#this took longer than i expected. if it looks bad it's because i got tired | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theemporium · 1 month

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[1.6k] in which a flower bouquet arrives at your door that certainly wasn't sent by your boyfriend. (based off this request)

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In your defence, you had nothing to do with the prank.

It had taken a while for Luke to come around to the idea of you and Quinn being together. He loved you both, wanted nothing more than two of his favourite people in the world to be happy. But it still took some time to get used to the shift in relationships considering almost a year ago the two of you barely spoke.

But all things considered, he was doing much better than you expected—except for one thing.

Luke had deemed it necessary that his brother proved himself worthy of dating his best friend.

You thought he was joking. Quinn thought he was being dramatic. And Jack thought it was the funniest thing he had ever heard, meaning he totally enabled his younger brother into taking the whole thing seriously.

You had expected Luke to give his oldest brother a shovel talk. Maybe threaten him a little. Maybe even whine about it a little longer, because honestly he got over that phase a lot quicker than you expected.

You hadn’t expected a series of trials to be set up for your boyfriend.

It started off with random questions thrown at Quinn at the most unsuspecting times, ways for Luke to see if his older brother really knew you. He asked about your favourite colour, your favourite snacks, what you liked when you were sad and so many more simple questions that had Quinn rolling his eyes as he answered.

Then, it escalated to throwing random scenarios. Like what Quinn would do if you were stranded and he was halfway across the country. Or what Quinn would do if you had been abducted by aliens and returned with no memory of him. Or what Quinn would do if you decided to become a diehard Leafs fan.

It was annoying for Quinn, but ultimately it was harmless.

You hadn’t realised there was another test. You hadn’t realised you inspired it when you were on the phone with Luke a couple of weeks ago.

It became a staple in your relationship for Quinn to send you a bouquet of flowers. It was his little way of showing he cared, of showing that distance wasn’t going to get in between him showing his love for you. It was sweet and it made your heart swoon and he fucking adored the way you always called him as soon as they arrived, sharing your reaction to his chosen bouquet each time.

So, in all honesty, it was no shock to you when a bouquet had been delivered to your door that morning. You hadn’t bothered to look for a note because you knew who it was from, you knew that Quinn would probably walk out of your room and see the flowers and throw some stupid, cheesy line at you that had your body flushing.

“What the fuck?”

It never occurred to you that Quinn was never the one who sent them.

He stumbled out of your room around thirty minutes after you initially woke up, his eyes still tired and bleary from sleep. He was dragging his feet along the floor as he walked, a pair of sweatpants halfheartedly thrown on as he went off to find you and try to drag you back to bed. After all, it wasn’t often he got the chance to visit you during the season. Spending that limited time together in bed sounded ideal to him.

However, his body was wide fucking awake the second he walked into the kitchen and saw an unfamiliar bouquet of flowers sat on the counter.

You turned to look at him, your smile waning a little when you noticed his pissed off expression. “Jesus, I know you’re bad before coffee in the mornings but I’ve never seen you this grumpy.”

Quinn ignored the jab, nodding towards the flowers. “Who sent you those?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What? You did?”

Quinn frowned as he turned to look at you. “No, I didn’t. I chose tulips. Those aren’t tulips.”

You shot him a blank look, very well aware the huge bouquet of red roses were not tulips.

“Maybe you forgot what you chose,” you told him with a shrug, taking a step towards him so you could wind your arms around his waist. You felt him lean into the embrace, wrapping one arm around you as the other reached towards the flowers. “You can’t remember what you’ve chosen every single time.”

“I do,” Quinn said bluntly like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Of course he remembered which flowers he sent you. The boy spent more time than he cared to admit choosing a bouquet, trying to imagine which ones you’d like the most.

“Oh,” you murmured, but there was a cheesy grin making its way on your face as you placed a quick peck to his collarbone. “Petey was right, you’re such a sap.”

“I still don’t know how I feel about this newfound friendship between you and Petey,” Quinn grumbled when he noticed a note tucked between the stems of the flowers. He reached for it, a frown on his face as his eyes glanced over the note. “Who’s George?”

You blinked, pulling your head back. “I don’t know a George.”

Quinn’s expression darkened. “Well, some creep called George knows you and is now sending you flowers.”

“What?” You grumbled as you reached for the note.

pretty flowers for a pretty girl –george xx

You blinked. “What the fuck?”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed at the bouquet of flowers, his arm tightening around you like he was proving a point. “They are a terrible set of roses anyways. Red is so tacky. What the fuck does George think it is, Valentine’s Day? He has shitty taste.”

“I—” You turned to your boyfriend. “Some random guy has my address and is sending me shit, and your priority is his taste in bouquets?”

“I’m just saying,” Quinn grumbled with a shrug of his shoulders. “He isn’t gonna win you over with some measly roses.”

You shook your head in response. “Babe, you are—”

RING! RING! RING!

The two of you froze for a short moment, glancing at each other as your phone’s ringing continued to echo through your small kitchen. There was a moment of hesitation before Quinn reached for it, shoulders tensed like he was expecting to see some unknown number on your screen.

His body visibly relaxed when he saw it was a facetime call from Luke.

He handed you the phone, settling in behind you with his arms still wound around you like he was unwilling to let go of you anytime soon. He hooked his chin on your shoulder, leaning his head against yours as you answered the call.

“Oh. Ew.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled fondly at your best friend. “Is there a reason you’re calling me before ten? I’m surprised you’re even awake right now.”

“Just wanted to check in,” Luke said, his eyes narrowed like he was analysing something. “Hm. You look quite calm there, Quinn.”

Quinn startled a little, lifting his head. “Did you expect me not to be calm when you called?”

“I was hoping you’d be in some caveman-ish jealous fit of rage. I had the boys on standby to make sure you didn’t tear the college down.”

You blinked in confusion.

“Are you George?” Quinn asked, frowning at his youngest brother’s grinning face.

“No, Quinn, my name is Luke.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re a little shit.”

“What the hell, Luke?” You asked, sighing deeply at whatever your best friend was about to say. You already knew whatever the reason was—most likely encouraged by Jack, again—was going to be too much for your brain to handle this early in the morning.

“What? I told you I was testing him!” Luke said, like it was the only defence he needed. “The note was hidden in the flowers to make sure he would go looking for it! I wanted to make sure he was putting in the effort with you, if he actually cared about the weird flower thing or if he would just pretend like it was fine.”

You blinked. “You’re insane,” you said eventually, pausing for a short moment before you continued. “And it’s not a weird flower thing.”

“I’m going to kill you when I next see you,” Quinn said, glaring at his little brother who looked far too smug for his own good. “And I’m going to shove these roses so far—”

“Talk to you later, bye!”

You sighed, shaking your head as you let out a breathless laugh. You turned your head, finding Quinn still frowning and glowering, and gently turned his face so you could kiss him. “He’ll get tired of these tests eventually.”

“Will he though?” Quinn muttered against your lips, his nose brushing against yours. “I swear his next test will be to tattoo your name across my forehead.”

You snorted. “If you do that, I’m breaking up with you.”

“That’s rude,” he mused and, for the first time since he woke up, a hint of a smile was tugging on his lips. “What if I do it on my own accord? Maybe I just want to prove my love for you, baby.”

“I like your pretty face. I’d rather not be staring at my own name whenever I look at it,” you retorted, watching as a full smile spread across his face as he leaned down to kiss you again.

“Cute,” he murmured before he pulled back completely, a determined glint in his eyes that you knew well. “C’mon, get ready.”

Your brows furrowed. “What? Where are we going?”

“To burn those flowers and then grab breakfast,” he answered simply.

“Quinn—”

“I refuse to look at them any longer, babe, they are atrocious.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“It’s a Hughes thing.”

#quinn hughes #nhl #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

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adventuringblind · 9 months

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i’m a sucker for anything with protective charles, i feel like he would always be looking out for his gf or wife…ugh just the thought? 🫣

Car Crash and a Ferrari Mishap

Charles Leclerc x Driver!reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

Request: yes and I am also a sucker for this.

Summary: even though Charles knows she drives one of the fastest cars in the world, he can’t help but worry.

Warnings: car crash, injury descriptions, protective Charles, ferrari race engineers not doing their job

Notes: written in third person

Masterlist

It had become a typical thing for Charles to worry. He worried more than people thought he did. His lover, however, knee everything about it because he was mainly worrying about her.

He'd lost so many people in his life already. He struggled with separation anxiety and would panic every time she got sick.

It didn't matter that she's a driver for Ferrari. It didn't matter that she's one of the most talented athletes. He worried about her.

Their relationship was public. Mostly because Lando struggles to keep things tight-lipped. It was a great thing, though, as their team had found. Marketing and content wise, they did some things together that everyone adored.

Working in a male dominated field meant dealing with uncomfortable questions. Ones that.nade Charles' skin crawl. He didn't hesitate to jump in and answer them himself. Sometimes, he and Max would use as a way to banter with each other, effectively angering the reporter or journalist.

Races were always terrifying before he got in the car. He made sure that he saw her before every race and kissed her good luck. Reminding her not to be reckless.

This race happened to be ridiculously hot. It felt like he would melt to the floor every time he stepped into the sun.

He found her before the walked to the grid. "Mon amour, are you sure you can race like this?"

She'd already been feeling faint. She hadn't told Charles, but the team had been controlling her water and food intake. They wanted her weight exact, and she had been over that a few days ago.

He could tell she wasn't feeling well. He always knew when someway off. Regardless, she just smiled at him and kissed his cheek.

It took a few laps before she tried for water. Dissapintment flooding her veins as she got nothing.

"Is the water system not working?"

"Negative, keep pushing."

She sighs in frustration but keeps going. Pushing her hardest.

She was almost there. Fifteen laps left. Her mouth terribly dry. Her mind shut down more with each lap. She needed to finish.

She'd stopped sweating. Her body lacks the required liquids to do so. Everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Then everything went dark.

"Red flag Charles, red flag." Xavi announces from the radio.

Charles slows down the car. Hot and tired. He was excited to finish the race, and now he'd have to wait longer.

He pulls into the pits. He was expecting to see her there already. As far as he was aware, she was ahead of him.

He climbs out of the car, immediately asking about her. Nobody could give him a straight answer.

Five minutes and still nothing. Then the replay of the crash came on the screen.

Her body going limp in the car. Her foot is still accelerating down one of the straights. She hits the corner, and the car is spinning. Then nothing.

It looked bad. He knew it was bad. Words of frantic French and Italian leave his lips.

It takes Pierre, Max, and Lando holding him back to keep him in the pits. He was screaming at the race engineers. Asking how that could have happened.

He's kicking and screaming like a child as the boys drag him back to his room. His performance coach tried to get him to slow his breathing. Still fresh off the adrenaline from driving.

"I don't understand." He sobbed.

"She didn't have water." Andrea confesses.

Charles pauses. His brain fitting together all the peices. "Have they been trying to get her to lose weight?"

"Yes, which is odd, I was talking to her coach, who said she was already under what she deemed the lowest weight that was still healthy."

Oh, Charles was furious. It made sense now. Why she'd been so exhausted this past week.

He stormed out of the room. Angry words be yelled at every engineer.

Pierre was translating to the boys who don't know French. All of them also getting angry.

"I retire the car." Charles states. Grabbing his helmet and running out to the crash site.

They still hadn't gotten her out. The front of the car has been smashed in. They had cut the halo off, but her body was jammed at a weird angle. A stray peice of metal had found its way into her arm. Her neck already looked bruised.

Charles was a wreck at this point.

The Marshall's used him as a navigator. He was able to get into the cockpit and move things around. It felt like forever until he was riding with her to the medical center.

He pulled her helmet and balaclava off gently. The white fabric dotted with specks of red.

He held her hand and sobbed the entire ride.

He wasn't doing much better when people came by after the race.

He was teary-eyed and nauseous. The nurses kept refilling his water. It felt horribly ironic.

He knew he disappointed his fans. They wanted to see him race, and here he was. Crying over his lover in the hospital.

He just needed to see her.

Sebastian came to see him first. Though he was followed by the one person he really didn’t want to see. Seb and Mattia were talking in hushed voices. Seb looked two seconds away from punching him.

“I don’t want to see you.” Charles announced to his team principle.

“I came to see if she’s okay.”

Charles was going to unleash his anger on the Ferrari principal, but the doctor calling her name interrupted him.

“How is she.” Charles voice was definitely more panicked then he would’ve liked but it was to much effort to hide it and there were no cameras here anyways.

“The bones in her calves are crushed. The cut in her arm has been stitched up but we might need to open it up again to check for any missed metallic bits. Just to air on the side on caution and avoid any infections. She has a severe concussion and is severely dehydrated.” The doctor attempts to explain to him, but Charles is trying to stop himself from panicking. “For what it’s worth, it could have been much worse.”

Charles is brought back to earth by Sebs hand in his shoulder. “You should go see her.” His former teammate nods him along.

Charles sits on the uncomfortable plastic chair. His mind wanting to stay awake but his body giving out.

She looked so peaceful sleeping. Her chest rising and falling in even motions.

He almost missed her eyes fluttering open and her hand squeezing his. Charles was standing in a second, trying to stop her from moving to much.

She was panicking. Her heart rate increasing dramatically. Charles sat himself in the edge of her bed. His hand running across her hair.

"The race. Oh god- I'm so sorry."

"No, don't think about that. Just rest." Whoever told her to push so hard without water should be fired.

"Did you win?"

"No, but I don't care. I care that you're awake a safe."

She hums at him. The feeling of his hands bringing a calm sensation back.

"Charles, it hurts."

"I'll go grab a doctor. Don't try to move."

He's out of the room in a flash. Only coming back when he has a nurse in tow.

They up the pain meds and bring her some water. The IV fluids are already helping, but her mouth is so dry that she needs to drink it.

Charles is attentive. He barely leaves her side unless it's absolutely neccecary.

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louebel · 7 months

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Hi! Can I request fluff Law x fem!reader where reader is feels sick but tries to ignore it/do things on her own (she’s not used to ask for help) but as a doctor law easily can tell by the signs and it happens during their sea journey on the polar tang? Hope I’m not asking too much love ya 🥺

Feel free to add angst or anything else to your writing ^•^

this is super old and the only request i'll ever do (atm) since i had a wip— ANON SORRY IT TOOK FOREVER <\3 reader is gn since i used the second person and no description.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: trafalgar law × gn!reader 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 6,124 wc. a bit angsty, ends with fluff, emotional reader for the sickness, law is bad at emotions. this turned longer than expected, i hope it's decent xdd hit me up if there's any mistakes lol. supposed to be called windows of the soul,, divider by @ benkeibear my lord and saviour. 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: sickness overtook your body and worsened your already pitiful situation. law has been ignoring you and you have no idea why... but with how you felt, there was no way you could confront him at the moment.

scrub, scrub, scrub...

"... phew ..."

scrub... poof!

"Oh! — damnit — aargh..."

Cleaning today has been a nightmare. Never been so tedious.

Like, it was already uninteresting compared to all the other things you could do, but today it was ten times worse. You could bear it, seeking to make dusting shelves fun by humming some random tune to yourself. It was okay, something you had to do every once in a while. You could do it.

If only you weren't sick.

"Achoo! Achoo! — urgh... Achooo..! Damn."

You began feeling like this some days ago, or so you told yourself as you delicately hunched down to the floor, hoping to grasp the yellow sponge soaked in foam and water without experiencing excruciating pain. However, your hopes soon shattered as your back screamed in agony and your legs trembled with soreness, almost giving up on you.

Just the flu, you insisted, it would go away. A couple of sneezes mean nothing. You would feel better and all would go back to the ordinary.

... Oh, how wrong you were! And how stupid for not getting a day off.

You were capable, though! You counted on your immune system (it sounded heroic the first time you thought of that). One night is all you needed.

Or not.

"Ow, ow..."

You should've told your captain. Sure, it would cost your courage, pride, and dignity, but at least you'd be cured. You'd rather die than tell him you got sick because of the one herb he instructed everybody to avoid.

What's worse is that he's been rather distant, and he's unquestionably avoiding you. The way he shoots daggers — no, whole machetes in your direction every time you do anything, smart or not, is so clear even the crew can see it. And the worst part? You do not know why.

It had been like this for a while now, and you detested this whole plight with passion. Everything was okay between the two of you, you were sure of it! What did you do that spurred such a reaction? From one so dear to you?

Those sweet memories...

From new findings you excitedly presented him, to revealing himself, his past and adventures to you after almost a year of sailing. You knew everything about him. He knew everything about you.

So why? Why stop so abruptly? You didn't mind when he digressed about his newfound coins. When he murmured under his breath while he pored over medical books or mulled about a particular topic. When he stressed over labor and called for a brief break, where you or the crew would attend to him by delivering him a meal or helping when he wasn’t looking. He's so stubborn.

"Uurgh..."

From captain, to Law, to captain again. Not to mention how he deftly stopped you from hanging out with him. You thought he needed space at first. Maybe he was tired and had to rest for the next few days. That’s alright. However, your thoughts deteriorated as the days passed. But well, right now it's better if he doesn't see you at all. Nor the crew‌ — oh, the damn crew. Those two.

The "two" being the pair of nitwits that constantly stand by law's side and grin at you. Seriously...

You do not understand what Penguin and Shachi find so amusing about your situation with him. It's a tragedy, not a comedy. You love them both, truly, the minute you stepped into the polar tang they were the first ones to get you to open up and all, but goodness, you wish you could beat them for sitting there, cackling and clapping their hands while confiding some mysterious comments to each other when la — the captain, showed up in the area and walked past you with an unreadable gaze. He'd constantly salute you and the others with a bow of his head or more, depending on his mood.

Now? If he saw one inch of your form?

Sigh. His face always went red.

Why can't those two just tell you? Even Ikkaku seemed to know something you didn't. She was more subtle about it, though. Jean Bart wasn't slick either. You could see him smile from a mile away. Hakugan and Clione? Shachi and Penguin 2.0, except they hid behind Jean Bart. The rest pitied you instead, sometimes patting your back — sometimes shaking their head almost in disbelief. Oh, and Bepo gave you suspicious smiles! Every time he tried to say something to you, those two animal hat-wearing goblins silenced him. Did they just want you to suffer?

And if they did want that then their curses were working because even after grabbing the sponge (almost losing your temper as it slipped through your gloved palm twice) and straightening back to an erect pose, your head was still banging with fervor, muscles barely reacting.

If only you could snuggle with the fluffy, warm mink right now. A bitter sigh rushed past your lips at the thought.

Those two were just so mean. But Law was much meaner — the captain, the captain... Yes, the captain. That... That dummy.

You groaned and shook your head while forcing your wobbly arms to scrub the table, exhausted mentally with this never-ending train of thoughts and these fanciful fists leaving invisible bruises all over your poor body. Not to point out those hands pinching your brain like dough...

Just — you... Goodness, what was it he suddenly despised so much? The submarine felt like home. It was home, especially when he joined you. Now when he does, he — the aura he emanates is intimidating, yet everyone is either unaware of it or not affected by it.

What made him so resentful? You can barely say anything when he strides into the place, too panicked to learn how he would perceive you or talk to you if you go on. It's like you're back on step one, isolated, too scared to be yourself with your family. Because of one man who's supposed to be the head of it.

