter than you and with a few words, he could throw you off the course you have been set on.

Spencer's features morph into an expression you couldn't describe before hardening, his face unreadable to what he was thinking. "I don't know what you're talking about." The denial of what was happening was weak, you both knew the truth. "God Spencer, I'm not stupid, I can see it. Everyone can. We're worried." There was a tone of anguish in your voice, pleading with him to just give up and let you help.

"I've got it under control." The words pulled a scoff from you as you shook your head. "But you don't do you? Because if you did, I wouldn't have noticed." There was a tone of desperation to your words as you tried to get through to him. He knows you are here out of the car for him, worried that this may escalate. But he didn't need the help, at least he didn't think he did.

You take a few steps towards him, hand reaching out to grab him in a firm but careful hold. You half expected him to rip his hand from yours and tell you to leave, spitting some harsh words on your way out. It was what he had seemingly been doing too very. Yet, he didn't instead just watched you for a few moments.

"Just... go to a meeting, please. If you don't help if you don't want the team to get their noses into it." With you're free hand you reach into your bag, pulling out a handful of crumpled flyers. Extending them towards him in the hopes he would grab them and at least skim over them. You didn't wish to watch him destroy himself, to get a call that his body had been found somewhere.

You watched his hand reach out, expecting him to take the flyer yet instead you were pulled into a hug. A bone-crushing one as Spencer's arms pin you to him. For a moment you are frozen, but quickly you return the hug with the same force. "Thank you," The words were so soft you almost missed them, the slient acceptance of your help and the admittance that he had a problem.

"Of course, I love you." "...I love you too."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagines

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axelsagewrites · 9 months

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Hello! I don't know if you're still writing from Harry Potter, but do you write about George Weasley and the fem Slytherin reader? It would be interesting to have a Gryffindor Weasley and a Slytherin side by side. Fire and gunpowder are dangerous together.😅😂

I hope you write<3 I love your works

George Weasley*The Deal

Pairing: f!slytherin reader x george weasley

Summary: after a deal is struck the reader starts to fall for her new study buddy however once she learns what house he is she's worried that may change the terms and conditions

Warnings: none

Masterlist Here

Despite literally having magic your schools’ uniforms were one of the most uncomfortable things you had ever worn so as soon as class was done for the day you slipped back into some comfy clothes. You in all your wisdom had put off doing Flitwick’s charms essay until the last minute, yet again, so once class was over you quickly changed and headed to the library for a long night.

There was one long table running down the library but sitting their felt too exposed, so you instead searched for a free desk between the shelves. You eventually found a free two-person desk in the last of the rows of the shelves. Luckily for you this was the section you needed to be in anyhow. You dumped your back at the free seat then turned your attention to the recommended reading list. An Anthology of Eighteenth-Century Charms. This would either be fascinating or mind numbing but there was no way to tell. As you looked through the row, knowing it must be on this bookcase, dread filled you when you realised that it had been lovingly places on top of the bookshelf by some uncaring overly tall person. You huffed, wondering if it was worth it to ask madam Pince for assistance but unfortunately, she still hadn’t forgiven you for your first-year prank. Usually this would be a great chance to practise your magic, but you had left your wand in your school cloak like a first year so instead you pointlessly tried to reach up, but your fingertips only grazed the second highest shelf.

“Need a hand?” You jumped at the voice, spinning round to see an overly tall person smirking with his own book bag over his shoulder. His hair was fiery and dishevelled like he had been flying a broom upside down and backwards. His shirt was untucked, crinkled, and you wondered if it was baggy by choice or just the only one long enough to fit.

You hated asking for help, despised it even, but desperate times. You stepped back from the bookshelf, gesturing towards it to let him in but he just cocked an eyebrow. You sighed before looking at him in his annoyingly cute face, “Please can you pass me the book?”

“Of course, I can,” he said, stretching up to reach the shelf that was even almost too high for him. He held the book in his hands with a triumph smile, ignoring your outstretched hand and keeping the book for himself. “Say thank you,” he said, his smile never wavering.