Being you felt like a sin when close to him, as if he preferred the private variant of who you are, and shunned your curious and spirited self. You could understand since he’s rather closed off and well, in a certain aspect you are too, but — did he not like you at all? Was it all an act to not offend you? He didn't seem to dislike your vivid reactions initially, or your foolish gestures when nearing a fresh island. You were often silent, smiling and listening to others converse, but when around your companions, you easily liked to open up since it was the only time you could do so. And they were more than just that. You entrusted all the members of the heart pirates. They meant everything to you. Even him, who stopped including you.

Ugh...

You wished it could all go back to normal.

This disease enjoyed fumbling with your previously scrambled sentiments. Law did mention it brought a high fever and emotional susceptibility. You didn't consider it'd be this severe.

"... Okay, I'm done."

You certainly weren't, with your bed unmade and furniture still dusty; floor imploring for a good wash. However, with the croaky voice you had paired with your runny nose, you doubted you could do more. Even if you did, it'd be better not to.

You peered down at the bucket full of water that probably smelled better than you at the moment, ignoring the small puddle beside it made by your poor handling sponges skills. Grimacing, you decided to leave it where it was in case carrying it back turns out to be a challenge. Hopefully, Ikkaku can provide you help later.

Looking around, your droopy eyelids dimmed your perspective and further provoked you as both exasperation and exhaustion mixed and boiled in your gut, room so messy it mirrored your current state. You didn't know what was irritating you more: the light of the lamp or the disarray you resided in.

Howling dejectedly, you turned and plodded to your bed, opening your arms, ready to throw yourself on the mattress. The more you sleep, the sooner you'll get better. Yeah, you're so brilliant. You closed your eyes and —

knock knock.

— reopened them a second after, remaining immobile for an extra few before glowering at your door, contemplating whether to go open it or linger to determine if they'd leave. Hmm.

You waited.

... knock knock.

Fantastic.

You gritted your teeth, drawing a profound breath to settle your nerves, haywire thanks to the hellish illness. They didn’t deserve to withstand your rage, but who knows, maybe by seeing your shape, they'll show sympathy and tell you. That could work.

Okay.

You sluggishly trudged to the door, not bothering to adjust your unbuttoned pajamas and faking a cheerful facade. You hoped your face didn't look too awful, but you couldn't care less right now.

Gripping and twisting the knob, you pushed it open, greeting them with the feeblest voice you've ever had, your sore nose making it unthinkable to inhale air. You rubbed the back of your head while doing so, eyelids closed to evade any light.

"Yo, Penguin, Shachi, how can I—" the words automatically came out of your coarse and blazing throat, opening your eyes a bit to look at... them...

Then you saw a tattoo. And more tattoos. No white, poofy boiler suits in sight.

By barely seeing light before, you tried giving yourself mercy, but now you were only slaughtering yourself to make sure the person in front of you was, well. Him.

Your jaw fell while your brows lifted in consternation, but shortly returned down thanks to your declining headache. Your pupils then scaled the mountain of mass before you and arrived at the peak. Another pair of eyes.

Cool, gray eyes. The ones that just a week ago welcomed you with compassion and comfort. Now they drive you to wither away from this world. Even if you look up to them. (Hehe, get it? man, you're so silly, wow.)

"—help … Captain. Uh, hello." and there goes your comfort zone.

You tried swallowing down air but got pounds of mucus down your stomach instead, curved posture closing up even more in his presence, ashamed to be seen in such a weak state, instantly regretting not managing your appearance as his gaze scrutinized you from top to bottom, probably displeased with how you presented yourself..

You looked everywhere but at him. He only looked at you.

Envy spurted from the plant’s toxins. How could he focus on one thing and have so much confidence to stare at someone without breaking eye contact at all? If you do the same for longer than two seconds, it feels like whoever looked at you has seen your entire personality, life, darkest secrets that you didn't really have, closest people to you — everything in poor words. The windows of your soul, perpetually agape.

How does he keep them closed? Why can't you seal them at all? Why?—

"—so care to explain the meaning of this?"

"Huh?"

You stupidly stared at him, blinking and glancing at his shoulders, then back at him to break whatever spell he put on you, not able to concentrate at all.

Barely could you see the annoyed expression on his face. You hoped he wasn't dealing with excessive stress. Making him feel worse was not your intention.

"I said, care to explain what this is? You look... terrible—" you cringed at that, "—and you haven't come out of your room since this morning. Do you have any idea what time it is?" His scrutinizing tone made you want to crawl under your blankets and stay there forever, but his patronizing gaze didn't let you.

You could merely fidget with your fingers and glance back at the floor to relieve your worries, which mixed with pain, fatigue, and dirtiness. You called for sleep so badly.

"I'm—I'm sorry, Captain. I, uh, I didn't—" sniff, "—mean to skip my duties. Sorry."

His brow creased in suspicion at your raspy voice and poor shape.

"Is that so? Look at me while you say it." if his words weren't menacing enough, his tone was too. He knew you couldn't do that. Especially now.

"Uh..." you unconvincingly whispered, continuing to play with your fists, until rubbing your nape once more, shuddering at how chilled your hands were compared to it.

Your actions were, again, spotted by him, and if one more thing occurred, then he'll be correct.

"Well? I'm waiting."

"..."

Sighing exasperated, you raised your head to look into his pupils once again.

Unbeknownst to you, he already confirmed another of his impressions while taking a further view of your sullen visage.

"I, uhm, overslept, Captain. That — that happens sometimes, yeah? Sorry about that. I'll—I'll..." stopping for a moment, you squinted your eyes and scrunched your nose while the man before you attentively fixated his stare on your frame and—

"Achooo!" —covered half of your face whilst he recoiled back at the loud sneeze you let out, not expecting it at all. He blinked, then you sneezed again, and again. Streak of three.

If your voice and glossy eyes already told everything to the doctor, the continuous sneezes only reinforced his thesis.

You exhaled haplessly as he sternly said your name.

"You're sick." his firm and coherent words could not be fooled. Your fate was sealed.

"...Yeah." at this point, you didn't care. He was gonna scold you, nothing you could do about it. You could only hope he'll do that after you're cured because right now, you could barely stand still without shivering. You were sure if he wanted to do something he would have already, so he definitely will have a talk with you after you're healthy.

"Why?" you've been proven wrong so many times this morning — afternoon. Evening? That you don't know what's gonna happen next.

You stared at him numbly, almost done with everything.

"What do you mean 'why'? I don't, I don't know. Probably our... Ugh, our last stop, isn't that obvious—"

"Not that. Why didn't you say anything? To the others? To me?"

If it wasn't for your head beating incessantly and the aching of your tendons ruining everything, you would think this was a dream.

You kept gawking at him like a goldfish. His timbre wasn't as stern as it regularly was. It was a bit, just a tad bit lower. Like, barely. His eyes were softer, and if you met the man yesterday, you wouldn't be capable of identifying his mood. It's because you knew him for so long that you could distinguish it.

"I..." you mumbled talks under your breath, awfully feeble to maintain the discussion, barring your eyes and hitching away when Law planted his freezing hand on your forehead. You fussed in protest, although it didn't last long.

"You're cold... Off."

"My hands are perfectly fine. You're burning," he interrupted you, stating the obvious. But you were far too deep to listen, fatigued.

"Yeah... M'sorry." you nodded while deliberately looking down in shame, almost dropping to the ground out of fatigue. Everything seems hazy, the pressure in your skull fading, while the breaths you took were meager.

Something skimmed over your shoulder and nape — ah, his fingertips — palm carefully tilting your head back up. Your mouth hung open, and you attempted to focus on your captain's facial features and the iconic hat to not fall asleep.

"It's fine." But his gentle approach and mellow maneuvers set you in a soothing trance, where you couldn't do anything other than auscultate him.

It’d be an exceptional moment to speak up about these last days, his odd actions.

"It... It is? You, ah... You're not..." but you struggled to do so, chest too heavy to speak. He narrowed his eyes, striving to make out what you were saying, but it was all incomprehensible to him.

"I'm not?" he urged you to proceed, getting closer — he felt warm. Wasn't he cold some seconds ago? Ah, he’s draping his coat over your shoulders, so, so cozy, — and holding you as if you were glass. Why was he holding you? It felt nice, undoubtedly nice. Oh, you were going to fall, you think.

“Hey—hey. It’s okay. I got you. I got you.”

Cradling you in his arms, Law cursed and crouched down, snaking an arm under your knees and sweeping you up, a short "there" slipping from his tongue, keeping you close to his breast. Naturally, you snuggled close to the source of heat, losing consciousness, unaware of your surroundings, his distress, and jogging to the infirmary.

“Hey. Keep your eyes open. No, no, open—yes, yes, like that. Good job. A bit more, then you can go to sleep, alright?"

While nodding lazily when he said your name again, you curled up for more warmth, and he mellowly followed your movement, hefting you up and pressing his lips upon your forehead, his frown deepening at how high the temperature was. He needed to administer medicine quickly.

"Law …'m sorry if I smell."

He scoffed. Thinking of such idiotic things was exactly like you, sputtering them out so bluntly. Rolling his eyes was natural at this point.

"That's my last concern. We'll think of your scent and hygiene later. Don't speak. Shh."

So stupid, so stupid. He should've confronted you ever since you left the island. He should've. It's been a recurring pattern these days. He couldn't see you because of his work but spoke with the others at breakfast, lunch, dinner... They all grew concerned about your distance. Uni shared that it began right after the departing... He knew something wasn't right with you, he could feel it.

Back in that inhabited location, he quickly took note of your drooping posture and fatigued breathing. He wanted to ask about it, but the following days, you acted normal, and Law thought you were queasy because of the heat.

Then he got busy checking on the crew's documents, medicine supply, the damn broken scope Hakugan sadly reported, bounties, news — and something else. He managed to give a check-up to everyone but you. It was mandatory after leaving an island.

With you evading him and him doing the same, this happened. Great. He could only hope it wasn't contagious.

... Wait.

He gritted his teeth in sour realization — Not once has he seen you in the halls or dining hall. No one mentioned you, either. Have you eaten anything at all? Oh, you imbecile.

He palmed your skin through your suit, easing your laments and whimpers, walking through the hallways of the Polar Tang and reaching the infirmary. Kicking the door open while lulling you a bit, shushing and fluttering his eyelids at your sick and quaking form.

"There we go. Shh, I know, I know, it's awful."

Uplifting the blankets, he quickly covered you and began searching for his equipment, rustling and metal clicks tangling with your whines.

"U- uuh... W- where..?"

"I'll be there in a second. I'm here."

As he said that, he quickly came back to you, already stirring medicine in a cup. He had to give to you before you blacked out or fell asleep. Sliding a hand under your back, he carefully pushed you up, gaining a groan from you; you sounded so tired. Tipping your head forward, he brought the rim of the cup to your lips. You were delirious, could barely see or feel, but managed to follow his direct instruction to "open". The first glass was tasteless, fresh... water.

The second tasted awful.

"E—eugh..."

"A couple more sips and we're done. Come on, you're doing good."

Once you drank it all, with a small praise from Law, he gently laid you back down, about to check your vitals. He knew you were in no condition to do as he instructed, it would be all him. Idiot, idiot...

Just looking at you made him guilty. He never saw you this awful. However, what truly pushed him were your next phrases.

“Do you feel better now..?”

Low and dry, they all were. He halted his movements, his hands in the bag, shifting his attention to you.

Your question puzzled him.

Feel better? Him? He was fine. Perhaps you thought the disease was contagious? No; you would've phrased that diversely. His forehead creased, slightly tilted to the side.

"What?"

“I … I missed you."

And as clear drops cascaded down your cheeks, his limbs froze, a bittersweet ache striking his chest.

"I—I thought I did something wrong … I’m sorry … Should've told you. 'M sorry ... really...”

Shit.

“No, no, don’t be. It’s alright, don't—don't speak. You did nothing. Shh...”

And if you stayed conscious for some more seconds, you could've seen those severe pupils mitigate. The windows of his soul open up; the "stern" gaze he preserved for you withering in an instant at your vulnerability.

All he wanted to do was clear that up. When, now..?

“I—I’m the one that should’ve apologized, damn it…”

"Aargh..."

Warm.

"Mmh..."

It was very warm. Pleasant.

"Hn..."

The boilersuit felt different. Heavier, and not … poofy. Hm.

The pillow was so nice, though...

You sought a better position under the comforting and amiable regime of your blanket, squinting your glistening eyes as if sand had struck them; eyebrows knitting in distaste and discomfort, choler cramming up your insides — but not for long, extremely achy and sleepy to lament.

Shouldn't it be easier to relax now that you are tired? Shifting left and right left your muscles throbbing. The peace you could achieve in your dreams was all you begged for. But no, you just had to rise two more times in the span of minutes or hours.

When you woke up the third time, someone surprised you. He was perching on a chair near the infirmary's bed, head, presumably about to doze off. An encyclopedia of vegetation and exotic environs sat in his palms and dotted jeans, the cover made of green-coloured leather, firm to the touch.

He looked peaceful.

"... Law?"

Your lashes fluttered at the fierce shudder that rocked his frame, the textbook about to fall, his eyes snapping open and rapidly darting up to you.

"Oh. You woke up. Good. Good evening."

You were mad at him. You were mad at him.

His lips were indubitably moving. Whatever he was saying, you were not listening. Something about being out for hours, but you were too out of it to pay attention.

And looking down at your body, your eyeballs almost popped out of your sockets at the sight of... Not your boilersuit.

"I'm in my pajamas?"

"And — hm? Oh. I changed you." Pause. "With my devil fruit, of course. Obviously. You were way too hot in it."

"..."

Pause number two.

"I'm hot?" You bluntly said,

"Not in that way." And he quickly retorted, bashful. You immediately got gloomy.

"Oh..." You and Bepo were alike. He couldn’t help but sweatdrop.

"No, no, no, don't — you look fine. That's not what I meant."

A hoarse chuckle ripped from your sensible larynx, a noise that he hadn't heard in a while. His back loosened at your jovial note, the pressure applied on the envelope of the manual lessening.

There was a superb illustration of the flora you accidentally whiffed.

"You inhaled it, didn't you?"

... Silence followed. Then a sigh.

"A simple allergy with a sore throat and emotional instability in the first phase caused by the pollen, weakened muscles and headache in the second, and heightened senses, nausea, and worsening of the body in the last one. You felt them all."

Quick and precise, each symptom he mentioned appeared throughout the weeks you boarded on the Polar Tang. He hit the mark. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you nodded sheepishly, feeling hot in your cheeks.

"Y—Yeah."

"I thought I mentioned dodging those peculiar red flowers. I don't expect you to recall the name, but to avoid it. Thankfully, you only inhaled its pollen, or else you would've been in this bed the moment we departed."

"O—oh... That bad?"

"No, not really. The symptoms would've developed quicker, but nothing dangerous. Perhaps you would have slept over two days, as all cases do when encountering this allergy," He narrows his eyes at you, shutting the book and crossing his long legs, his foot jouncing. "Not at all fatal, only worrying when the patient in question mentions nothing about the symptoms and overworks themselves.”

“Hey—”

“You're fine."

A small huff left your lips, nodding lazily. Nothing was uttered after from both sides. Occasional groans from yours. Only then he spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"..." The answer was simple. He immediately found the illness yet couldn't pinpoint the cause of this? It was almost ironic. Your quietude wasn't taken well.

"Well?"

"... You ignored me. You made it clear."

And he was faking ignorance. That glance, his attitude. You knew him too well, but had no energy to call him out.

"I—I didn't."

"Don't play coy, Law. Did I do something? Even the others know. Penguin and Shachi told me. I—"

You paused when he raised his hand, glancing at it in confusion, then back at him, twice or more. He sighed and dropped it back on his thigh again, using his other one to rub his temple in distress.

"You did nothing. I don't know what... Shachi and Penguin said," You tilted your head at his peculiar manner of quoting them. "But I've got nothing against you."

He stopped rubbing and lifted his head to check on you again and you were unsure of what to say. His brows wrinkled the tender skin of his forehead, severity, and minor unease painting every fiber of his appearance.

You just... didn't know.

"Really? Then why those weird stares? Why leave the room the moment I come in? I mean." you flailed your hands around, looking everywhere as if you could find an explanation. "You never behaved this way, Law, not with anyone. I... It was fine before, right? Let me ask again, did I do something wrong?"

"Of course not!"

At his hasty exclamation, you blinked, uncertain why he became as rigid as stone. Palms back on the blanket, you awaited an elaboration of his thoughts, observing his adumbral face to detect any key to figure out what caused him to alter his ways with you. However, his hat, which you've always appreciated for its fluffiness, turned out to be an issue. Those eyes you've grown so fond of refused to meet yours.

You just couldn't get it. The surrounding air grew an intoxicating no romance book would mention, one that did the contrary of setting your heart aflame, that poor muscle of yours.

If he explained, it would've been easier.

"Okay, 'of course not' ... Sure—"

"We are not having this conversation. You need rest."

He briskly cut you off, and your heart felt constricted. The words felt bitter upon both of your tongues, so bitter and revolting, they made his jaw clench and your eyes water. You weren't having it. Absolutely not.

"I feel better now, thank you, and I say we're having this right here." You pushed, ignoring how he clenched his tattooed fist.

"No—"

"Yes, Law! I don't know what I did, but if it bothers you, shouldn’t you tell me? There are things we can all miss."

The pang in your brain was still active, and you had no patience nor strength to argue. Either he spoke up or you'd go straight to sleep.

"I... You did nothing that bothers me."

His speech was almost a whisper, a low rumble, and were you in your regular state, you'd feel sad to see him like this. Law had no trouble speaking up— perhaps with apologies, or admitting to be wrong when in the midst of a conversation. Maybe something genuinely bothered him. But he'd tell you, wouldn't he? He had to.

But you weren't the only one who had to consider the consequences. He also had to do his part.

"... And?" you encouraged him, to gain something, something that would lead you both to that damned thing you were both chasing, that ounce of understanding.

“And—and what?" alas, it served another wave of blistering dissatisfaction down upon the membranes of your boiling stomach.

He couldn't be serious.

"... Whatever. I'm going to sleep."

"What?"

You detested how you were feeling, a volcano of passions, the pounding in your skull, and the heat, and the ludicrous, nagging insecurity, all these wretched, gristly sensations shoved in your mouth and scraping your gullet, such a relucting and squalid dish, contaminating your palate and inflaming the gums of your teeth.

But all Law could see was how your eyes moistened and reddened, the crinkles at the corners of your mouth, the contracted tissues above your nose.

You couldn't feel how his heart plummeted, either. Again, he caused you to cry.

"Hey... I—"

"No, Law, no! I said leave! You ignored me for almost two weeks and now—now you're just..!"

Perhaps you were being a bit too "dramatic" for something you could solve with a modest exchange, something that, compared to all the obstacles you and Law went through, was a sheer grain of dust in your shoes. Yet you erupted for the frustration, the plant's effects and that nameless thing you'll bring in your grave, for if he knew, he'd probably pity you.

Maybe, just maybe, he should've kept ignoring you. If solely to dim that warmth. The glow in your eyes that only sparked with him.

"I don't mind if you need time. I don't mind if you're busy or whatever, that's obviously fine! But can't you tell me? Is it that hard? Instead of treating me like a stranger? Just—just, just leave..."

Your snotty voice seemed ridiculous, resounding through the infirmary alongside your sobs and sniffles. Vision tarnished by your tears, staring at the ceiling with resignation. It alarmed Law, whose emotions were already scattered; unnerved, anxious.

He couldn't take seeing you like this. He couldn't.

"That’s not it! I... I just — I..!" His broken explanations fell as your cries didn't stop; spasms traveling through your frazzled nerves. He swore under his breath, getting up and coming to you, standing close but so, so distant. His fingers jerked, impatient to wipe your tears, to calm you down, to assure you everything was alright, and this was all on him.

"What..?" you meekly whimpered, gazing at him as he appeared in your sight.

"I, I..!" if only he could express himself. You'd figure out. If only he could, without buckling and tearing apart at the weight of his own feelings.

"... You what, Law?"

It was tough to see with all those tears coating your scleras, but... His lips quivered. His jaw tensed.

His hands craved yours.

"I like—I like you!"

... You wondered if illusions were part of the symptoms. Your eyelids were all but relaxed. Popeyed.

"There. I said it. I mean it. Seriously. I—I think I love you."

You could feel his frantic grip, slightly pulling the blankets in his direction, tense as him. You've never seen Law so … jittery with you. Perhaps when he slowly spoke of his past, or when his plan failed.

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I... I was confused. I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't... No, okay. I, I love you, but you don't have to reciprocate, really. ‌I just wanted to clarify that I wasn't—"

This was different, however. Not the same vulnerability, nor agitation. That teetering edge coating his sayings, not at all close to those instances.

"... Law."

"—ignoring you, I mean, I was, but I just couldn't face you, you know? I didn't know how to act—"

That glow, those feelings. The twinkle in his eyes Bepo mentioned when you spoke of something that fascinated you, that rare grin on his lips, and that sweetness, the swelling in his chest, and the red, and the breath of fresh air, and the intoxicating romance books loved to talk about...

Those tints blooming in his cheeks. The faint relaxation of his defined brows. How he covered his pretty, vulnerable self.

He's no different from you. Oh, oho ho, no, he wasn’t. Only now did you realize.

"Law."

"—but I missed you so much, I missed your presence, being with you, I—"

Your heartbeats matched.

"Law!"

You understand now. The definitive yell induced him to quit his blabbering, and eventually, he found your gaze. Those windows were not locked at all. Not marginally, not halfway. They were fully open. You could see him.

"It's... the same."

It was all you could utter. His jaw loosened, and you could recognize his wide, stormy irises.

"Huh? Wh — what?"

"I feel the same way, Law. I—I love you too."

Yours were open, too. They always were- yet he never acknowledged what dwelled inside. Two fools you both were.

"... Oh..." and a breathless whisper was all he could offer.

The silence dissipated. A delightful warmth occupied your rib cage. The pressure was gone.

All is back to normal.

"If... If you weren't sick. I'd kiss you." He mumbled, and his lips looked more luscious than ever. He shouldn't have said that. Now it was even harder.

"P—pfft... Of course, of course. Can you come closer, at least?" you pouted, giving him the best puppy eyes you could muster. “Pretty please?”

"... Fine. It's — not contagious, anyway," he huffed, his cheeks a light pink, and he sat on the margin of the infirmary's bed, hustling just a tad bit closer...

Closer...

"Closer?"

"Alright."

His ears grew pink at your giggles. Your fingers graced each other, "DEATH" entwined with you. His hands were lukewarm. Long, slim, calloused in some places, but also tender to the contact. His metacarpals were partially discernible, defining the shadows. He took care of his nails, ensuring they were cut short, although they appeared slightly, just somewhat lengthier than usual. Not considerably, however; they were still short.

How you missed holding it.

"Sorry, by the way. About everything." Squeezing his hand, you attempted to show him what it meant to you. He squeezed it back, brushing the top of your hand with his thumb, a pensive and solemn look on his face.

"No- I should apologize for not saying anything sooner. I neglected and avoided you. I … I don’t know what to do. You know I’m not the type for relationships.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, but weren't as worried as Law. You'll wait. Nothing would change.

“Mmm. I can wait for you, Law.” Saying it seemed to take him off guard, as if he hadn't thought about it. Or, rather, didn't expect you to propose it. In his head, it seemed silly because it's him. If you were to ask in his place, he'd also wait.

He felt lighter.

“… Truly?”

“Yeah. We can figure it out together. Like we always did. I’ve loved you for years." He inhaled deeply, your words buttery and sweet. "I’m fine with waiting longer.”

Thinking you wouldn't accept, if he asked, was stupid of him too. Of course you would. Of course. With another squeeze, he nodded, and turned his head away from you a bit.

His eyes glistened.

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

You smiled, too, saying nothing in return.

He can take all the time he needs.

After some days, everything went back to the typical routine. The first thing you did was knock Shachi and Penguin's heads, (supported by Ikkaku) and since Hakugan and Clione were on duty, you couldn't do the same for them.

You puffed your cheeks and enjoyed chewing the well-earned treat you snagged from the kitchen, reorganizing boxes since this morning.

"Tired?"

Peeking at the door, a smile adorned your mouth at the sight of your captain leaning on it.

"Mm, there were a lot of them."

"You could've asked for help. You know I don't want any of you to strain yourselves with tasks."

"I had it. Don't worry. Although..." another bite. "I miss it."

"Hm?" he crooned, tipping his head forward. "Miss what?"

You gazed into his eyes, "Miss getting pampered by you when I was sick." lovingly observing how they enlarged a bit before returning to the stoic stare he always wore, swaying his head to dismiss your remarks. The chambré tint on his cheeks was as clear as day, like his light smile. Not that you'd tell him, he'd immediately disregard it.

"... Meet me at my office once you're done."

As he turned his back to you, his boots making clicky rumors with each step, your smirk amplified... After all, who could wait to get coddled by none other than their favorite captain?

#law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece imagine #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x you

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dark-fics-4-you · 1 year

Note

I have a request!! Rafe whining about reader breaking up with him so when he got to her to sleep with him, he traps her by impregnating her 🤭

Desperate Measures

Warnings: dubcon, smut, toxic relationship, intoxication, drugs, forced pregnancy, unprotected sex

Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Everyone had told you that he was bad news, but it took him threatening to slash all of your tires for simply talking to a male friend for you to finally come to terms with the fact that that relationship just was not going to work.

Rafe Cameron had given you the world, in the beginning. Spoiling you with gifts and expensive dates was the norm. He was a man obsessed, taking up all of your free time. At first, you thought it was cute, after all it was nice to feel fawned over, especially by someone as handsome as Rafe.

You loved the way he would look at you, like he was holding himself back from pulling off all of your clothes, even when you were in public. The clench of his jaw and the way his eyes would darken when you looked up at him from under your lashes excited you.

The honeymoon phase only lasted so long before Rafe’s true colors began to show. He was incredibly jealous and controlling to the point that you had felt suffocated. Not to mention the drug use.

In the beginning, you really had fooled yourself into thinking that he would change for you. That lasted for about 2 days, before it was back to lies and you knowing what the glazed look in his eyes meant, even though Rafe denied it and called you crazy.

It was hard to accept that he would always love drugs more than you. You really didn’t want to believe it, but time and time again, he proved to you that you would always be his second priority.

The break up went about as well as you expected it to, which was awful.

Rafe argued back at every reason you gave, but you both knew that you were in the right.

Rafe’s lip curled, cold eyes narrowing as he hurled insults at you, words that at that point were not unfamiliar to you. ‘Bitch!’ ‘Slut!’ ‘Cunt!’ You were so used to those words coming from him that they no longer had power over you. Still, you couldn’t get out of there fast enough, eventually just standing and turning to leave, cutting him off mid sentence.

You gasped when you felt his fingers digging into your forearm, jerking you back against him.

“Y/N, don’t fucking walk away from me when I’m talking to you, alright?” Rafe snarled in anger, and you snapped your gaze from where he was gripping you to his eyes, fear emanating from your panicked expression.

“Rafe,” you began shakily, “let go. Just let me go.”

He didn’t say anything, just glaring at you and breathing heavy. Slowly, he released his hold on your arm, never breaking eye contact. His stare was blank, but you could see his upper lip twitching slightly in anger.

“You’re going to regret this, Y/N. You don’t even know how much you’re going to regret this.” His even tone gave you chills, and you quickly rushed out of the Cameron house, nervously glancing behind yourself to make sure he wasn’t following.

You drove a good distance away from his house before you pulled over to the side of the road to cry. You thought that breaking up with Rafe might have gotten him to leave you alone, but you should have known better.

Rafe was not the type to give up easily, and he was used to getting everything he wanted.

You just knew that you needed to stay away from him, because you really didn’t have any idea what he was capable of.

__________________

Rafe was fucking pissed.

He had been furious the last five days. That was how long it had been since you had told him you couldn’t be with him anymore.

He knew that he had made mistakes, but doesn’t everyone? Rafe had only tried to make you his only priority, and that made him the asshole?

No goddamn way.

Topper nodded along as Rafe rambled in a coked out haze. You had come up in every conversation he had had since the breakup. Topper was starting to get tired of it already.

“You know what you should do, Rafe?”

“What?” Rafe, surprised to hear Topper’s response, looked at his friend with an eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

“You should remind her how good she had it when you were together,” Topper said with a sly smirk and a snicker. “That’s what I do when Sarah starts getting snippy with me.”

“I don’t even know how or when I’m going to see Y/N next, how the fuck am I going to pull that off?” Rafe rolled his eyes before he leaned over the table to snort another line.

“I mean, she’s still friends with Sarah, right?” Topper looked at Rafe with a raised eyebrow. “She might be going to her birthday party.”

“Birthday?” Rafe asked, perking up.

“Dude, how do you not know Sarah’s birthday? She’s probably throwing the party at your house.” This jogged Rafe’s memory and he recalled Sarah had set up plans to have Ward and Rose out of Tannyhill all weekend.

He gave a mindless response, but his thoughts were racing. Rafe was supposed to be going to that party with you. But instead you’d be by Sarah’s side, or maybe even, unthinkably, on the arm of some other guy. The very thought made him seethe with rage. Rafe knew there was no way he would be able to hold himself back from punching anyone who tried to get in between you and him.

But how could he make you realize that you belonged with him? Rafe couldn’t imagine that you would willingly stay with him, you had made that clear when you ran away from him after breaking his heart.

Rafe was sure you weren’t thinking straight. You didn’t give him the chance to prove to you that he could change. He wasn’t allowed to show you how much better he could be.

There had to be some way he could prove to you that he was all in.

_______________

You swayed your hips in time with the music, somehow capturing Rafe’s attention in a sea of moving bodies. He could tell you were a few drinks in, the flush in your cheeks was obvious to him.

Rafe’s tongue darted out to wet his lips at the sight of your low cut top and short skirt. You looked so good, and Rafe couldn’t help but think about the last time he had seen you wearing that skirt, and how quickly he had gotten you out of it.

The blond leaned over the crowded countertop in front of him, bringing a rolled up dollar bill to his nose before snorting the neat line of coke in front of him.

Even though it was Sarah’s party, it was a Kooks only event, and Rafe made sure of that. He would throw out anyone who didn’t belong.

You had spent most of the night with Sarah and your other mutual friends. Rafe had been silently watching you, just to make sure no guys came up to you. He considered himself lucky for that, because he didn’t really want to cause a scene by breaking someone’s nose at his sister’s birthday party, although he definitely would have if he needed to.

Rafe couldn’t understand why you didn’t see how much he cared for you, how much he could give you.

Eyeing the way the fabric of your outfit clung to your skin, which was now glistening with a thin layer of sweat and various sparkles that had rubbed off on you from people’s clothes, Rafe couldn’t stop himself from wandering how it would feel to kiss your neck and smell your perfume. The almost sheer fabric covering your chest was perfectly accentuating your figure, and the memory of your tits bouncing as Rafe fucked you hard into the mattress flashed through his mind.

It was too much to handle, and Rafe pulled his gaze away from you, taking a large swig of the drink in his hand.

He couldn’t lose you to someone else. He wouldn’t let that happen.

_____________

Despite what you had said to reassure Sarah that you would be fine, you couldn’t lie to yourself and say that being in the Cameron house again wasn’t weird as hell to you.

You had spent many nights just upstairs, usually in Rafe’s room. Being back in the lavish mansion had brought up a lot of memories and feeling in you.

As much as you tried to just lose yourself in the music and have fun, it wasn’t working that way. So you decided the best solution to this would be to get drunk.

Topper had kept your cup full all night, popping back in and out to check on you and Sarah, refilling your drink even when you insisted you wanted to slow down. The fruity drinks Sarah had made proved to be much more alcoholic than you thought they were.

You knew that you could only hold off your bladder for so long, eventually yelling into Sarah’s ear that you were going to go to one of the upstairs bathrooms, knowing you could get a little bit of quiet up there too.

You pushed your way through the large crowd, unknowingly catching the eye of your ex-boyfriend. As you slipped around the corner to get to the double staircase, Rafe pulled away from the countertop he was leering over to quietly follow you up the stairs.

You pulled the bathroom door shut, clicking the lock behind you before you used the restroom. You washed your hands, looking into the mirror, and noticing how glazed your eyes looked and how unsteady on your feet you felt. You hadn’t seen Rafe all night, which you were very happy about, but his absence was still weighing heavily on you.

You didn’t like not knowing where he was. It made you nervous.

You dried your hands off with a towel and opened the door to come face to face with Rafe.

Startled, you shrunk away from him instinctively, your shock at seeing him had you unable to speak.

He stared down at you, eyes revealing nothing as he drank you in. Rafe was thrilled to be so close to you again. Close enough he could see the rising and falling of your chest as you anxiously looked down the hall past him.

His voice was barely audible, whispering, “I miss you.”

Your heart stung, the feelings still deep in your heart stirring again. You knew that he had hurt you so much, you knew that nothing good ever came from being with him.

You met his eyes, and you knew in the pit of your gut that you were going to end up in his arms that night.

This didn’t stop you from letting him put his hands all over you, pulling you from the doorway into his room and pushing your back towards the bed.

You sighed into his mouth as he climbed on top of you, tugging at your shirt and lightly pulling your hair.

Rafe breathed in your scent, never wanting you to leave his arms again. He kissed you hard, tilting your head back to deepen it when you allowed his tongue to probe into your mouth.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist, slowly rolling your hips against him, the layers of clothes covering you both frustratingly getting in the way. You felt him getting harder as you pressed to him, and you felt nervously excited to be with Rafe again, the familiar spark in between your thighs reminded you of how much your body missed him.

Rafe removed his shirt, and yours was close to follow, along with your bra. He peppered kisses all over your tits, cupping them and looking into your eyes as his tongue flicked against a hardened bud. You felt like you were melting into his touch. He traced his fingers to your hips, curling one finger around the material covering you before he pulled your panties down, tossing them somewhere in his room.

Rafe pulled away to pull off his shorts and boxers, making himself bare to you. The strong blond pinned your wrists down with one hand and bringing the other to your entrance.

You hissed out a breath when you felt Rafe push one finger into you, arching your back and rolling your hips against his touch.

Rafe groaned at the sight, barely able to hold himself back from just fucking you already. But he needed to stretch you out first.

You whined as Rafe added a second finger, his thumb also now drawing circles on your clit, making your brain short circuit. You bit your lip to quiet yourself, hooded eyes meeting Rafe’s for a moment before his gaze turned back to watching himself fuck you slowly with his fingers. You were so wet, clinging to him and making a mess on his fingers.

Rafe knew how much he needed you. He didn’t think there was any other way to prove how much he needed you.

Your gasps and moans were pushing Rafe on. He knew that what was coming next was going to be so worth it, on every level. He was going to feel you clenching on every single inch of his cock, squeezing him in a way you never had before.

“Rafe, please,” you begged breathlessly. “Please just fuck me. I need it.”

Rafe was more than happy to oblige, pressing his mouth to yours as he pulled his fingers out of you to stroke his cock.

You gasped loudly against his mouth when he pushed the tip into you. Rafe pulled one of your legs to rest on his shoulder as he sunk into you slowly. Your head lolled back against the pillow when he bottomed out, and you tried to catch your breath before he began to slowly rock his hips.

His eyes never left yours, relishing the way they rolled back when he thrust into you harder, or how you looked at him with surprise when his cock brushed a spot that had you seeing stars.

You had never thought you would find yourself in this position again, but there you were, drunk off your ass and in bed with the ex you knew would never change. And the worst thing was that you loved it. You loved the way he fucked you, how he made you feel when he whispered how good you felt, the way he could make you cum around his cock even when you were pissed off at him.

Rafe couldn’t believe how tight you felt around him, fucking you raw was so addictive he was afraid he would never be able to stop. One of his hands found your throat, and when you looked up at him from under your lashes, he squeezed harder, and the moan that left your lips had Rafe almost ready to marry you on the spot.

You were so overstimulated and you couldn’t hold yourself back from being flung over the edge, closing your eyes and whining as Rafe fucked you through your orgasm. You were milking his cock, walls pulsing around him as he spilled his seed deep in you.

You were breathing heavy, and the overstimulation of him continuing to slowly snap his hips against yours made you come a second time. He could feel you clenching harder around him.

“Fuuuck, Y/N. Just keep taking my cum, pretty girl. You look so hot with it leaking out of you.”

You lazily blinked your eyes, his words not registering at first as you met his gaze with a questioning look.

“Rafe..?”

He was still between your legs, his hard cock buried deep in you.

“R-Rafe?” You suddenly remembered the unused condom in your purse, and a wave of terror and nausea washed over you.

Rafe smirked at the panicked look on your face, “shhh, don’t worry, Y/N. I’ve planned it all out.”

“What do you mea-”

He pressed a kiss to your lips, holding you down as you struggled against him. His cock twitched inside you as you fought back, and he pushed you back down by your shoulders and held you in place.

“Don’t you get it?” You hated how Rafe sounded so pleased with himself, thrilled that his plan worked. “We get to pick up right where we left off. And this time, there’s no way I’m letting you go.”

#rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron dubcon #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #desperate measures

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writingforatwistedworld · 1 year

Text

Self-aware au

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, murder, death, poison, possessiveness, obsession, implied manipulation, unhealthy relationship

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from

Entering your world

Returning home one day and finding a character from a game in your supposedly save heaven was definitely not something that was on your “definitely want to experience” list

But here he was, Vil Schoenheit himself… and he was crying the moment he saw your face?

Total confusion. Yeah, I understand.

After him apologizing, his reasoning for crying was being too happy to be in your presence, he explained how he went to sleep and woke up here

Did this remind you of the typical isekai trope? Yes but who were you to complain?

After all, you had a magical model sitting there on your shaggy couch

For the next few days, you expected some other character to pop up or Vil to suddenly undergo a magical girl transformation like they were used so many times in anime but thank goodness that didn’t happen because you weren’t sure if your heart could take any more surprises

Living with Vil was surprisingly relaxing though

It is no secret that Schoenheit is loaded from all his modeling and acting so you expected him to be more or less useless when it was about making himself useful

But would you look at that? He was actually pretty good

So good in fact that you had already dubbed him your househusband and even saved him under that name on your phone after he got his own

Of course, you never said that to him in his face

And for that, I thank you

You see, Vil wouldn’t do this for everyone he met. Oh no. He would probably just throw money at them to pay some sort of rent and then go on with his day

But you were the Overseer! The hecking OVERSEER!!!