“Thank you,” you said, trying to reach out and snatch the book only for him to pull it away and read the cover, “Hey! I said thank you,” you protested.

He ignored you for a moment as he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, scanning over it briefly before looking back to you, “You any better at sharing than you are at waiting?” The stranger asked but the longer you looked at him you wondered where you knew him from.

You internally groaned when he held up the piece of paper out to you, seeing the same reading list you had been given. “I suppose we can share,” you said, grabbing the book out of his hands at last, “As long as you can keep up,”

“Speak for yourself love,” he said with a grin as he moved to take the free seat at the desk, dropping his bag down before plopping into the chair, “I’m George by the way,” he said, watching you as you moved to sit down. “Do you have a name?” He asked as you pulled out your parchment and quill.

You rolled your eyes before looking up from your bag, “(Y/N),” you finally answered as George began to pull out his own supplies.

As you flipped through the pages, taking turns picking pages and copying down tables, you let yourself sneak a few glances between notes. Cute freckles scattered across with cheeks and his eyelashes were long enough to make you jealous. Each time George caught your eyes he wore that dumb little smirk but for some reason each time he smirked or his hand brush yours you felt your skin heat up.

“We should take a break,” George said, slumping back in his seat and yawning.

You looked at him, wide eyed, “Its due tomorrow,”

“We have time,”

“The library shuts in an hour,”

“Five minutes,”

“No,”

“Why not?”

“I said so,”

“That’s not a reason,”

“Is too,”

“You’ll fail,”

“Why do you care?” He said making you groan and screw your eyes shut.

“You’re almost done,” you sighed not answering his question, “You’ve only got the end of that paragraph and a conclusion,”

“I do?” George asked suddenly sitting up to look over his parchment, “Ha I didn’t realise I’d done so much,” he said with a dopey grin, “We should study together more often,”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop a smile, “We’ll see but for now we work,”

“Give you a deal,” George said, sitting back in his chair again making you groan and turn to face him, “i’ll do this if you go to Hogsmeade with me Saturday,”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” George said as he crossed his arms, “That’s the deal love. Take it or leave it,”

You rolled your eyes and forced a sigh despite the butterflies dancing in your stomach, “Only if you finish your essay and stop calling me love,”

“You’ve got yourself a deal doll,” Goerge said, sticking his hand out with a goofy smile. You rolled your eyes with a light laugh as you shook on your new deal. “See you at one,”

For some reason you never saw George around the next day, and you wondered where you were supposed to meet him tomorrow. When you realised, he wasn’t in your charms class you figured he must be in the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor class however you couldn’t spot him at either of their tables at lunch. When Saturday came and you stood at the gates waiting for him to show part of you wondered if it had been a cruel joke all along and soon laughter would ring out across the courtyard.

You turned to head back up to the castle after standing in the cold for ten minutes, but it had felt like an hour. Your eyes were trained on the ground, trying not to let your tears pool when you felt someone bump into your shoulder, “Watch it,” you said, turning around to glare at the culprit.

“Sorry doll,” George said with a dopey smile. He turned to wave off his friends, one of which you figured must be his twin he had failed to mention. “Hope you weren’t trying to ditch me,” he said, ignoring the wolf whistles from his friends.

You laughed in relief, hitting his shoulder, “You twat I thought you ditched me,”

“Never,” he said confidently as he started to walk back down to the gates, “You’re stuck with me now doll,”

Despite knowing that his friends were staring at you both the entire time you managed to enjoy your time in the three broomsticks. George was shocked when you were the one to ask to go to zonkos but could never say no the joke shop.

“We should swap out Trelawney teacups with one of these,” you joked, holding up a nose biting teacup.

“I like how you think love,”

“You’re not allowed to call me that remember,” you said but it came out as more of a laugh as the teacup tried to bite your finger.

George chuckled as he pried the teacup out your hands, “Sorry doll,” he corrected his mistake with his usual cheeky smile.