When he first saw you, tired eyes and hair that could only be described as being a bird nest looking at him from a long day of work, he could not hold himself back

Tears of joy streamed down his cheek, him thinking that he died and ascended to heaven

Only after you asked him how he got here and offered a place to stay did he finally understand that this wasn’t just some sort of delirium or dream, no he was with you

He nearly started to cry again and his thought process, his head being filled with screams of happiness, must have been a copy of his own fans whenever they saw him

So he took his job as your househusba- *ahem* “roommate” seriously

What he might not even admit to himself was that he didn’t do this just because he thought so highly of you. No. It just meant easy access to your more private areas of your life

Your room was just so nice! Your bed felt like he was laying on clouds and it also smelled like you! Oh, did you save him under “house husband” on your phone? In that moment he squealed

He might even keep some things from you. Nothing too bad. Just a shirt or hoody… maybe he took more than just one

But the Overseer forbid- wait that saying doesn’t work here

But goodness forbid you bring someone into the small bubble of him and you

They don’t even need to do something bad. Vil will just see something that isn’t even there

That one friend of yours? Oh, they threw some disgusting looks in your direction. (They didn’t, he just imagined it)

I would like to remind you that TWST is apparently a place where it’s totally cool to teach teenagers how to make poisons

Yeah, he might not have a lab or certain equipment here but he can work with what he got. Especially since househusbands are always surrounded by chemicals

Suddenly that person is gone. Apparently, they have eaten something wrong but the doctors are just confused about how and why and so much more

The longer he stays the more possessive of your attention he gets

Mention someone and suddenly they also fall sick

And all he did was hand them a homemade meal. People are so picky about what they eat these days…

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a-soft-hornytiny · 1 year

Text

Loved.

Summary: They don’t love me as much as I love them was what you thought while leaving for the better. And it was too late when they realized how important you are to them.

Word count: 1.5k+

Genre: Angst

Pairing: poly!ateez x neutral!reader

Warnings: neglect (be careful while reading) let me know if i missed something.

Notes: this is an anon request, thanks for requesting. It reminded me of the reaction i did to you distancing yourself hehe i rarely write angst and im not sure how happy i am with it but I hope it’s to your liking!

Part 2 is up!

Taglist: after the cut (let me know if you wanna be added)

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Where did it go wrong? You thought while frantically packing your things. You had spent hours and hours to find what you did to deserve this but you couldn’t find anything. Nothing pointed towards you doing something wrong but nonetheless you were here, aggressively stuffing your things into a bag while tears were streaming down your face.

It had started about a month ago. You should’ve been suspicious when they started coming home even later than usual, some of them not at all. Always telling you that there was a meeting at work and that they had already eaten, leaving you to sit at the dining table alone. In the beginning you had still waited for them, hoping every day that at least one of them would be there and have dinner with you but it was always the same.

“Sorry.” “The boss invited us for dinner.” “I’m so tired I need to go to sleep.” “We had take out at work.”

It left you confused. There was a time where they fought about who can sit next to you during the meals but now it seemed like they didn’t care anymore. You had only realised what exactly was happening when you saw a picture on Wooyoung phone. A picture of them with one of their colleagues. A beautiful woman with a bright smile, surrounded by your boyfriends.

Jealousy had immediately risen inside of you but you didn’t say anything. It was not like they weren’t allowed to spend time with other people. Instead, you let your doubts eat you from the inside. Did they eat with her every day? Was she the reason they stayed at work longer than they would normally? Was she better than you?

The worst part was that they didn’t notice. They didn’t notice how you felt and that you were distancing yourself. You would’ve thought that at least one of them cares. But all they cared about was being with that woman.

What hurt you the most was that they didn’t tell you about her. If they had been honest with you, you wouldn’t have created all these scenarios in your head. But they lied to you.

“Yeosang?” You tried to get his attention by tapping his shoulder. It was rare that all eight of them were at home. You wanted to talk about it. Voice your anxious thoughts. Letting them go. “Who is that woman you all have been hanging around?” You asked him because you knew he would be honest with you. The room instantly became silent.

“Oh? Do you mean Haeun? She works with us.” Yeosang answered, not giving you a lot of information. “Why do you ask?”

You didn’t know what to say. “I-.. I’m just curious.” You stuttered, looking down at your feet.

“She is really fun to be around! Recently she even invited us for dinner and paid.” San said excitedly. His words stabbed right into your heart. This was worse than you expected.

They weren’t cheating on you. You somehow could feel that. It was worse. They hadn’t been doing anything with a bad intention. They simply enjoyed spending time with her.

They took you for granted.

From that conversation on you decided not to chase after them anymore. You didn’t wait until they came home to eat dinner. You didn’t ask them how their day was. The few messages that you got during the day, you ignored. If they wanted to tell you something they could tell you in person.

Your boyfriends on the other side didn’t realize how much time they were spending with Haeun. And how less they were spending time with you.

The first one to notice that something was weird about you was Mingi. He had always left you a message during the day. Sometimes about work, what they ate for lunch or when they would be coming home. And normally you would respond relatively quickly. But you didn’t answer at all.

He sat in his practice room, eyes glued on his phone. Read two hours ago. It said on his screen. Mingi had voiced his concerns to the others but they disagreed saying that you didn’t behave differently. But he missed you. He wanted to eat dinner with you. Yes, Haeun was fun and when she first got introduced to the team, it was exciting to meet someone new. But he missed the familiarity. It had always been important to Mingi that he was not taken for granted and now he was afraid that they had done exactly that to you.

But he didn’t act on his feelings. He didn’t want to cause drama where there was none.

The second one to miss you was Jongho. “Y/n what do you…” He wanted to ask you for your opinion on his singing when he turned around and faced an empty room. Right, Y/n isn’t here. He reminded himself, immediately feeling a sting in his heart. Every Tuesday you would follow him to practice and listen to him sing. But as soon as he thought about it he realized that you hadn’t been there in multiple weeks. Jongho instantly remembered Mingi’s concerns and decided to go look for him.

When they finally opened up about their feelings and what they had been observing, Mingi and Jongho went to tell the others.

Before they could even finish what they were trying to say, Seonghwa tried to call you. He was blaming himself for not giving you the attention you deserved. He wanted to beat himself up. It was so clear now that Mingi and Jongho had mentioned it.

How could they neglect you like this and not even notice?

And that was the same question you asked yourself as you zipped up your bag. Just as you wanted to put your phone into your pocket, it started ringing. It was Seonghwa. You took a deep breath as you declined the call and left the apartment.

You didn’t know for how long or how far but you needed to get away. Right after getting into the taxi you had ordered, you turned off your phone indefinitely.

“Y/n isn’t answering.” Seonghwa announced, his voice shaking.

“Get in the car. I’m driving us home.” Yunho said, leaving the room with big steps. The others following him. Yunho’s mind was racing. He wanted to stay calm. He needed to stay calm. He had to be strong. It didn’t matter how he felt, all he wanted was to see your face and make sure everything is fine. It was all just imagination. You will be waiting at home. He tried to tell himself while he was getting into the car.

Hongjoong was trying to remember any signs of you changing while he was squeezing himself into the car. He had never been home as much as the others so it wasn’t strange for him to eat alone or to sneak into the bedroom without waking anyone up. But something had been strange. This morning, when he came out of the bathroom, he caught you staring at him. And he could swear you had tears in your eyes. But since you didn’t say anything he had assumed you were fine. This damn assumption.

When they finally arrived at their apartment, San immediately jumped out of the car and ran to the door.

“Y/n? Y/n!” He called you before he even entered the building. Wooyoung and Yeosang were right behind him. After finally opening the door they stormed in searching for you in their home. The rest followed them slowly, scared to not find you.

It wasn’t until he heard a sob that Wooyoung slowed down. A sob? He made his way over to your room, gently pushing the door open. His eyes widened as he saw San kneeling in front of your bed, a note in his hands and his face buried in your sheets.

“Sannie?” Wooyoung slowly walked closer to his loved one. “Y/n…” San sobbed, not able to form a sentence. “What is it Sannie?” Wooyoung kneeled down next to him, softly taking the note from his hands. As he started reading, tears formed in his eyes.

And that was when the others finally found them. They looked at Wooyoung, hope and pain in their eyes at the same time as he slowly shook his head. Yeosang’s legs gave in as he saw the expression on Wooyoung’s face. You were gone. No no no that’s impossible he thought, staring to the ceiling with a blank face. You couldn’t leave them.

Still not wanting to believe what was happening, Yunho harshly snapped the note out of Wooyoung’s hand.

I am going on a trip. Don’t text or call me, I need time to think. I hope you understand. I loved you so much.

His head went numb.

Loved.

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Tags: @jonghoisbabie @multidreams-and-desires @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers-writes @serialee @crimsonbubble @cometoceantrenches @em--ilysm @deja-vux @kawaiiloli00 @ddeonghwva @aaaaajonghooooo @sansbun @cookies-n-joong @plonys @hijirikaww @nari-nim @yunkiwii @mingi-ivity @racheloveyunho @seongsangsgf @jhmylove @lizsvcks @yunhobabygurl @leoninadecorazones @kerra-that-one-random-fangirl @star1117-archives

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#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez story #neutral!reader #ateez angst #angst #fanfiction #ateez fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #ateez fanfic #poly!ateez #kpop #kpop angst #kpop imagines #request #anon #📌

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failing-to-write-again · 11 months

Note

The sakamaki finds their self staring at their S/O baby/kids photos or maybe vice Vera, pick you’re favourite!

BABY PICTURES!!!

I'm picking both because I'm an indecisive lil'bitch, so this is part 1 with the Sakamakis seeing you as children. This took way longer than expected but I got bad writers block with Kanato, Laito, and Ayato in particular.

Part 2

TW: Some mildly degrading language, it comes with the DL terrotory, Laito calls reader a whore once.

Shu Sakamaki

Perhaps if you were less tired you would have heard the door creak open or felt the hallway's light hitting your eyes as he entered your room. While not requiring heat, it was a luxury Shu enjoyed indulging in it and you tended to give the best reactions to his cold fingers waking you.

This time though you looked exhausted, a long exam season having drained you more than he would have thought. Besides, it would be funniest if you had the energy to react well. So for now he was intent on joining you in dreamland. That was until his eyes strayed to your vanity where a book lay half open. A clearer look showed a small child grinning up at him, and the note "Sweet Pea's first contest" was scrawled on a slip of paper attached to the bottom left corner.

You were sat beside an older girl both in tutus your hair adorned with with a delicate tiara complimenting your light pink, glittery costume. It looked like you were matching the older girl who was dressed in the more traditional sugar plum fairy outfit. Flicking through the book it looked like you must still be a ballerina, he especially loved your first point shoe photo, you were beaming at yourself in a mirror while standing holding the bar.

The last photo was dated as being almost a year ago, you were stunning. On stage front and center leg held high being supported by your partner as you stared dainty upwards to the side, ironically you were also a sugar plum fairy. Except there was something much more ethereal compared to the first picture he saw, you must have been some prodigy to look this way. The spotlight had all of you glowing, the layers of tulle and jewels only accentuating your glow rather than causing it.

You also had a photo with a young girl after the show, a change in generations perhaps? But, you didn't look as happy. There was the arm of a man in the frame slightly, wearing some robe similar to Yui's dad. Flicking between the first and last photo there was a clear difference between your smile reaching your eyes. You looked so hollow compared to your younger self.

The noise of you stirring slightly and turning over is what brings him back to reality, looking at you now it would be a lie to say he ever saw you smile the way you do in these photos, a beaming toothy grin in an expression he could only call personified sunshine. Now, none of that was visible. What little joy was left in that photo of you and the child had been eradicated. You were paler, and more gaunt due to constant blood draining. You had bags heavy under your eyes and knots in your hair. Punctures littered your neck, painful angry marks unhealed and just left there to further your pain.

He never asked about your hobbies or life before the manor, he knew very little about your past what he had seen while at your least intruding to try minimize the harm his brother, no he was causing. He didn't like this feeling, a rolling unsettling feeling in his stomach. He couldn't look at you as he slunk away.

Reiji Sakamaki

"Seriously, must you be so rude to delay all of our journey home."

Pushing open the doors to the school library he met the sight of your head against a book out cold. Walking closer it was clear you had been studying for some time, a mixture of notes and books laid around you. Tutting, Reiji brushed some pencil shavings away noticing the golden chain wrapped around your fingers a small heart nestled in your palm.

Turning it over it fell open to reveal two halves, one empty the other revealing a young girl in the lap of two people, their heads were out of the frame. Picking up the locket to more closely examine it, the girl was holding a teddy bear with a big red bow matching the red dress she was in.

"They took that picture before they sent me off to the church"

"What?"

Turning his head back to face her, she had sat up and wiped her eyes. Resting her head in her hand and looking at his hand with some far away look in her eyes.

"The church that supplies your sacrifices, cults are always going to exist but yours is less popular than you know. So they trick people or offer to buy their children flat out. Some of the girls had seen their parents trying to get them back, tricked into believing the church was a boarding school. I'm not sure what mine believed, I never saw them again. I don't have any other pictures of them."

"You don't believe in the Church? Yui seems rather devoted still, I know how you humans work and-"

"Yui was raised in the Church by a leading priest who at least pretended to love her, I was shipped off and locked in a building raised to be killed. If you want to view the world as one dimensional, I'd like to remind you that it goes both ways. So I know you vampires are so incapable of managing yourselves you lose all decorum when blood is involved and have seemingly failed to learn how to wipe your mouth." She was sneering, evidently it was harder to hold her tongue freshly woken up. All he could focus on was the swirling pain in your eyes, it was the closest he'd ever seen her get to tears, it took him aback.

The silence seemed to only further solidify your upset, shaking your head and grabbing the locket and your bag before walking out of the library. Reiji hung back for a moment, almost reflective before turning back to the table. The notes were insightful, she had interacted with the material rather than the girls in the school that begged him for help. He had to wonder if perhaps he was using a less than adequate sample population...

Walking out to return to the limo he had to begin considering appropriate response to this outburst.

Ayato Sakamaki

"Yo, you better hurry up Ore-sama waits for no-one!"

"I'm showering, you're the one that came into my room." Scowling the red head dropped down onto your bed only to feel something poking him. Lifting the mattress revealed a flat tin box you had hidden suspiciously. Nosey as he is, he immediately opened the box to be faced with a collection of different photos. Some were of you in some school uniform with some friends, you look around 13 in some of them. Other, newer, photos have you in some brick building with those other girls, as well as some of the previous brides, some wore crosses similar to Yui's but you weren't. You were sat on a window ledge a small cupcake in your lap with those other brides living here, your eyes had that same hollow look you get when he insults you. The worse one though was a picture of you as a toddler, sat on a woman's lap with a tiny paper hat on your head. You were grinning in front of a cake lit up with 3 candles.

How dare you. Being so happy and hiding these expressions from him but showing them to other people. As this is crossing his mind he hears the door creaking open as you enter still drying your hair before freezing.

"How did you get that." You were trembling, eyes fixed on the box still in his lap.

"How dare you hide things for Ore-sama! You are mine nobody else's you have to give me everything. And this," He held up the box, shaking it to punctuate his words. "This is proof you are hiding things from yours truly!"

Tossing the box into the fire in a fit of rage, watching you cry as you try to save some of the photos. He eventually pulled you away, drinking you near faint and watching as you stumble trying to run away when he let you go. Watching as the flames slowly cause the photos to curl in on your small round face while you wait to blow out your candles. As well as listening as you sobbed just outside the door.

Kanato Sakamaki

Kanato had demanded to see what was in your suitcase the moment you had passed the doors into this hellhole. Thankfully Reiji had insisted that it was improper and due to his short attention span the purple haired menace had mostly forgotten. As weeks passed it had completely slipped your mind as you were far too preoccupied trying not to die. While walking through the halls of the manor back to your room after school your mind drifted to Kanato's bizarre behavior.

Kanato, for some reason, followed you around more than the other girls here, you were unsure how to feel about him all in all. He had moments where he was incredibly sweet and nice only to change in an instance with no predictability into screaming, violent rages. He was bad news, with no motivation or willingness to try change or improve you had to live in constant tension over what mood he'd be in. No better example came to mind that what you faced upon opening your door.

Kanato sat at the foot of your bed, your suitcase open and a scattered collection of pictures of you around them. Your heart was in your throat, unable to see his face to know how to act or run. Your hands were clammy, those photos were important to you and while you wouldn't mind showing people Kanato was ultimately a risk, he could rip them up or hurt you for having them.

"Hey, you were a cute child strawberry." Kanato was half facing you now, focusing on the picture in his hand you in a princess bouncy castle at your cousin's 5th birthday. You loved that one, you had dressed up as Rapunzel, you had a lilac tea dress on and your mother had bought fake hair to braid in with yours to extend its length. Gently stepping closer you explained this to Kanato, and about her being your favorite as a child.

"You can sit closer, I want you to tell me more." He didn't sound angry, rare for when he made demands. and you want it to stay that way. Sitting closer he also shifts to have his right knee brushing your leg as he sat crossed legged. He had his arm holding himself up behind you. Sitting in that pose, if it weren't for the clothes, he looks like a normal teenager.

He kept you there for over an hour it felt good to get to talk about your life before being a sacrifice. It was the longest you had ever seen him lucid. You eventually nod off, vaguely comprehending fingers slowly running through your hair and a blanket being draped around you.

Laito Sakamaki

Laito strikes a balance between crazy and insane that while still very much not sane, he's better at hiding it. For the past few months while here you've seen him slowly tailor his behavior to somewhat better suit you. While still a complete perv, once he realized his attempts at flirting didn't work he changed tactics, a few times, until there was this uneasy understanding between you both. You weren't friends or anything but his worst behaviors were saved for when he was hungry for the most part, other than that he was mostly just an annoyance. An annoyance currently not letting you take your time with the Sunday crossword. "8 across is isthmi, strip of land connecting two large areas separated by a body of water."

"I knew that."

"Is that why you took so long to write it down?" I could only glare as he sat there one hand holding up his head on the opposite end of the sofa. Chewing my cheek to stop a sly remark I twirled my pen before filling in the answer. It's been a few days since he's drank, too many smart remarks could have bad results.

Between answering hints that I was taking too long to figure out, Laito was playing with the other pages of the newspaper, folding them into aeroplanes to send across the room. Fiddling with one of his most recent planes absentmindedly, he began to speak.

"The real question is why do you do these crosswords when you're so bad at them." He was grinning as he looked up to see my reaction. However, unlike my normal remarks my face must've fallen because he looked incredibly confused.

"Oh? Strike a nerve little whore?~" He was all but purring, reveling in getting under my skin so effectively. All I could do in response is shake my head turning back to try focus on the crossword. About a minute of silence passed of pretending to focus on the page. Suddenly feeling breath near the back of my ear I flinch turning to see him hovering above me, arm on the headrest behind me and his other on the armrest caging me in. Panicking my breathing picked up as I tried to ensure as much distance between me and him as possible.

"Pictures," he mumbled. "The answer is pictures 4 down, you're not that bad...what are you thinking." He was staring straight at me, seeing straight through me. He reached back to his pocket before placing a familiar photo in front of me, the old crease down the center where I folded it in half to fit in my old uniform. It was a photo from the dormitories, I was 5 working on a crossword page torn from the paper while the older girls in the room were reading the paper and the younger ones played.

"I found it when going through your stuff to see what could be returned to you, can't have cellphones or anything useful for escape. Only to find this, some of those other girls are in the photo and just like every Sunday you ripped out the crossword page. Why?"

I didn't like this Laito, when he was just as sharp as his older brother's and not as easy to placate as the other two triplets. This Laito, who has now left me to share things I would've much rather keep private.

"Nowadays, the Church operates as a boarding school to draw in brides. You get there and you are cut off from the outside world, they tell us the girls run away when they're sent here. They wouldn't give us any real information, too many heretics in the world." Picking at the frayed edges of my hoodie's arm, I took a deep breath before continuing on. "I told the matron I liked crosswords, she did the weekly Sudoku, so since I was young I knew she thought I wouldn't break any rules. I would tear out the crossword page to do while the older girls read the paper to collect any news on disappearances and just on the greater world in general. I would return the paper and say I tore out the crossword to keep to see how my timing improved. Now it's just a habit that paper will never say anything about us or anything that can help right."

I saw him sit back out of the corner of my eye. Readying myself to be bitten or mocked I kept looking down.

"You still stick your tongue out when you focus, its cute."

Before I could even look up he was gone.

Subaru Sakamaki

Out of all the Sakamaki brothers, Subaru was by far the safest. His anger was predictable and mostly posed a risk to furniture over you, even his bites were gentle and so long as he didn't rush off he would seal the wound with what you had dubbed 'nasty healing spit'. So when he unofficial began acting as your bodyguard you didn't complain, or even acknowledge it out of fear he would stop and leave you to the bats.

The new routine was by far the most peaceful you had experienced in some time. You ate your breakfast on your balcony watching the sunset before the white haired shadow took his place brooding nearby. This 'morning' was no different, you set eating your breakfast as you looked through a small pile of photos that the computer club had salvaged from the remnants of your phone. As the sky faded from orange, to purple, to the dark blue of summer nights and stars began to appear in the sky you sat back, eying the door waiting for his appearance.

Your door opened, his figure being somewhat visible through the sheer curtains as he yawned. Once he pulled the curtain back to step outside he scowled seeing you waiting, but when did he not? He silently placed himself leaning against the door frame while you remained seated.

"You can sit closer you know. I don't bite, promise!" Grinning up at Subaru while his scowl worsened.

"You aren't going to last long if you have that attitude stupid."

"I thought we had an agreement, most liars don't call themselves liars."

"I'm a vampire, you shouldn't be so careless if you value your life."

Sighing and turning back to your pictures, you both continued to sit in silence. It took 5 minutes for Subaru to give in and move closer. You were still going through the photos not acknowledging his movement. If there's anything you've learnt it's that if you ever point out Subaru's behavior he runs away, ironic for such a fearsome creature. After he had some time to work up the courage he pointed to one in your hand.

"Who's that?"

The photo was of you wearing some roller skates at a roller disco party, you were 7 or 8. Your wrists covered in sparkly wrist bands and plasters covering your knees and palms from how much you had slipped practicing to avoid embarrassment.

"It's me at one of my friend's birthday party, About a year after this I first got sent to this boarding school linked to the Church. After a few years I was cut off from everyone and sent here. That was the last time I saw her actually, she moved away."

The albino nodded in understanding before once again entering into a lapse of silence. He kept looking back to that photo while you organized the rest of the pile, wrapping the photos in a piece of paper to prevent any sun or dust damage. Standing back up and collecting your belongings you looked to him expectantly. However, he just continued to stare off into the distance.

Weighing up your options and how much you currently valued your life, you leaned down to tap his shoulder. Aside from a minor jolt he seemed more receptive to you. Passing over the photo you were smiling.

"I don't want to look at this it makes me sad, but it seemed to catch your attention to here."

#shu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #laito sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers imagine #diabolik lovers headcanon #diaboys #shu sakamaki x reader #reiji sakamaki x reader #ayato sakamaki x reader #kanato sakamaki x reader #laito sakamaki x reader #subaru sakamaki x reader

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scarlettohairdye · 8 days

Text

Home Ownership Was a Mistake

This is for @trickybonmot, who may or may not use some of these stories in a fic.

Okay. So.

In the year of our lord 2010, my wife and I were lucky enough to be gifted $20k by my parents, which in those days (given it was a historically low point for real estate prices in Seattle) was enough for a down payment on a house. It was an astounding confluence of luck and privilege that led to us being homeowners, because if they gave us the same money now it would go precisely nowhere.

Anyway, it was not enough money for a large house, or a fancy house. We looked at a lot of places, only some of which were move-in ready (and one of which was absolutely just a tear-down) and eventually settled on our current place, which is a 1910 bungalow with a detached garage that was finished and turned into a studio.

Was it the most aesthetically pleasing house when we bought it? No. The walls were white, the carpet was light beige, and the paint had seen better days. That said, it was move-in ready and the owner was pretty desperate to sell, so we took it!

The inspector let us know that some of the wiring was still the old knob-and-tube, so we'd want that updated sooner rather than later, but it looked pretty good. About half the outlets were grounded, so it didn't stop us from plugging in three-prong appliances. We just had to use more extension cords than maybe we'd prefer.

The Electrical

The first big house thing we paid for was to have the entire place rewired. Our circuit breaker was a mystery, we didn't have enough outlets, and we were tired of being stuck with specific layouts of our stuff due to the lack of grounded outlets. We were expecting about half the wiring to be up to code, and the rest would need an update.

Spoiler alert: HAHAHAHAHAHA.

The rewiring took about a week, and every morning the electrician sat down with us and told us what new fire trap he'd uncovered.

"Yeah, so the knob and tube wiring going to the lights in the ceiling? Knob and tube gets hot when it's running, and yours is under three layers of insulation."

"You know how you thought your outlets were grounded? They weren't, actually, the ground wire just went elsewhere into the house and wasn't connected to anything."

"So there's wiring in your crawlspace? Whoever put that in nailed some sheets of wood paneling over it, so we had to rip the wood paneling out to access it."

I think the job was about $15k when it was done, we had many many more outlets, and our house was no longer one bad day from lighting itself on fire. Victory, I guess?

The Studio Window

This was leaking a bit, and we knew it was leaking when we moved in. (South facing walls get all the weather in our region.) We were not handy enough to replace it ourselves at the time and we also didn't have money because I got laid off shortly after we bought the house and was making my living doing costume commissions. Solution: Trade costuming work to an acquaintance who did carpentry.

The window, we discovered, was not so much a finished window as it was a single sheet of glass sandwiched between some boards.

Badly.

The carpenter was not entirely she that she was qualified for the job, but she did manage to remove the single sheet of glass and replace it with a window that was insulated and actually capable of opening. She used caulk around it. It was way better than we had before. Maybe someday we'll have both studio windows replaced by a contractor who actually does windows, but this is not that day!

The Siding

The cedar shingles were no longer cutting it at a certain point, so we had the house resided. (Houses are money pits, in case you didn't know.) This was a $30k job (MONEY PIT!) and had several layers of badness.

Bad: Our house had no insulation. It was cedar shingles over the original siding, with nothing in between that original siding and our INTERIOR WALLS. There was occasionally a newspaper. Our PM asked if we wanted insulation? And we said yes, please!!! We did not have a lot of time to think about insulation or research the best type, so it's just sheets of the pink fiberglass stuff in there, but it exists and we have it now!

Worse: Underneath our laundry room was a horrorshow. The laundry room is an addition that was added to our house probably sometime in the 50s? And, uh...

Well, the siding guys pulled off the siding, took a look at what was under it, and immediately called the project manager. The project manager came out, took a look, and then called us. He said that the siding guys thought it really needed to be reinforced and stabilized before they re-sided it, which is very fair, because I think the people who built it originally were drunk when they did it. It was a fucking Wild West cowboy construction situation under there.

Yes, you heard that right: A LOAD-BEARING SHINGLE.

Our project manager also informed us that the siding guys couldn't do the reinforcement, because they're just siding guys. They don't do structural. This is very fair.

It also needed to be done by Monday so we could stay on schedule for the siding work.

We learned this on Friday.

I immediately called my general contractor dad and got his voicemail, because (I remembered belatedly) he was in Mexico getting dental surgery. There was absolutely no way we could get another contractor out to do the work over a single weekend.

It was up to us.

My wife and I (mostly my wife) went HAM on it. We rented big jacks from the tool library to prop the laundry room up while we replaced one of the entirely rotten support poles. One of the big telephone poles was so wrecked with dry rot we could kick it out of place. (It didn't even touch the BIG ROCK that was supposed to be its foundation!!! It was floating!!!) Several of the joists were also fucked, so we ran new joists alongside them and married them together. My wife dug holes while crouched in a 4' high space, filled the holes with gravel, compacted it by putting a piece of wood on top of it and hitting it with a mallet, and then installed an entire additional support system from 4x4s and deck blocks. She actually attached the support system TO THE FUCKING HOUSE, which was a big improvement from the way it was originally held on by vibes and paint.

Here's a tasty little before and after:

(Yeah, see how that visible joist at the front just... stops at the far left? There's a new joist right behind it now.)

This was completed with resounding cries of, "Good enough!" and "It's better than it was before!" The siding guys thought it was fine and sided over it. Someday hopefully we will be able to afford to tear the whole thing down and rebuild it with a properly poured foundation, but in the meantime the spin cycle on the washing machine no longer shakes the whole house. Victory?!

Ridiculous: The purple paint saga. My wife and I are lesbians who tend toward maximalism in our decoration style. Construction companies find this baffling. We paid extra to our siding company to get the extended color choices (if you order the siding with the color baked in it lasts longer, but you're limited to a particular range of colors) and spoiler alert: 90% of them are boring as fuck. We basically paid extra to have access to 400 shades of white and 400 more shades of beige. There were like three saturated colors in the whole book. Pathetic.

Anyway, we chose the one nice teal that was available and decided we'd paint the door purple, since all the purple colors were gray at best. The project manager then forgot to put in our order, and when he remembered he'd forgotten, ordering our siding through his company would have pushed back the start time by six weeks. We could still make the original start time if we ordered through a different company doing the same thing, though!

Me, immediately: And we wouldn't be restricted to your color palette, right? Him: Yeah, they can do custom colors. Me, slapping down a color card called "Fully Purple": MAKE IT PURPLE.

Bless this man, he went to the siding company and asked for Fully Purple. They told him they couldn't do that color, and also is he sure anyone wants this color? He called them on the phone and informed them yes, we did want that color, and also that he'd worked for them and he knew damn well they could do that color, they'd just have to custom mix it, so they needed to do their fucking jobs. Suitably chastened, they finally sent us a sample of the siding, and it was... okay. It was purple for sure, but a little de-saturated. Not the purple of our hearts.

I asked if they'd actually started manufacturing our siding yet or just sent the color sample. The project manager confirmed they hadn't, and if we ordered this imperfectly-purple siding now, it would be several weeks before we could get started.

"We're gonna paint," I decided, and our project manager put in the orders.

The paint store called him and said, "Hey, are you sure you want this color?" Yes, he assured them, that's the right color.

The guys doing the painting opened up the can and then called him and said, "Are you sure this color?" and he told them yes! They want that color!

At this point I told him he should just start responding with, "They're lesbians!!! Yes! They want the purple! They're lesbians!!!"

Eventually we cleared every hurdle god and the construction industry put in front of us, and now our house is Fully Purple.

It also has insulation, wiring that won't kill us, and a laundry room that hopefully won't collapse anytime soon. We got a heat pump installed that took shockingly little time and worked immediately, and our next project will be having the roof redone. Check back in to find out what fresh horror awaits us then! I think it'll be a second roof under our existing roof made of lead and asbestos tiles, probably!

#home improvement #it's a nightmare #choices were made #they were bad

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steveseddie · 2 months

Text

with a cold breeze

rating: t | cw: none apply | word count: 4,281

tags: eddie munson lives, didn't know they were dating, getting together, first kiss, fluff and hurt/comfort

for the @steddielovemonth prompt: “love is giving him your sweater even if it makes you cold” by @stevesbipanic

a/n: this is my first time writing a prompt for this event and it was so much fun! also this ended up longer than i thought but. enjoy 🩷

click here to read on ao3

***

In Eddie’s defense, he shouldn’t have been expected to bring a jacket. Not when Steve didn’t tell him where they were going or when he sent Eddie spiraling into a pit of pining by showing up at his doorstep with a white shirt tucked into a pair of tight blue jeans and a black jacket thrown on top, looking like he stepped out of Eddie’s dreams.

Now that he thinks about it, Steve might’ve told him to grab a jacket, but Eddie was too busy picking his jaw off the floor to listen to him.

When he stepped out of the trailer and followed Steve to his car, Eddie felt a light chill in the air, but since he assumed Steve was taking them to the movies or for dinner at that diner he likes, he figured the flannel he was wearing over his Metallica singlet would be enough to withstand it.

Eddie doesn’t know exactly when this became a thing they did- Steve picking him up and taking him to dinner or a movie or ice cream or roller skating.

(That last one was Eddie’s least favorite one because he spent half the time they were there falling on his ass. Or maybe it wasn’t, because the other half was spent holding on to Steve’s hand as he guided Eddie around the rink and helped him keep his balance.)

Eddie still can’t help but feel surprised whenever Steve turns up at his door, even if it happens multiple times a week these days. He knows this is what friends do, but maybe it’s still just a little hard to believe that he’s friends with Steve Harrington.

(“You make it sound like I’m some kind of celebrity, man,” Steve said the first time Eddie voiced his shock about him wanting to spend time with Eddie.

“Dude, you are the king of Hawkins! You are a celebrity!” Eddie said, dramatically shaking Steve’s shoulders which earned him a mighty eye roll and a playful shove. “And celebrities don’t want to spend time with freaks like me.”

Steve’s face softened at that, he bumped Eddie’s shoulder with his. “Well, this one does.”)

Eddie knows Steve is being genuine every time he says he wants to hang out, but a part of him always expects Steve to get tired of him and ditch Eddie, and start taking a nice pretty girl on these outings instead.

(“Dates, they’re dates,” Max deadpanned after hearing Eddie ramble about Steve for roughly ten minutes straight. She’d clocked Eddie’s feelings for Steve right away when he came back from the roller rink with his backside bruised, but still with a dopey smile on his face to Max waiting for him at the steps of his trailer. “Steve Harrington is taking you out on dates!”

“He’s not, they’re not dates,” Eddie said with a firm shake of his head.

“Dude, Lucas literally took me to the roller rink last week.”

“Aw, cute. Did he hold your hand?”

“I held his, I skate, remember? And for a jock, he’s got terrible balance,” she says, lips twitching into a little smile. “Not as bad as yours though.”

“Hey!”)

Even if Max insists on calling them dates, Eddie won’t. He can’t. He knows Steve doesn’t see them that way so he can’t do it either, not if he wants to protect his heart.

So he ignores that Steve opens the door to his car for him like he would if this was a real date and he ignores that he lets Eddie pick the music or that he keeps a few of Eddie’s tapes in his car for him to choose from, even if they’re not at all what he likes, and he ignores the way he keeps glancing at Eddie at stop signs or red lights with a sweet little smile that makes his stomach swoop like when he went through the gate to the Upside Down did, only better.

Or he tries to ignore it, at least.

“Soooo where are we going?” Eddie asks, contorting himself so he can sit cross-legged in Steve’s passenger seat after picking the music for the ride.

Steve bops his head to the beginning of a Dio song and Eddie can’t help but feel proud.

“It’s a surprise,” he says.

Eddie groans. “Is this surprise also going to end up with me not being able to sit properly for a week?” He only realizes how that sounds when Steve’s head snaps to him, eyebrows high on his forehead. God. “You know cause I kept falling on my ass at the roller rink, not because- uh.”

He doesn’t know how to finish the sentence, but luckily Steve spares him. With a soft laugh, he says, “Don’t worry, you won’t have trouble sitting after tonight.” Then Steve smirks, the little shit. “From falling on your ass- or some other reason.”

Eddie flushes bright red.

He lowers the window and shivers when the cold air hits his face, but the wind helps cool down his flushed cheeks so he leaves it open. He notices that instead of driving them downtown, Steve is driving them further out.

“I’m not gonna have trouble sitting ‘cause you’re luring me into the woods to murder me? Is that it?”

“And why would I want to murder you?” Steve asks, pinching the bridge of his nose like entertaining Eddie’s nonsense causes him physical pain.

The wind blows Eddie’s hair away from his face. “Maybe you’re jealous of my luscious hair.” He hopes the wind makes him look like one of those cover shoots on the magazines that he sees at the store, but realistically, he knows he probably looks like a dog sticking his head out the window. “My naturally beautiful hair that doesn’t need any Farrah Fawcett spray.”

Steve narrows his eyes at Eddie. “That little shit told you!”

Eddie grins. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. Dustin told you, didn’t he?”

“I won’t reveal my sources,” he says, pretending to zip up his lips.

“You don’t have to, you dork. Dustin is the only one I told.” He pauses, thinking. “Maybe I am committing murder tonight.”

“Mine?”

“Henderson’s. And then yours so the secret dies with you.” He glances at Eddie with a smile. “And maybe because I am a little jealous of your beautiful hair.” His voice is a little too soft to sound like a joke.

Eddie gives him a shy smile and then flicks his hair over his shoulder with a dramatic flare. Steve laughs, head thrown back, as they drive past the Leaving Hawkins sign.

***

Steve drives them to the top of a hill just outside of Hawkins.

Eddie’s first thought when Steve parks his car next to a little forest is that maybe he’s actually planning to murder him tonight.

His second thought comes when Steve opens Eddie’s door and a gust of wind hits Eddie, making him realize that no, his flannel won’t be enough. He’s going to freeze his ass off so even if Steve doesn’t murder him, Eddie will die anyway.

His third thought comes when Steve takes hold of his wrist and drags him out of the car and towards a cliff overlooking most of Hawkins.

Eddie voices that thought with an appreciative whistle.

“Holy shit, that’s a killer view.”

“Right?” Steve asks with a grin. His fingers are still wrapped around Eddie’s wrist and he can feel the way he’s bouncing excitedly from one foot to the other.

“Yeah, wow. You wouldn’t think that Hawkins is a shit town from up here,” Eddie says, taking in not only the night lights, but the stars above them too, shining brighter than Eddie has ever seen them.

“Yeah, it almost looks normal, no monsters or alternate dimensions.”

“No hordes of angry town people who want to burn you at the stake.”

Steve gives Eddie’s wrist a comforting squeeze. He glances at the ground. “No shitty parents calling you a disappointment and an embarrassment,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie frowns. He shakes his hand until Steve loosens his hold, but before he can retreat it into his pocket because he thinks Eddie is trying to get him to let go, he tangles his fingers loosely with Steve’s. “They came back tonight?”

Steve stares down at their hands, his thumb rubs over one of Eddie’s rings. “Yeah, and they managed to pick a fight within five minutes of walking through the door. Must be some kind of record.”

Eddie squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

With a sigh, Steve finally looks up. “It’s not your fault, and besides-” He smiles at Eddie. “I didn’t bring you here to talk about them.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “What did you bring me here for?”

Steve’s smile turns into a grin, he drops Eddie’s hand and starts walking backward toward the car. “Wait here.”

“You better not be abandoning me to die here!”

He gets no reply. Eddie squints at him as he rummages through the trunk of his car but it’s a little hard to see clearly in the dark. He wraps his arms around himself while he waits, feeling colder by the second, and resists the urge to ask Steve if he has an extra jacket lying around. It’ll send him into Mother Hen mode and he’ll start fussing about Eddie catching something and probably scold him for not bringing his own jacket.

So he acts as nonchalant as possible about the cold when Steve comes back, hiding something behind his back that Eddie can’t see.

“I didn’t bring you here to murder you or abandon you. I brought you here to have a picnic with me.” As he says this, he shows Eddie what he was holding behind his back- a checkered blanket and a goddamn picnic basket.

Eddie blinks dumbly at the two items and then at Steve, mouth gaping like a fish. “A picnic?”