That cheeky smile was something you knew had to see again when you flopped down on your dorm bed. However, you realised you still didn’t know his house. The next day at breakfast your eyes scanned the great hall, looking for the fiery red head suddenly occupying your mind. Usually, you were so tired in the mornings you never looked up from your plate but now you found yourself staring across the hall. You knew he wasn’t a Slytherin since you would’ve noticed that hair in your common room. All the Ravenclaws sat slumped at their table, rings around their eyes from reading all night but no George.

That wasn’t shocking though, while you could tell he was smart George never seemed to care about that part of school. Hufflepuff seemed kind of fitting, he was a massive goofball after all. However, then your eyes fell on the explosion of laughs as the red headed twins entered the great hall with a gaggle of other late Gryffindor on their tales.

Gryffindor’s. Fuck. Your eyes shot back to your toast, and you wondered if the whole time he knew you were a Slytherin. You thought it was pretty obvious after all. Maybe George knew and just didn’t care. You spent the rest of breakfast internally scolding yourself for judging him so harshly.

George had agreed to meet up Monday night in the library, claiming it was a time to study but you had other intentions. As you finished your last class, potions which you usually enjoyed, you realised you were far too tired to walk from the castle’s basement to the dorms just to then hike to the library.

You were in the library first; at the same table you had met waiting for George to appear. Your fingers ran over the soft fabric of your tie, debating whether to shove it in your bag or not. As you pondered a loud hey broke you from your thoughts. You looked up as madam Pince shushed George from the other side of the library.

There he stood, his cheeky grin and warm eyes with yep, a Gryffindor tie hanging loosely round his crumpled collar. George cocked his head, his eyes locked on the emerald cloth, “Stare much,” you tried to joke but it came out as an awkward laugh, “You gonna sit or what gingey?” The words felt clumsy and as you looked at him you tensed, waiting for the rejection.

George shook his head, almost shaking himself out of it, “Its Mr gingey to you doll,” he said, quickly covering him up as he sat in what would become his regular snake. “A snake huh,” he said with a slight chuckle as he began to pull out his notebook.

“Problem Gryffindor?” You said, forcing the sneer in your tone encase a lion struck.

George turned to face you, eyebrow raised and a challenging look on his adorable face, “Only on game day doll,” somehow you managed to fall into normal conversation, even managing to study a little. “This is explaining why you’re so bossy,” George said under his breath as he noted down the table you said was important.

“I wouldn’t have to boss you if you knew what you were doing, love,” you said, smirking at the last word as you waited for George to finish the table. “I think we make a good pair,” you mused, but when George met your eye, you couldn’t help looking away, “For a Gryffindor I suppose”

“Agreed, Slytherin,” he said in a teasing whisper, leaning across the desk, “So is it true all Slytherins are evil?” He asked and you reeled back, ready to verbally assault him with all the venom you could conjure but George stopped you when he pulled a box out his bag, pressing a small pouch in your hand, “I went back Sunday for them cause I figured you’d know how to put them to good use,” you looked down at the Hiccoughs sweets he’d placed in your hand.

“Wont Fred be jealous?” You said as you took the sweets and opened the pack, “He’s your partner in crime and all,”

George laughed for a moment before smiling, “Don’t worry im sure he’ll understand,”

#george wealsey x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley #hp george #george wealsey imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #weasley twins

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ne0nic · 2 months

Text

Late Nights & Shorter Skirts

Nicholas D. Wolfwood x Fem!Reader x Vash the Stampede

MDNI

ִ ࣪𖤐 Word Count: 2.6k

ִ ࣪𖤐 CW: NSFW, Sex, Car Sex, Threesome, Dubious Consent, Sneaky Sex

ִ ࣪𖤐 No use of Y/N, Never use of Y/N

It's been an exhausting day, spent mostly on the run. Eating was a luxury you barely had time for. Now, the car is filled with an uneasy silence, broken only by Roberto's snores up front, seemingly indifferent to the day's chaos. The radio softly plays, its evangelical preaching ignored by the occupants. In the back, you find yourself sandwiched between the two formidable men – Wolfwood on the left and Vash on the right. Both wrapped in their own contemplative quietude.