Steve nods a little shyly. “Um yeah, is that okay?”

Eddie lets out a disbelieving laugh. A fucking picnic under the stars- oh, Max is going to have a field trip teasing Eddie about this one!

He realizes that Steve might be taking his reaction the wrong way when he starts to fidget so Eddie wipes the surprise from his face and grins at Steve. “Depends on what you packed in there, big boy.”

A high-pitched laughter tumbles out of Steve’s lips and even with just the moonlight he can see his cheeks tint pink. “Well, do you like grilled cheese?”

***

Eddie makes grabby hands at the basket. Once Steve spreads the blanket on the ground, he flops down and starts digging through the contents.

There’s grilled cheese wrapped in tin foil paper, two bags of chips, two sodas, and a big serving of pie. Eddie’s mouth waters.

“So,” Steve asks, wrapping his arms around his knees. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Eddie pauses, thinking. “That I don’t care if you murder me as long as you let me eat this first.”

“You’re so annoying,” Steve snorts, rolling his eyes.

“If I’m so annoying,” Eddie says, neatly arranging the food between them on the blanket, or as best as he can on the uneven ground. “Then why did you go through all this trouble for little ol’ me?”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. He looks like he wants to say something, but then changes his mind, only to part his lips again. The look in his eyes betrays nothing, no matter how much Eddie tries to read it. Despite the cold, Eddie’s hands start to sweat a little.

But then Steve shakes his head and looks down, picking up his grilled cheese. When he looks back at Eddie again, his eyes are soft, crinkling at the corners, but whatever he saw in them before is now gone. “Let’s eat before it gets cold, okay?”

After the first bite, Eddie discovers that Steve must be some kind of grilled cheese genius. When he tells Steve this, he waves it off with a shy smile, but he seems pleased.

They talk in between bites of food, or in Eddie’s case, through mouthfuls of melted cheese. The whole time, Eddie tries to ignore the chill in the air, but every gust of wind reminds him he’s only wearing a singlet under a very thin flannel and neither does much to protect him from the cold. Still, he does his best to hide his shivering from Steve, but it’s a little hard to do when Steve won’t take his eyes off of him for some reason.

Right now, he’s staring almost unblinkingly at Eddie with his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms wrapped around his knees, a soft smile painted on his lips as Eddie tells him how excited he and the kids are about the next Hellfire meeting.

“You’re always excited about your nerdy game,” Steve smirks.

“Fair, but this time it’s different because the kids finally convinced Max to play!”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “How did they manage that?”

“Well, they didn’t convince her so much as they tricked her into it.”

“Yeah, that makes more sense.”

“But! It doesn’t matter cause she’s going to love it so much she’ll beg to join again! I’ve been working on her character sheet to make it perfect for her and I got her this cool set of dice- red dice, of course, cause her character will be called Ruby. Ruby the Rebel.”

Steve’s smile turns impossibly softer at Eddie’s excited rambling. “That sounds just as cool as her. What kind of- uh like, what’s her-”

“Class?” Eddie asks, stomach swooping a little at Steve trying to remember things about their nerdy game so he can ask Eddie. Steve nods. “Oh, she’s a-” He cuts himself off when a cool breeze stirs beneath his flannel and he shivers with a curse. “Jesus H. Christ!”

Steve startles and his head whips in different directions, looking out for danger. “What?”

“Sorry, nothing! It’s just really cold! Sorry!”

Steve relaxes, then frowns. Narrowed eyes travel over Eddie’s body. “Wait, where’s your jacket?”

“Uh.”

“Did you leave it in the car?”

“More like, left it at home?” Steve’s face turns pinched. “You didn’t tell me where we were going, I didn’t know I would need a jacket!”

“Yes, you did, I told you to bring one!” Steve says, exasperated.

Oh. So Steve did tell him to bring a jacket. Huh.

“Here,” Steve says and then starts shrugging off his jacket.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you my jacket, obviously.” He removes it completely and Eddie gives himself a second to commit to memory just how tight Steve’s white shirt is. It’s also thin. Eddie shakes his head.

“But you’ll be cold.”

“I won’t.” He shrugs. “I run hot.”

“You’re hot,” Eddie says and realizes too late that his brain-to-mouth filter must’ve been damaged by the cold. “I mean you look hot, like you don’t look cold.”

Steve bites down on a grin. “Take the jacket before you catch something, Eds.”

“O-kay, mom Steve.” He accepts the jacket, and when he puts it on, he can’t help but sigh happily. It’s warm from Steve’s body heat. It also smells just like him. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Steve smiles. “Now, what were you saying?” He asks and it takes Eddie a minute to remember what they were talking about, distracted as he is by Steve’s warmth and smell surrounding him.

***

“Do you ever think about leaving Hawkins?”

Eddie jerks his head back, out of the basket where he was looking for the forks that Steve packed for the pie. “Uh, like, every day of my life, man.”

“Because of Vecna?”

“No, long before that.” Eddie finds the fork. Singular. “You only packed one, Stevie, but I can just use my fingers.” He wiggles them and Steve shakes his head.

“We can share,” he says. Alarms go off in Eddie’s head at the thought of passing the fork back and forth between them, sharing the slice of pie. He hasn’t been to that many dates in his life, but sharing dessert sounds a lot like a date thing.

“Sure,” he says, shrugging casually. Steve takes the first bite and hands it to Eddie. “Anyway, yeah. I always knew I wanted to leave. Knowing that there’s an alternate dimension at our feet that could pop up the next monster at any second only made the urge stronger, but. Gotta graduate first.”

“Where will you go? When you graduate?”

“I don’t know. Some big city with a cool music scene, maybe. I can join a band that’s actually going somewhere.” He snorts. “No offense to Corroded Coffin.”

Steve chuckles. “I’ve always thought you belong in some big city.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks with an arched eyebrow.

“Yeah, dude, you’ve always seemed- I don’t know, too big for Hawkins,” he says with an awed tone. Eddie’s throat feels dry, he skips the next bite of pie, giving it back to Steve. “Like you should be somewhere with people as loud and talented and great as you.”

Eddie swallows thickly. His eyes haven’t left Steve’s face, but Steve isn’t looking at him, instead he’s staring ahead at Hawkins or maybe like he’s trying to see even further than that. Eddie’s glad he’s not looking at him, he doesn’t even know what his face is doing right now, listening to Steve talk about him like that, there’s probably hearts in his eyes or something.

“I- I’ve always wanted to go to New York,” Eddie says to break the silence. Steve hums like he thinks it’s a good idea. “What about you, Steve? Do you think about leaving?”

“Sometimes. I- I’ve actually been saving up money to go to college. Nothing prestigious like Nance or Robin, just community college maybe.”

“That’s great, Steve,” Eddie says.

“But I don’t think I can leave until I know it’s over, you know? The Upside Down, especially if the kids are still going to be here.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about that. Kinda makes you want to steal another RV, pack them all up and leave Hawkins for good.”

Steve meets his eyes finally. He smiles. “Yeah, exactly.”

“I think we could do it,” Eddie says, entertaining the thought for a moment.

“You don’t think we’d end up in jail? For grand theft auto and kidnapping children?”

“Shh, let a guy dream, Harrington.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, holding up his hands in defense. “You know I haven’t told anyone about saving up for college. Just you.”

“Not even Buckley?”

Steve shakes his head. “I already failed once trying to get in. I don’t want anyone to know that I’ve failed again. I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Eddie thinks about what Steve said when they got here, about the fight with his parents, about them calling Steve a disappointment. “You could never disappoint me. Or Buckley or the kids. We all worship the ground you walk on, King Steve.”

“Shut up,” Steve says with a lighthearted shove to Eddie’s shoulder. “You don’t.”

“We do! Because we know just how good and badass you are, and whoever can’t see that is a butthead.”

“Are you calling my parents buttheads?” Steve asks with a barely concealed snort.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing!” He puts his hands around his mouth and yells. “The Harringtons are buttheads!”

Steve breaks into giggles, falling back against the blanket, squirming with laughter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” Eddie says without thinking, and watches as something flashes across Steve’s face.

Before he can backtrack or brush it off as a joke, Steve sits up again, his jaw set with determination.

“The fight with my parents was because of you,” he says. And okay, that’s not what Eddie was expecting.

“Me?”

“They came home just as I was packing this up.” He gestures at the picnic basket. “I didn’t hear them come in until they came into the kitchen. They thought I was doing all of this for a girl so they started going off about me wasting my life and everything that they worked so hard to give me just to go on dates and work at a goddamn video store. They told me that it didn’t matter how much I tried, this girl was going to realize I was a failure and leave me. I don’t know what made me more angry- what they were saying about me or that they were talking about you like they knew you.” Steve pauses and takes a deep breath. “So I snapped and I told them I wasn’t packing all of that for a girl, that I was doing it for you. A guy. And that you would never leave me because I work at a video store or because our dates consist of grilled cheese sandwiches and roller skating and babysitting kids. And I guess that was a little presumptuous of me since we never really agreed that these were dates and I don’t even know if you-”

“Yes,” Eddie says when he finally finds his voice. He lost it somewhere around Steve calling this, and all the things they’ve been doing together for weeks, dates.

Steve blinks, his lips press together like he’s trying to stop himself from smiling, from getting ahead of himself. “You don’t know what I was going to say.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “What were you going to say?”

“That I don’t even know if you feel the same way I feel for you.”

“Yes.” Eddie repeats. “Holy fuck, Steve, yes I do.”

Steve stops trying to hide his smile. He beams at Eddie. “Yeah? You’re crazy about me too?”

Eddie whines low in his throat. “Steve.”

Steve pushes himself to his knees and then he closes the distance between them by crawling towards Eddie. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t stop thinking about me and you want to listen to me talk all day about nerdy shit too?” Steve asks, crowding against Eddie until he has no choice but to lean back until he’s lying down on the blanket and Steve is hovering over him.

“Sports shit but yeah, yes.”

Steve leans down until his lips are right next to Eddie’s ear. “You want to kiss me too?” Eddie shivers, and this time, it’s not because of the cold. He’s never felt warmer in his entire life.

“Yes,” he says. “Please, Steve.”

Steve closes the distance between them and crashes his lips against Eddie’s, kissing him hard and desperately, drawing a whimper out of him. Eddie kisses back with just as much enthusiasm, his hands coming up to grip Steve’s waist, his shoulders, his arms.

His freezing arms.

“Christ, Steve!”

“What? What?” Steve asks, pulling back just enough so that Eddie can see his face- flushed with parted, swollen lips and blown pupils.

And oh. Yeah. Eddie needs to see Steve looking like this again soon. Preferably when he’s not freezing to death.

“You’re freezing, man. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was a little busy,” Steve smirks.

Eddie shakes his head. “I’m giving you your jacket back,” he says, squirming as he tries to shrug off the jacket with Steve still on top of him.

“No, Eds-”

“Then we’re going to the car.”

“But I can’t kiss you like this in the car,” Steve pouts and the sight of a pouty Steve because he wants to straddle Eddie and kiss him stupid shouldn’t make him consider staying out here in the cold, but it does. Just for a moment.

“You can, if we climb in the backseat, baby,” Eddie says with a sly grin.

Steve’s eyes widen, his eyes flick to the car and then to Eddie’s lips and Eddie sees the moment he makes a decision. “Yeah, okay. Maybe I am a little cold. Let’s go.”

They pick up the trash and the blanket in record time, even while stealing short, giggly kisses.

“I can’t believe we’ve been on so many dates and you haven’t even asked me out once!” Eddie says, balling up the tin foil paper and throwing it at Steve’s face. He throws his head back with a groan. “I can’t believe Max was right!”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You talk to Max about me? Your fifteen-year-old neighbor?”

Eddie arches an eyebrow right back. “Oh, so you don’t talk to Dustin, your fifteen-year-old best friend about me?”

“Of course I do,” Steve sniggers. “He’s the one who told me you can’t roller skate to save your life.”

“Then why did you take me to the roller rink?” Eddie asks with an undignified squeak, feeling the phantom pain of his many falls.

“So I could do this-” Steve takes hold of Eddie’s hands, tangling their fingers together, “-all night.”

Eddie flushes, looking down at their hands with a smile. “That was a good plan, I’ll give you that.”

He rubs his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles. “I have more where that came from.”

The touch makes Eddie’s insides flutter, he pulls a strand of hair across his face with his free hand, but Steve can probably still see his red cheeks. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Steve hums. He crowds against Eddie until his back hits the car, pinning him against it. “And I can show you. If you agree to go on a date with me.” Steve’s free hand plays with the lapel of his jacket on Eddie. “Officially, I mean.”

Eddie grins. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth.

Then he’s dragging him into the backseat, and for the rest of the night, neither of them feels cold again.

#steddielovemonth #day 23 #hi hello first prompt for this event hopefully i can write more before the month is over #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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holllandtrash · 1 year

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chasing fate | lance stroll

pairing: lance stroll x hamilton!reader

after months of lingering looks and shy smiles, all the two of you need is a little push in the right direction, but when that direction ends up being in circles, you start to wonder if there's even an end in sight

word count: 5k tags/warnings: soft and sweet, literally so pure and innocent

To put it simply, Lance Stroll was an introvert.

He loved his career, he loved the people on his team, but when the weekend ended he wanted nothing more than to go back to Montreal and hide away in the comfort of his house until he had to fly to the next country.

The worst was when there was no break in between races. When he had to fly from one race location to another, Lance struggled to hold in his complaints.

Oftentimes during the race weekend, he sought out places where he could find temporary comfort. Away from the crowds, away from the team sporting the matching Aston Martin colours. He just needed to breathe and he couldn’t do that with someone at his side. He couldn’t do that if he was called away for media or autographs. He couldn’t do that if he had to sit through yet another pointless meeting.

He lucked out in Monza, finding a spot early Thursday morning. Somewhere behind the motorhomes, a route that emergency vehicles would take so it wasn’t accessible to the public.

There was a bench, even somewhere for him to put his feet up. Absolutely perfect, he thought.

He sat there in between media sessions on Thursday, taking deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

He didn’t have anxiety, he just got overwhelmed easily.

All he wanted to do was race, he wished he could do that without the fifty thousand other agreements he never thought would become more and more unbearable as the races continued, as the years went on. Wasn’t it supposed to get easier the longer he did this? Why was he always counting down the minutes until he could just go home, or at least go back to the hotel?

Lance waited a minute or two more before standing up from the bench. He avoided the puddle that was near his feet and looked up at the sky. The clouds were a light grey, but no rain was supposed to be expected for the rest of the weekend, hopefully.

He was still looking up as he walked around the motorhome, thinking about how bad a storm would have to be for a race to be cancelled.

And you were looking down at your phone as you walked down that same dirt path, not caring about how the mud was going to stain the sides of your shoes because if you were being honest, you hated that you had to look your best during these weekends.

You hated that Lewis had turned the paddock into his own personal fashion show because the days you showed up with him, people expected you to also make some sort of statement or rep some expensive brand with your outfit. After all, you were the younger sister of 7 time world champion Lewis Hamilton, and your association came with upholding his image.

But god you were tired of it sometimes. You loved watching the races, but you could do without being asked what you thought about your brother's career, how you felt his battle was going, if he was going to retire soon.

You didn’t care, truly.

Lewis knew what he was doing, all you wanted to do was watch and support and not be sucked into whatever drama was circling his life that week.

That's how you found yourself looking for a seclusive spot to just get away from it all.

When you bumped into Lance, you were both taken off guard. You hand went to his chest, his hand went to your arm to keep you both steady.

“Sorry, I wasn’t-” You started to say, the same time Lance said “I didn’t see-”

You closed your mouth, dropping your hand to your side as he took a step back. The synchronised apologies didn’t need to be finished, it was clear you both weren’t looking where you were going.

“Is this your hideout?” You asked, a faint smile on your face when you saw the bench and the black boxes he had turned upside down to rest his feet on.

Lance looked behind him, inhaling a quiet breath before he smiled too, “Yeah, but I don’t mind sharing it if you’re in need of one.”

“How generous,” you teased.

Lance moved to step around you and had you kept walking towards the bench, you would have missed the way his smile dropped when he spotted the crowd of people on the other side of the motorhome.

But you caught it.

You didn’t say anything, but you felt bad for him, knowing that he had it so much worse being an actual driver. There was the stress of delivering and getting points every weekend on top of what he had to face when he stepped out of the car.

At least you got to go home after this and not think about Formula 1 until you decided to attend another race. This was Lance’s life.

And you liked Lance. You didn’t speak as often as you would have liked, but he was always very polite to you when you were in the paddock. Whereas most of the drivers kept to themselves and their teams if they were heading somewhere, Lance would send you a smile if he recognised you.

You knew he was shy, which is why you were always a little surprised if he did go out of his way to talk to you. Again, it wasn’t often, just a simple ‘How are you?’ or ‘It’s nice to see you’.

You liked his faint lisp as he spoke, you liked his Canadian accent, it made chatting with him more amusing for you. You were sick of the French and the British, you liked that when Lance spoke, there was always a sense of optimism to his words, even if he didn’t intend for it.

But most of all, you liked that despite being the son of Lawrence Stroll, despite having a paid seat, he fought hard. He worked his ass off every weekend to earn points for the team, he put effort in that not many other paid drivers would. He loved this sport, he loved racing, and you could see that even when you sat at home and watched the race from the comfort of your living room.

His effort in F1 seemed to go unnoticed a lot of the time. He had Seb as a teammate the last few years and now he was with Fernando. Two very prominent names and yes, two incredible drivers that helped him out immensely, but the attention always went to them.

So yeah, you felt bad for him.

You couldn’t relate to the driving aspect, but you understood what it was like being in someone's shadow. Something that you never once blamed Lewis for, just like you knew Lance would never blame Seb or Fernando.

It was just the cards you had been dealt, it was the fate you found yourself accepting.

You didn’t think twice before cupping your hand around your lips, calling out to Lance, “Hey!”

He turned right before reaching the paddock, eyebrows raised, but when your mouth curved into a warm smile, he reciprocated it before you even said anything else.

“Good luck this weekend,” you said and he chuckled, yelling a ‘thank you’ in response.

Four little words, but it showed him that someone was on his side.

And that someone was you, which Lance needed a second to process as he walked through the paddock.

He admired you, really.

He had been following you on social media for a while, he saw the work you put into Lewis’ organisations, how much of a role model you aspired to be. He liked the calming aura you carried into the paddock, it was something that drew Lance to you from day one.

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t afraid to talk to you, maybe that’s why you were one of the few people he didn’t shy away from. He hated crowds, he hated the obligations that came with being a driver, he hated struggling to find the right words to say when a camera was shoved in his face.

But you were different.

He could spot you halfway down the paddock and it made his job a little easier.

And if he just so happened to perform better when you were in attendance, well, no one really had any issues with that. No one even knew you were the reason behind it, behind his insane lap times during practices, behind his incredible qualifying finish that put him third behind Max and Checo.

Almost everyone was clueless, and that included Lance.

The one person who wasn’t clueless, was Lewis.

He bumped into Lance in the paddock, it was nearing sunset on that Saturday before the race and you had already gone back to the hotel at this point, telling Lewis you’ll see him later and congratulating on his P5 grid position.

Now, unlike you, Lewis was intimidating. Sure, he was probably the nicest driver in the paddock and wore his heart on his sleeve, but the man held seven world championship titles and knew a thing or two about racing.

So naturally, when Lewis approached him, Lance stood up straighter, slid his phone into his pocket and was ready to listen to whatever the British driver had to say.