The late hour extends beyond the appropriate time for driving, a result of being abruptly chased out of the last town by relentless bounty hunters, leaving you all restless. Meryl yawns from the driver's seat, gradually turning up the radio, likely in an attempt to stave off drowsiness.

The weariness and frustration are palpable among the occupants of the car. Yet, each person in the vehicle copes with this exhaustion in their own manner.

Wolfwood's calloused fingers graze over your bare thigh, a gesture both sweet and comforting. The touch is gentle, barely skimming your skin, and as he gradually adds more fingers, you feel a sense of warmth enveloping you. His fingers dip towards your inner thigh, his palm pressing against your skin with a hearty squeeze. Your hands slowly wrap around the arm pressed into your chest, and you find solace in resting your forehead on his bicep, savoring the comforting presence after a long day.

After a few moments you feel his fingers slip under your skirt, but he doesn't go much further. Simply continuing to run his fingers along your upper thigh. But that obviously doesn't last long as his hand slides up higher. His middle finger just barely brushes your panties when you grab his wrist to stop him. Your wide and curious gaze meets his. Wolfwood senses your questioning thoughts about the timing of his movements, not the movements themselves. He smirks, confidently reaffirming his touch and slipping his middle finger between your legs. The first initial dull touch to your clothed clit has you grabbing onto him tighter. He rubs shallow circles over your panties, awakening your senses just like he intended.

You press your lips into a fine line as he adds his ring finger. The two digits stretch downwards, pressing against your core that's already making your underwear damp, a fact he revels in.

Roberto snorts and stirs, causing Wolfwood to retract his devious fingers from you. He corrects his posture as you pull your skirt down. But it's momentary and soon Roberto is snoring again and everyone else in the car didn't notice the two of you. Wolfwood rubs the stubble on his chin, taking a glance at you. Even in the dim light he can see the unease on your face. A fire between your legs that he started, evident by the way you press your knees together in an attempt to smother it. But it would be such a waste. The thought of you, cheeks pink, head reeling, cunt dripping next to him wanting more, makes his cock flood with need. And, fuck, would he be stupid to pass it up.

You go stiff as you feel Wolfwood's fingers slip behind you. Between you and the seat he reaches down, fingers slipping past the band of your skirt. Your breath hitches as you realize what he's doing.

Vash hears the jolt in your breath and turns. He glances over your form, but other than your pursed lips and stiff back, you seem fine. On the other side of you Wolfwood rests his head in his hand, his elbow against the door, uncaring. Vash returns his gaze out the window.

Wolfwood's slick fingers pass the top of your panties and reach down further beneath your ass. From underneath you, without restriction his fingers finally reach your slick pussy. He runs his fingers through the sopping mess, emphasizing it, making sure you know he can tell how much you want this. And then slides his fingers inside.

You press the back of your hand to your mouth, hoping to cover the mewl that threatens to escape your lips. From this angle his fingers reach deep within you, stirring the need that boils through your core. He starts out gentle, just brushing the parts that have your head spinning. But soon it's clear that his teasing is only making it worse.

God, you're fucking soaked. His hand becomes covered in you, begging for something more, something harder. And, fuck, does he want to give it to you. But no matter how much his dick is starting to hurt he needs you to suffer, just a little bit. He needs you to feel what he felt all fucking day while you bounced around in this short ass skirt. Jutting your hips out every time you bent over even slightly. Jumping onto your toes every time Vash addressed you. Not to mention watching other men take even just a peek at what was his. He needs to make sure you know what you've done, what you've put him through. And engrave into your body just who it belongs to.

Your head is going fuzzy from pleasure and need. He's ruthless in the way he takes you apart with nothing to brace yourself with. Wolfwood is usually the rougher type when he steals you away in the night. But this time he's just brutal, doing everything to wear you down into a begging mess. You need more. You need him.

Your fingers trace over the thick bulge in his pants. Pleased to find the protruding line of his dick already hard and ready. Wolfwood drops his head at your touch. The sigh that passes his lips half full of relief and frustration. With confidence your hand moves towards his belt and pulls it.

Wolfwood snatches your hand, pulling it away. “That's dangerous, babygirl.”

“Keep messing with me and I'll show you dangerous.”

The subtle threat you spit back drives him. You're already so needy you're getting mouthy. Usually after saying something like that he'd shove you down, his hand around your throat, and fuck you hard enough that your eyes would roll back, but he can't, not here, and you know it. Instead, he whips out his cock, stiff and leaking. You press your lips together feeling his fingers slip around your neck.

“You want it so badly? Take it.” You glance around the car, making sure no one else is paying attention to you both. His fingers grip tighter causing your breath to hitch. “Don't you worry about them.” Swiftly and carefully you seat yourself in Wolfwood's lap, his cock between your thighs. He's quick to smooth your skirt over the top of you both. Then presses your legs together, smothering himself against your soaked panties. The tips of his fingers dig into your plush skin as his hips rut into you.

Ah shit. He's not gonna last. Fucking these thighs that have been testing his patience all day, he'll lose it.

It feels so good, the hard tip brushing against your swollen clit, dulled by your panties. Your pussy is clenching in need. You want to be filled, but Wolfwood is so damn cruel. You know he's upset about the skirt, but he was the one who made you wear it! And now he's punishing you for it!

His head smothers into your neck, trying to hide his groans and sighs of pleasure. In no time your thighs are slick with your combined juices and there's no chance of saving your panties nor the skirt. But he can't hold back anymore. He needs to feel you tight around him. Wolfwood reaches under the skirt pulling your panties to the side and adjusting his hips. Before you can even breathe he's thrusting into you. The both of you sent reeling.

You clench tight around him instantly, causing his teeth to bare. Your cunt flutters around him, your eyes rolled back body shuddering. Wolfwood smirks as his hands wrap around your torso.

“Did you just cum? Just from me putting it in?” He asks, his tone full of taunting.

“You prick,” you huff at him, only making his sadistic smirk grow wider. And he thrusts again, throwing your oversensitive body back into the fray. You clamp a hand over your mouth, begging that nothing comes out. He takes you, brutally and silently, knowing how to make you fall apart.

His rough fingers slide up your shirt, pushing the flimsy bralette out of the way to pinch at the pert nipples it did a terrible job of hiding. Your other hand takes his wrist, trying to stop him from making you any more sensitive. Fearing that you may be discovered soon.

His lips trace the back of your neck, kissing and biting until he's sure he's marked your whole shoulder. That way no one can even question who you belong to.

From the corner of his gaze he can see Vash. None the wiser about the inappropriate things being done just next to him. What a shame. It was Vash's idea to get the skirt in the first place. It's rude not to share with him the fruit of his labour.

Wolfwood turns your head, bringing your hazy eyes towards Vash. “Let him have a taste of you too.”

You purse your lips, but you can't deny, you want Vash too. It's a shame you were all chased out of town before you had a chance to mess him up. You'd been craving him all day, making it apparent in the way you'd hold your chest out to him with big sweet eyes, bouncing in the skirt he got for you. The way his cheeks would tinge red and he'd began to stammer would drive you mad with want.

You slip from Wolfwood's lap, your attention on Vash like a tiger stalking their prey. Your hands on the seat as you crawl towards— Without warning Wolfwood grabs your hips and shoves his cock in, throwing you forward into Vash.

The blonde, startled by your sudden weight looks down at your dazed, blissed out expression. His eyes widen as he turns, seeing Wolfwood smirk at him as he thrusts his hips forward again. Your arms wrap around Vash's neck loosely, his cheeks now burning crimson.

“Kiss,” you mewl to him. “Vash. Kiss.”

He's conflicted, but it's evident his turmoil is a losing battle when you look at him like that. His flesh hand caresses your face lifting it so he can slot his lips against yours. Vash covers your moans with his mouth as Wolfwood's cock reaches deeper inside you. Wolfwood grows even harder at the display of Vash crumbling to your needs before him.

Your hand rests on Vash's thigh as he kisses you breathless. Breaking the kiss you lean into his ear. “Mmh~” Your fingers brush over the tent in Vash's pants making his body go rigid.