“P3, mate, good job,” Lewis congratulated him, arm going around his shoulders to pat his back as they walked through the paddock.

“Yeah, thanks,” Lance smiled. “It was close there, in that last session. I just lucked out.”

“Nah it’s not luck,” Lewis laughed. “You’re a good driver. It’s only right you’re fighting for the big points.”

Lewis was a fierce competitor, but he showed every driver on the grid the respect they deserved. Lance was appreciative of his words, but it also left him stunned in response.

You were easier to talk to than your brother, that’s for sure.

“You’re doing well this year,” he then pointed out.

Ideally, Lance would have liked to be doing better. It was September and he found himself seventh in the standings. Better than last year, for sure, but Lance expected more of himself, more from the car.

But what was he supposed to say to Lewis, ‘I disagree’? Lance just thanked him again.

“Do you know what I’ve noticed?" Lewis, still with one arm around Lance, laughed quietly to himself. It wasn’t threatening by any means, but Lance felt like he was missing something, he wasn’t in on whatever Lewis found so funny.

“What’ve you noticed?” He asked.

Lewis nodded and he stopped walking. Lance did too and watched as Lewis tried to hide the faint smirk on his lips, tried, but failing

“You do better when my sister’s around.”

Again, Lance was unsure how to respond. This wasn’t something he could agree with or find an answer for, it honestly wasn’t even something he’d thought about.

But Lewis’ face said it all.

He had noticed the way the Canadian driver worked his way up the grid faster if you were watching the race. He kept track of Lance’s starting positions when you were in attendance compared to when you weren’t. He saw the way Lance, all around, was in a better mood and had a better weekend, if you were there.

“I don’t-” Lance shook his head, thinking maybe he had done something wrong. He didn’t want to cross any lines, he respected Lewis, respected you, your whole family. Why was he suddenly nervous that Lewis had caught onto something that had gone right over his own head?

Lewis continued on, not giving Lance a chance to defend himself or argue that he was wrong, “So you like her?”

Again, Lance struggled to get a proper sentence out, “No, I mean- I do, but not like-” he ran a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what the right thing to say here is, man.”

Lewis found humour at how on edge Lance became all of a sudden. His intention was not to get in his head or make him stutter, but it was entertaining.

“She’s-” Lance swallowed, “Nice. She’s nice.”

“Nice?” Lewis repeated, still stifling his laughter. “Yeah, tell her that mate, I’m sure that’ll win her over.”

“What, I’m not-” Lance shook his head again, that was all he could seem to do. He felt the need to defend himself, for something he had no control over, “I’m not trying to win her over.”

“Okay,” the older driver nodded, figuring now was probably the time to quit playing mind games. He patted Lance’s arm, “Just saying, if you did want to win her over, you probably wouldn’t have to try that hard. I think she likes you too.”

Lewis let those words sit with Lance as he turned and walked towards the gates of the paddock, leaving the Aston Martin driver standing in the middle of the walkway, repeating the sentence in his head over and over again.

‘I think she likes you too.’

When Lewis returned to the hotel, you were in the lobby scrolling through your phone. Lewis plopped down next to you, arm resting over the back of the couch and when you eventually looked up, you noticed the devious little expression on his face.

“What?” You asked, eyes narrowing. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Lewis sighed, “I guess if you wanted, you could call me-” he raised his hands in front of him, mimicking the motion of shooting an arrow. “-cupid.” And then he looked at you, with that same mischievous grin.

Now you were really confused.

“Who the fuck are you playing cupid for?”

Lewis hesitated, “Lance.”

That was certainly not the name you expected to hear.

“Lance?” You repeated. “Lance and who?”

“Lance and that girl who always lingers in the paddock when he’s nearby and gives him a more genuine smile than she gives her own brother.”

It took a second for it to hit you and then you hit him, smacking your older brother in the chest as he just took the abuse and laughed.

“Am I wrong?” Lewis asked, still unable to keep from grinning from ear to ear. Your reaction to your unrecognised feelings was so much better than Lance's. “Come on, Y/N, I’ve seen it for months now.”

“You haven’t seen anything,” you argued, crossing your arms over your chest in a very childlike form. Avoiding eye contact with Lewis made this conversation easier, but that didn’t mean he was about to let up.

“So you’re telling me you don’t like him?” He questioned. “That you don’t have feelings for that pale Canadian?”

The thing was, you probably did. You just never let yourself think about it. You didn’t spend enough time around him or go to enough races to let yourself sit in those feelings or act on it. You exchanged a smile and kind words when you were around each other, but it never went any further than that and you never let yourself hope that it would.

There was no point, you’d both be gone after the race weekends, back to your lives, your respected homes.

“I think you’re delusional,” you turned this around on Lewis instead of facing what was right in front of you.

Quite literally, right in front of you.

You looked across the lobby right as Lance was walking inside, looking down at his phone as he lugged a backpack over his shoulder. You felt Lewis nudged your side and in response you hit his hand out of the way, inching closer to the corner of the couch.

And then Lance looked up, his eyes finding yours almost instantly.

It was hard to put into words how you felt because up until now, you refused to admit you felt anything. You took the smiles and glances in the paddock as a sign of friendship, nothing more.

All of a sudden, it was naive to think those moments were just friendly.

You didn’t want to admit anything, you didn’t want to have feelings for a driver who lived on the other side of the world. You didn’t want to look at him and imagine a future where you’d be standing in his garage, attending events at his side, holding his hand when the pressure of the crowds and cameras became unbearable because as long as you could squeeze his fingers and let him know you were with him, it would be easier to breathe, for both of you to breathe.

Oh, you were fucked.

Because that was all you wanted.

You just didn't realise it until now.

Lance sent you a shy smile, purposely avoiding Lewis’ knowing stare and devious smirk as he walked towards the elevators. You felt yet another nudge in your side and it was at this moment, you couldn’t tell if you hated or loved having Lewis as your brother.

The teasing you could do without.

But if it weren’t for him, would you have ever let yourself accept that you did feel something for Lance? Or did it take Lewis pointing it out for you to realise it was impossible to ignore?

“So are you going to do anything?” Lewis asked and you really didn’t have an answer.

All you could do was shrug and tell him that you’ll sleep on it. You told yourself that if you saw him in the paddock tomorrow and still felt that pull towards him, still thought about what it would be like to act on those feelings, then maybe, just maybe, you might do something.

But Monza ended up being a wild race to follow. You barely left the Mercedes motorhome in the morning, the race was littered with yellow flags and your focus was on Lewis and his fight rather than trying to find time to see the Aston Martin driver.

In fact, your attention didn’t even go towards him until the end of the race neared and you noticed he was sitting in fourth place. In the back of your mind, you rooted that he would podium, but when Lewis finished second, you celebrated with him and his team. You didn’t give yourself a chance to think about Lance and his fourth place finish.

You didn’t see Lance in person at all on Sunday and you took that as a sign.

A sign that whatever Lewis put in your head last night was not something you needed to act on.

You stayed in London during the next three races. While Lewis did invite you to come with, he always did, travelling from Singapore to Japan to Qatar seemed exhausting and you could support your brother from the comfort of your flat in London.

Lance noticed your lack of presence in the paddock though.

He didn’t want Lewis’ words to get to him, but they did. He tried to perform his best during those races, but the most he could do was pull off a P5 finish in Japan. In Singapore he finished 7th and he had to retire in Qatar.

Maybe he did do better when you were there.

Lance knew he should have acted on Lewis’ advice to make a move, win you over, when he had the chance to, when you were both in Monza, but you slipped right through his fingers. He saw you once in the morning, when you were walking into the Mercedes motorhome, but you were balancing a phone between your shoulder and cheek and Lance couldn’t bring himself to interrupt you. Not when he didn’t even have an idea as to what to say.

It was Monday morning in Qatar and Lance was at the airport when he pulled out his phone and mindlessly opened up Instagram. Was he hoping to see a new post from you? Yes, but he would never admit that out loud.

But he saw it. A photo with a group of your friends at some restaurant in London. Your smile was illuminating, you were having fun, you were enjoying yourself.

Lance was envious. Not because he wasn’t enjoying himself, but because he wanted to be there with you, he wanted to know what it was that made your head tilt back in laughter at the same time the photo was taken.

“She’s going to New York.”

Lance looked up from where he sat in the secluded corner of the private lounge. It wasn’t uncommon to run into a driver or two in the airport the morning after a race, and it was more common to see them in the designated first-class lounges too.

Lewis sat down across from him, eyeing the phone in his hands. He must have been behind lance when he was hovering his thumb over your photos, trying to decide if liking it crossed some sort of line. He was cautious. He didn’t want to overstep, especially with Lewis watching the two of you like you were some sort of blockbuster movie and he had front row seats.

“She’s going to New York,” Lewis repeated, doing his best to keep the sly grin off his face. “And then she’ll be in Austin for the race, but she’s going to New York first.”

Lance sighed, carefully treading the waters, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you didn’t do anything in Monza.”

“Do anything?” He asked, but the clarification was just for appearances. They both knew what Lewis was referring to.

“She’s going to New York,” Lewis repeated for the final time, palms hitting his legs before he stood up. “Do whatever you want with that information.” He patted Lance on the shoulder as he walked towards the opposite end of the room, letting Lance sit there in tense uncertainty.

It would be stupid for Lance to go to New York, wouldn’t it?

It would be stupid for Lance to go home to Montreal only to stare at his phone when you posted a photo of a restaurant in New York and then something on your story of the lobby of a hotel that Lance was fairly certain was the Mandarin Oriental in Manhattan because he had stayed there before and the walls looked horribly familiar.

It would be incredibly stupid of him to call up his friend who just so happened to live in Manhattan and make up some bullshit excuse that he was visiting the city and how it would be fun to catch a Rangers game, that way he had a reason to post New York on his story without it being too obvious that he was in New York the same time you were.

Lance knew that all of this was childish. Book a last minute trip to New York in hopes that it would get your attention? Who did that?

Lance, apparently.

You were in your hotel room on Saturday night when Lewis texted you. There were no words, just a screenshot of an instagram story that clearly showed Lance in attendance at a hockey game. You texted back saying ‘stop trying to play cupid’.

But you had to admit, you were a little happy to hear that Lance was in the same city as you after not seeing him for over a month.

You could have let it be, let fate decide whether or not you two would run into each other, but sometimes fate needed a little push.

So when you went out for drinks with a friend that night, you made sure to publicly post which lounge you were at.

To anyone on the outside, you and Lance were sharing your personal lives on social media, something that you often did anyway, but Lance was an introvert, so this caught the curious eyes of a few of his friends and fans.

No one had an idea that this was the two of you communicating. That this was you saying I’m here, come find me, knowing that Lance would see and respond.

His friend invited him to a bar after the hockey game, but Lance said he had other plans, which he did. He wanted to find you. He ordered a car to the restaurant you had posted on your story and it wasn’t long until he was wandering through the booths, keeping an eye out for you and your friends.

When he felt a tap on his shoulder, Lance got his hopes up. Thinking that finally timing would work out in his favour.

But it was one of your friends. He recognised her from the pictures you shared. She had a glass and her phone balanced in one hand and she eyed up the Aston Martin driver with a bit of hesitation.

“Lance, right?” She asked, having recognised him as well. “I’m Y/N’s friend.”

“Is she-” he glanced up, one more look around the lounge. “Is she here?”

“She left about ten minutes ago,” your friend nodded, sounding about as disappointed as he felt. “She really thought you’d show up.”

“Yeah, fate’s not on our side I guess,” Lance tried to laugh it off, raising his hand up to scratch the hair on the back of his head. He then realised just how underdressed he was for this lounge, repping a Rangers jersey while everyone here was dressed with the intention of leaving a good impression. He didn't even think about changing first, he just wanted to find you.

Lance headed back to his hotel, trying to ignore the pitiful look from your friend. It seemed like a few people in your life wanted the two of you to finally connect outside the paddock.

But it shouldn’t have been a shock to anyone when the paddock was what finally brought you together.

You left New York the next day, heading straight to Texas to meet Lewis. He had work to do aside from Formula 1 obligations, work that involved his charities and that also involved you. So while you went to the Southern state earlier than expected, Lance was stuck in New York, trying to figure out his next move.

And you were also trying to piece together what was going to happen next.

Your friend had texted you, saying Lance did end up showing up after you left and you wanted to scream into the void, asking yourself why didn’t you just hold off a little longer.

You could have taken it as a sign. Another reason why you should just push your feelings aside. You two just couldn’t seem to get it right.

Lance entered the paddock on Friday morning, holding his card against the gate scanner. Sunglasses covered his face from the scolding sun, but there wasn’t much he could do to get away from the cameras that lined the walkway.

He waited until after the morning briefing to look for a hideout, something he did at most races. Just a place to breathe if he needed it and right now he did.

Was he intentionally walking in the direction of the Mercedes motorhome in hopes that he would spot you? Lance would say no, but the all-knowing smirk Lewis gave him when they passed each other said otherwise.

Lance had just walked past Mercedes when the doors to the motorhome opened and you stepped out, shielding your phone screen from the sun with your hand as you tried to read the text Lewis sent you.

‘Come outside, turn right.’

You looked right, expecting to see Lewis, because why else would he tell you to go outside?

But instead you recognized the green Aston Martin t-shirt in the soon to be growing crowd and you knew that, even though you had just missed each other once again, you couldn’t take this as a sign to go back inside and wait for the next chance encounter.

You had to make your own fate.

You walked down the steps and picked up your pace until you reached Lance. He had one of his airpods in, so he didn’t hear you approach from behind but he did feel the faint touch of a hand on his arm, guiding him to stop walking.

Lance took the airpod out and looked at you. Eyebrows slightly pinched together as he tried to figure out if now, here, in the paddock was the right time to do something, to finally let those feelings he had for you win.

“Hi,” you breathed out.

And then you smiled and Lance knew he was done for.

He was tired of waiting too, tired of dancing around the idea of you and him. This is what he wanted and he knew now, this was what you wanted.

“Hi,” he smiled back, absolutely glowing under the Austin sun, but he could say the same thing about you. Lance glanced down the paddock, “I was just going for a walk. Did you want to join me?”

“I’d love to.”

The lack of hesitation on your part gave Lance the confidence he needed to keep going, to not let this be restricted to just race weekends.

“What are you doing later?” He asked, and then laughed at the ridiculousness of his question. “I mean, after practice? Do you- do you have plans? Do you have dinner plans?”

You liked that he was a little awkward and a little unsure. He was cute, he was sweet, he was standing right in front of you after god knows how long you spent denying that he wasn’t anything more than someone you smiled at in passing.

“Are you asking me out?” You asked, keeping the teasing tone to a minimum. You weren’t Lewis, you didn’t want him to overthink the idea of you two being together.

Lance nodded, “I guess I am.”

Your smile grew, which was a response in itself. The two of you probably looked like young idiots as you stood in the paddock, both too giddy to get another word out. But that’s how it was supposed to be. You wanted to be with someone who made it hard for you to put together a sentence, you wanted to be with someone who made you smile so much you felt the discomfort in your cheeks. You wanted to be with someone who wanted you as much as you wanted them.

And Lance was that someone.

---

ynhamilton

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ynhamilton something about fate?

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lance_stroll life is better with you in it

lewishamilton you are welcome

danielricciardo this was your doing? lewishamilton just call me cupid

chloestroll the cutesttt

tbh im not in love with this and there will probably be another lance one shot coming soon to make up for it

#lance stroll x reader #lance stroll x you #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll fic #lance stroll one shot #ln18 #f1 one shot #f1 requests #lance stroll

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writeforfandoms · 3 months

Text

A Lonely Place - 1

Find my Soap masterlist

My first entry for the SoapItUp challenge by @glitterypirateduck - I used the prompt "Don't move" for this chapter.

This is set in the same universe as my Gaz zombie fic "Little Talks", but you don't have to read that to understand this. This starts six months later.

Reader is female and described as American, no other descriptors used.

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse, swearing, canon typical violence, alcohol mention.

Word count: 1.6k

You shifted your pack on your back, resisting the urge to groan. You'd been walking most of the day, you were tired and sore, and you wanted nothing more than to find a safe place to collapse for the night.

Fortunately, you could see a building up ahead.

It didn't take long to clear the area - no infected around, no bodies either. Which wasn't all that surprising. You weren't sure where exactly you were, but this was the first building you'd seen in a while.

The door creaked as you pushed it open, and you winced at the noise. But when you looked, you still didn't see any movement around.

Good enough.

Your pack thumped against the floor, and you took a few moments to stretch out your neck and shoulders, hoping to alleviate some of the constant ache. Next was some food - you were running low, hopefully you'd find more soon. You chewed while you cleared the rest of the house, checking for anything useful as you did.

No weapons. Of course. But some of the clothes would work, including a thick jacket. That would be helpful - the weather was already turning cold, and you couldn't exactly jog down to the nearest store to buy more. Socks were always handy, too.

You brought your new loot down to your pack, humming a little as you carefully re-packed things.

One more perimeter check, because you didn't want to leave anything to chance, found you outside just before sundown. You shaded your eyes against the light, admiring the splashes of color across the sky, even as you checked the ground for movement.

You had just turned to go back inside when you heard the engine.

It took a moment to register what you were hearing. It had been a long time since you'd heard a car. Since before the end, really. Your head swiveled towards the sound, eyes wide.

A car! Someone had a car! They could–

Well. They could do all kinds of things, possibly. Not all of those things were good.

So you went back inside, hunkering down near a window to watch outside. The car, a big SUV, rolled down the road outside, slow enough to you guessed the inhabitants were looking for infected. Or survivors.

You were suddenly very glad you had come back inside, and had no lights.

The car rolled on out of sight and you breathed out in relief. Good enough for you.

You used the last of the light to knit, working on the sweater again. Sure, you'd found the big jacket, but it never hurt to have layers available. You weren't sure what to expect from winter in this part of the world.

The night passed quietly, and you were on your way again the next day, knitting once again securely tucked away. This spot wasn't bad - maybe you'd come back, after you found some supplies.

Like food.

With a soft groan, you shouldered your pack and followed the road. That was your best bet to find more food.

Walking by yourself was, quite honestly, boring. You'd seen so much of this damned country by now that the sights no longer inspired awe, and the way your feet ached from constantly being on the move didn't exactly make you want to stop and sight see. You'd learned the hard way that knitting while walking was a terrible idea.

Which left you with time to think, and lots of it.

You still weren't quite sure what you were doing, not really. You just knew that you were stranded on a different continent, unable to go home, unwilling to trust anyone enough to get close.

Not after last time.

You got lucky - there was a town less than a full day's walk from the house. Everything looked silent and deserted, signs long gone dark. A liquor store door was smashed in, glass precariously littering the ground.

You avoided the glass as best you could, all too aware of the potential noise, and crept inside. This place had probably been looted, but you could hope…

You didn't find much. Some chips that had been overlooked and a half-empty bottle of scotch.

You took it with you.

The rest of the town was just as quiet, and you went through all the stores. Most of them were empty, looted.

But you struck metaphorical gold. One store had a stash of yarn tucked away in the back, in the office. You nearly did a little happy dance. That would come in handy.

You were stuffing the third skein in your bag when you heard the shuffling. You froze.

Silence for long moments. Long enough that you wondered if you'd imagined it. Then the shuffle came again, the scrape of a shoe across the floor.

You swallowed hard, hands shaking a little as you closed your bag. The zipper made almost no noise as you pulled it closed so, so slowly.

There was a back door, you'd seen it past the office. You could get out that way.