“Shit. What are you doing?” Vash asks you. Your lips kiss just below his ear.

“Let me make you feel good too. Please?” you ask, desperate to feel him as well. Vash doesn't protest as you pull his zipper down and free his aching cock from the confines of his pants. Your hand wraps around him stroking him. His breath shudders at the contact making you smile, pressing kisses to his jaw.

You bend down eagerly, licking the tip, making Vash's thighs tense. And then you swallow him whole, relaxing your throat to take him all the way in. It hurts a bit but it's worth making Vash throw his head back, hand covering his mouth as he tries to hold back his own moans. His hand rests on the back of your head. His dick pulses in your throat while simultaneously Wolfwood thrusts undeniably harder.

You work in tandem, Wolfwood thrusts you forward and down onto Vash. The blonde becomes weak to the motions. His cheeks burning red as he looks out the window with glassy eyes, trying to hide his pleasure. But it becomes evident he wants more as his hips move upwards, trying to push himself deeper into your mouth.

Wolfwood grips your hips painfully tight and smacks his hips into yours causing your limbs to go limp instantly. He's getting close, and he wants you right there on the edge with him.

Little does he know just how ready you are. Stuck between your two favorite men, pleasing them with your body, it's enough to make anyones head spin.

Vash's hand tightens in your hair signaling his own approaching release. One more hard thrust has all of you cumming. Both men filling either side of you as your mind goes numb.

You float through your daze, feeling a simultaneous ache in your pussy and your throat. Your head rests against Vash's shoulder the blonde feeling like he's shaking beneath you. Once your head clears enough you look up at him. His hand pressed tightly to his lips and eyes glassy as if he's either in pain or going to cry. It alarms you so you lift your head only to see his dick still standing straight up, tip red and angry.

It wasn't enough and he's so hard, ready to burst, that it hurts. Luckily, you think you can manage another.

Shifting over to Vash you straddle his thighs his face showing surprise and imminent relief. You take his cheeks, kissing his lips feather light. “I've got you. You only need to ask.” You reassure him just as you sink onto his cock. The stretch burns in the wake of your second orgasm, making your head fall to his shoulder. Vash huffs and pants, the sensation immediately too much for his sensitivity. God, he needs you, he needs more of you. His arms wrap around your back, one gripping your waist the other your shoulder and he plunges you deeper onto him. Your body tenses at the depth of his cock within you.

“S-Sorry. I'm sorry,” Vash mutters into your ear. “I need you.” He snaps his hips upward and you realize you've made a grave mistake.

Vash loses his reason to the pleasure, quickly, and you start to loose consciousness with the way his tip hits your cervix. He pummels his need into you, holding your arms at your side so that you're helpless against him, not that you'd stop him anyway. The pain and pleasure mix so good you're growing addicted to the way every other part of your body turns numb.

Tears drip down your cheeks, as you beg him for release. Whether you're begging for his or yours no longer matters. You want this pleasure to peak so badly you can taste it. Or maybe that's just you biting his neck, trying to find something to ground yourself.

Vash's cock grows impossibly bigger inside you making silent cries fall from your lips as he snaps his hips once more throwing you both over the edge. He fills you up, a relentless amount, the kind that's determined to keep you, make you his forever. And all of it only makes your orgasm all the harder. Your face smothered into his shoulder, trying to silence yourself the best you can as Vash's struggled groans fill your ear. The sound itself so sexy you could listen to it always.

But your mind is getting fuzzier than before, exhaustion suddenly taking you. You slump against Vash, eyes already closed, sleep floating you away.

After a while Vash finally stops cumming. His hands rub against your back before realizing just how deep in sleep you are. Not that he can blame you. With great care he lifts your head, sliding you off his lap and into the seat next to him. Your head against his arm. Wolfwood fixes your clothes and brushes his fingers down your face, knowing the mess they'll have to deal with whenever they get where they're going.

One simultaneous thought in agreement between the three of you.

Skirts are dangerous.

#trigun stampede #trigun #trigun fanfiction #vash the stampede x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #vash x reader #wolfwood x reader #vash x reader x wolfwood

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