You took one step out of the office, hands clenched so tightly around your bag that they ached.

The wet thunk of something, or someone, being hit hard nearly made you startle. The soft swear that followed it was no better.

“Nice kill,” a soft, masculine voice murmured.

You shuddered at the wet squelch, like a knife being removed from a piece of meat. Okay. Probably two of them, at least. Maybe more.

Time to hit the road.

You moved down the hall as silently as you could, pausing in front of the back door. One deep breath in helped steady you, at least long enough for you to shove the door open.

A shout behind you made you move, booking it out of the building. You spared a wild moment to look, searching for the nearest good hiding place, and then ran for the trees.

Maybe you could lose them in the trees, or they'd decide you weren't worth the trouble.

That notion didn't last long. Only as long as it took to be tackled to the ground. You fell with a yelp, hitting the ground hard.

“Got a runner,” came the voice from the person perched on your back. A man, you guessed from the voice. Local, from the accent.

“Get off!” You tried to twist out from under him, heart beating hard, nearly panicking.

“Don't move.” Something firm pressed against the back of your shoulder. Kind of rectangular. Hard.

Your blood went cold at the implication. A weapon of some kind. Possibly a gun. You stilled, though you were still breathing fast, gaze darting around for any possible escape route.

“Let her up, Soap.” A pair of boots planted firmly in your vision. The weight lifted from your back suddenly, unexpectedly. It took you a moment to push back up to your feet, a little wobbly, pack clutched to your chest.

Two men stood in front of you, both armed. One wore a kind of bucket hat, while the other had a mohawk, gone a little shaggy. They were both imposing, and your shoulders curled in.

“What are you doing skulking around here?” The hatted one asked, eyes a little narrowed as he visibly sized you up.

You thought about being snarky, you really did. But fear won out. “Looking for food.”

He blinked, just once. “Sounds like you're on the wrong side of the pond.”

You grimaced. He wasn't the first to point out your obviously American accent, but it still didn't feel friendly. “I was on vacation,” you answered shortly, looking down, fingers tightening on your pack. “When it all started.”

They were both silent for a few long moments before the mohawked one stepped forward. “Mind if Ah look in yer pack?”

You eyed him. If you said no, he'd probably take it by force. “Just… be careful, please.” You held out your pack, trying to hold back your nerves.

He nodded, taking the bag and taking a look through it. “Hate to tell ye, bonnie, but ye cannae kill infected with yarn.” He shot you a grin, clearly amused.

You huffed, warming with some mixture of embarrassment and indignation. “Of course not,” you grumbled. “But you know what I can do with yarn? Make a sweater.”

He looked at you again, assessing, before he handed your bag back. “How long ye been on yer own?”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot. “I mean… It's… been a while.”

He looked back to the hatted man, and the two seemed to have a silent conversation. Two more men came out the back door you'd used, walking over to join the little meeting. Your gaze flicked between all of them, nerves rising the longer their little conference lasted.

“Right,” the hatted one said with a sigh, looking at you. “Come with us.”

“Why?” You pulled back a little, clutching your pack to your chest.

“We've got supplies,” the Scottish one volunteered. “Safe place to stay.”

You eyed them warily. Sure, they could be telling the truth… but there was a good reason you didn't trust people anymore.

“Here.” One of the newcomers stepped forward, pulling out a bigass knife. He flipped it easily, hilt towards you. “Any of us try to hurt you, you defend yourself, yeah?”

You took the knife slowly, fingers curling around the hilt. It wasn't a lot, but it did make you feel better. You breathed in deep, looking between them all. The Scottish one looked kind of hopeful.

“Okay,” you finally agreed, cautiously hopeful. “I'll go with you.”

#soapitup #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x you #f!reader

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codfanficedits · 8 months

Text

Cheating Ghost, full version.

I've always posted this in the parts as I wrote them, this is the full story. This story came to mind after I've suffered childhood abuse, and now my brother is following in the footsteps of my father.

Also, happy birthday to me.

CW: Domestic Violence, mentions of sex/describing sexual acts, mentions of rape.

18+ MDNI.

Ghost POV:

My hands on her hips, my lips leaving hickeys on her neck, my hard cock against her stomach. It all felt so right. Expect she wasn’t you. She was better than you, sexier, hotter, willing to try all the positions you wouldn’t do. She looked at me with the most hypnotizing eyes when I called her a good girl, those same eyes sparked when I called her my filthy slut. She was everything you couldn’t be for me. The first few times I felt incredibly guilty, I would spent minutes watching over you when you slept, cursing myself for being so weak, but as time passed, my heart stopped aching. Instead your flaws were showing even more. I knew you too well for you to be ever exciting again, I knew the way your lips tasted, the way your body felt on mine, I could predict your every move.

It took me 2 extra days to come home to you again. I had been dreading the moment, waiting until the very last moment to come home. Her smell still wrapped around my body as I set foot into our bedroom.

YOUR POV:

You and Ghost have been together for three years. You moved across the country for him, 10 days after you met him. You had been at his side ever since. You were there after the good missions, the bad missions and the failed mission. You were there to kiss his bruises, to hold him while he cried about a fallen teammate, you were there to celebrate every success he had in his career.

But lately things had changed. His mission taking longer than you were used to, him being more distant, no longer sharing the details of a mission with you. The first few weeks you tried to ignored it, thought it was because of a bad mission, but after a while you couldn’t ignore it anymore. Something was going on. Ghost was away on a mission when you received a text from one of his teammates, telling you he had seen Ghost leave with another woman. It left your heart shattered. You wouldn’t believe it at first, Ghost would never do this to you. But you knew it would fit, it was the missing piece of information to tie all of his odd behaviour together. You tried to ignore it at first, until the place you used to call home, was no longer appealing to return to. You could hear him set foot into the bedroom. You waited, pretending to sleep so you wouldn’t have to face him. He just stood there, as if he was waiting for you to make the first move. “Hey..” You said, making your voice sound hoarse. “How long have you been standing there?” You ask him.

“I was just admiring the view.” He answered. The fucking liar. You kick back the blankets and pat on the bed. “Come here, I’ve missed you.”

He starts to undress, and you pretend you don’t see the hickeys on his happy trail. Looking at it makes me feel sick. He slides in to bed with me, and you can feel the distance. “How was the mission?” You ask, your fingertips caressing his jawline, like you always do. “Oh you know, same old, same old.” He tells you. You can smell her on him, her perfume smells floral and expensive. He didn’t even have the respect for you to at least take a shower before coming home to you. You roll over to your other side, “let’s go to sleep, you must be tired, baby.” You say.

He wraps his arm around you, pulling you close and kissing your neck. Her perfume invading your bed, his erection pressed against you. “How about we have some fun first, hm?”

You don’t know what makes you feel sicker. “I’m really tired, sorry.” You say, being too disgusted to even feel horny.

“Fine.” His voice got cold and he rolled away from you, refusing to touch you. Fine.

Your mind was racing, trying to make up a good excuse for him, it was trying to diffuse the situation. Surely there must be a logical explanation? He had fallen asleep next to you, you were wondering how he even could sleep at night. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he.. Maybe he.. But your mind couldn’t come up with a good reason, it was way to easy to connect the dots. But you needed to know for sure.

You saw the screen of his phone light up. Bingo.

Careful to not wake him, you got up from bed, slowly taking his phone from the nightstand, trying to not make a sound. You snuck his phone into the bathroom, you tried to unlock it, his passcode was your birthday for ages. Access denied. You frown, maybe you made a mistake typing it. You try again, this time even more careful. Access denied.

Fuck.

You decided to type his own birthday, maybe he just happened to change it? It worked. As you scrolled through the messages you couldn’t really find anything. Soap sending him some memes. Captain Price reacting with two thumbs on everything Ghost send him. Gaz sending him pictures of food. Even their group chat was innocent.

You scrolled through everything. Until you found a hidden folder with pictures. Your eyes widened by the view. The pictures started looking innocent. Just some nudes, nothing too special. You could live with this.

Then they became more graphic. She was sitting on her knees, her tongue stuck out, semen on her face. You guess whose it was. You swiped again. It was her again, lying on a bed, looking at the camera with her hungry eyes.

A video. Against your better judgement you click on it. Your heart drops when you do so. He was fucking her like there was no tomorrow. She was on all fours, her face down, her ass up. You could tell by his pace that he was about to cum.

She helped it put it in again when it slipped out of her. It made you sick to your stomach. Yet you can’t stop watching. You’re torturing yourself. You can see his thick semen being shot on her back. You could imagine him grunting while he did so. You watch it again, pressing the volume button once. The sounds made you sick to your stomach, but your eyes were glued to the screen. The grunting was as you imagined, they were dancing with her moans. His voice cracked when he called her beautiful and you could feel your heart shatter.

A large hand slaps the phone out of your hand. “Do you always snoop through phones that aren’t yours?” A deep voice growled.

“Simon, what the fuck is this?” You ask. “What the FUCK is this?’ You yell at him.

“Oh come on, it’s nothing big.” He answered. “I’ve always been there for you!” You start to raise your voice again. “With every mission, good or bad. I have ALWAYS been by your side.”

His hand grabs your wrist. “Are you going to fucking behave?” He hisses in your ear. “Quit being a fucking drama queen.”

“Why? How could you?” Your voice sound defeated. He laughs at you. “Oh come on. You became boring. I can tell how you react at everything. It’s no longer exciting or new anymore.” He scoffs. He takes a step towards you. “Did you really think I loved you? Jezus Christ, you’re so fucking naïve.”

His words cut through you like knifes. Part of you wanted to change for him, be a more exciting person, anything so he wouldn’t leave you. But you weren’t stupid. You knew there was no coming back from this.

“I need you to get the fuck out of here.” You hissed. “Go sleep at Price or something.”

It was his laugh that sent the shivers down your spine. “I have to get out of here? Do I need to remind you this is my house? Take the few fucking things you own and get out before I kick you out.”

With tears in your eyes you grabbed your bag. You stuffed it with some clothes, your phone, your laptop and your wallet. He is right behind you when you walked out. Not saying a word to you. When you turned around to beg him to let you stay, his cold eyes told you enough. He slammed the door in your face. Leaving you all alone.

Ghost POV:

Of course I didn’t want it to end like this. She was always the safe option, but at least something was better than nothing.

I grab my phone, calling the girl I had been fucking for the past few months. A frustrated grunt leaves my throat when she doesn’t pick up. So I call again, and again until she finally picks up.

“What the fuck do you want?” She hisses at me. “It’s fucking 4 in the morning.” I let out an amused chuckle. I loved it when she was so feisty. “My girlfriend is gone for the night, and I don’t expect her home until noon. Care to come around?” I asked her. It’s quiet at the other side of the line and it is making me feel rejected. I hate that fucking feeling. “Well?” I ask, trying to hide the annoyance in my tone.

“You have a girlfriend?” The woman on the other side hissed. “You’re such a fucking pathetic man.”

I was taken aback by her reaction, where did she get the nerve to trat me like this? After all, she was nothing more than my toy. A toy I used to pass the time, but she didn’t let me answer her, her angry rant going on. “You’re a horrible, horrible man, if I had known you had a girl waiting for you, I would’ve never let you touch me.” She continued. “Lose the number, you fucking asshole.”

She hung up on me. The fucking bitch had the audacity to hang up on me? I scoffed. I didn’t need a stupid fucking toy anyway. I had you to come back to. After all, you always came back to me, no matter how much I fucked up.

I sat down on the couch, my fingers lingering over the screen of my phone. Fuck it.

“When are you coming home?” I texted you.

5 minutes. Five whole minutes had passed and you still didn’t text me back. Usually you’d text me back within seconds, like a fucking needy dog.

“Listen, I’m sorry you feel this way. I can change. I promise” I texted you again.

8 minutes. It had been eight minutes since my first text, and you didn’t hadn’t sent me anything back. It caused me to pace around my living room like a caged animal.

“Please come home, I miss you.” I texted, once more. It started to irritate me that you didn’t answer, but I couldn’t let you know.

14 minutes. The anger was getting to me. What the fuck were you doing? It was 4:28AM. You couldn’t possibly be doing something useful.

“Get your fucking ass home.”

???? POV:

He had known Ghost was a cheater, but he always tried to ignore it. Until he met you. God, you were gorgeous. It pained him that you only had eyes for Ghost. He fell in love with you the first time he met you. The way you walked, talked, your smile. Your beauty was out of this world.

But of course you were in love with Ghost. Ghost was everything he wasn’t. Mysterious, handsome, tall, confident, a deep, hoarse voice. So he hid in the shadows. He wanted you to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him.

But the guilt began to eat at him when Ghost started cheating on you, bringing some blondie back to the base after a mission. Her loud moans filling the empty halls. He couldn’t ignore it anymore after Ghost had brought back the second girl, but he was to afraid to tell you. It took him two more years to finally find the courage to tell you. He couldn’t even do it face to face. No, he texted you, like a coward.

But he had finally told you and that is what mattered.

He started to hate Ghost for this. The idiot had the most precious woman in the world and he tossed it out of the window for a little thrill.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw your text. You’d gone through his phone, and now he had kicked you out?

Damn.

A feeling of guilt washed over him, if he hadn’t told you, you’d be safe and sound in your bed, not wandering the streets at 4 in the morning.

He texted you his address, offering you a place to come to if you were lonely.

Your POV:

You felt alone. So god damn alone. You’d left everything, everyone behind to move in with Simon.

There was nothing you wanted more than to get back to Simon, to feels his strong arms around you again, but you weren’t stupid. You knew those arms would never feel like home again. You knew you’d never trust him again. The common sense in your body told you, you were worth too much to worry about him, but the love you felt for him tried to prove your common sense wrong, still. You could change for him, right? You could try to be less boring, to be less predictable.

A nearby bench in the park became your new place to stay, just so you could gather your thoughts. The bag you’d been carrying with you got dropped on the ground. A big sigh followed. How does one even go from here? Back to Simon was not an option, you refused to be his second choice.

Your phone buzzed. It was Simon, asking you when you would come home. Your heart skipped a beat. He still cared about you. Of course he did, otherwise he wouldn’t be texting you! You’re trying to convince yourself, but it’s not working. Something is different. For once, your love ending didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

You fidget with your phone, ignoring the messages that come rolling in. You pressed the phone against your lips, your mind working overtime. What was it that you wanted?

After what seemed like forever you make a decision. You don’t want to be alone, not right now, so you decide to text him. Not Simon, no, he wasn’t worthy of your presence. You text the person who tipped you, after all, he had always told you he would be there for you if you needed him. It takes every ounce of your selfcontrol to not text him the whole story, so you give him a short update. 3,5 minutes. That’s how long it took for him to answer you. It’s just his address, and you take it as an invite that you’re welcome. As you open the navigation on your phone, it shows you that it is just a ten minute walk. Perfect for you to clear your head, so you wouldn’t be all in your feelings when you got to him.

It's 5:25 AM and the sun is starting to rise again. For a moment the world doesn’t seem so bad after all.

Your hands shake as you ring the doorbell. The door swings open almost immediately.

Johnny.

Ghost POV:

I was starting to lose it. You’d come online, but you didn’t read my texts? How dare you? Where the fuck do you think you have the audacity from to ignore me?

I texted you again.

“At least have some fucking respect and answer me.”

An uneasy feeling starts to linger in my stomach, causing me to pace around the living room. What if you really did decide to leave this time? No, you wouldn’t. I was sure of that. But then why didn’t you answer me?

No it shouldn’t bother me this much. I can just go to the bar and pick up a better version of you, a prettier one, a more adventurous one. Then you did the thought of you leaving me sting so much?

I lose my temper, and an empty teacup flings across the room, against the wall. The brown liquid dripping down.

A few deep breaths and I should be okay again. Wrong.

The uneasy feeling in my chest stays and there is nothing that I can do against it. Why would you do this to me? Why did you have to make things so hard? Why couldn’t you just come home when I asked you to?

God, you’re being a pain in my ass right now. Making such a fuss, and for what? Because I had a little fun? That was your fault really, you had always been a little boring, why couldn’t you just be a little spicier in life.

And now your behaviour is making me feel bad? I don’t think so. I sent you a final text.

“You’re gonna get it when you get home.”

Soap POV:

He was waiting in the living room for her, nearly falling over his own feet as he made his way to the front door. The sight of you standing there, with your broken heart is the hardest thing he had to watch.

‘Even in her agony, God is jealous of her beauty.’ Soap pushed that thought away, he wasn’t here to hit on you, he was here to be the friend you needed. He stepped aside to let you in. “It’s not much, but it’s safe.” He said, gesturing around his living room. It was clear a single man lived here, the pizza box from last night still on the table, his dirty socks and shoes next to the couch. A sheepish smile on his face, hoping that you wouldn’t judge him too much.

He was mesmerized by your eyes, but he could see the sadness, the hurt in them, and it made his heart ache.

He signalled for you to sit on the couch, handing you a beer, his own in his hand, as he took place in his recliner, wanting to keep a distance. There was a silence between the two of you, but to him it didn’t feel awkward at all. It felt like coming safe home after a long, stressful day.

He glanced over at you. You looked so fragile on his couch, a large pillow being used as a shield, as your gaze met his. A nervous smile.

Your phone buzzed, and he could see it was from Ghost, his eyes narrowing as he read the text. “At least have some fucking respect and answer me.”

But you were strong and you didn’t pay any mind to his text, you tossed the phone next to you and met his gaze once more.

Then the words started to pour out, and you told him everything. How you couldn’t believe it at first, how you finally started to connect the dots. How Ghost dared to come home smelling like another woman, the video you had watched. He took an occasional sip from his beer every now and then.

With every full sentence he could see your mind working overtime, telling you to not go back to that relationship anymore. It made his heart beat faster in his chest.

As if it’s natural the conversation shifts to a lighter one, as if you want to leave Ghost and the darkness that he brings with him in the past, and Soap was happy to oblige.

You tell him about your job, your hobbies, your favourite crystals and he takes in all the information as if it is the most important thing he has ever heard.

Your phone buzzed again and the both of you look at it at the same time.

“You’re gonna get it when you get home.”

Those words made Soap’s stomach drop, he had always known that Ghost had a temper, a bad one, but even this felt low for Ghost. He looked over at you, expecting to see fear in your face, but instead you just laughed. As if you were freed from the chackles Ghost had put on you.

“Shit.” Your voice sounded like giggle. “I should really put him in his place for speaking to me in this tone.”

‘God, her laugh could light up a room without trying.’

No stop, he shouldn’t think like that.

Maybe it was the beer talking, maybe it was the lack of common sense from the whole situation, but he had an idea. An idea that would put Ghost in his place.

“Come with me.” Soap told you, as he made him way to his bedroom. It was surprisingly tidy compared to his living room. Sure, the bed wasn’t made, and his backpack was casually tossed into the corner, and now that he looked around, his nightstand were a mess too. But the dirty socks were limited to the bathroom only and that was something.

“I need you to trust me, I’m not a pervert, I promise.” Soap was rambling, a treat he had when he got nervous. He swallowed some air before he started explaining. “I need you to get on my bed on all fours, I promise I won’t look okay.” The rambling continued.

You didn’t even question it, you just did what he asked you to do. He took a step closer to your ass, his breathing getting hard to control. “Look at the wall.” He muttered. The shadow being rather, suggestive.

‘Life was an artist and you were the fucking masterpiece.’

He couldn’t help but look down at you, the sight of you presenting yourself like this, God it got him hard, the blood going straight to his growing erection. He dug his nails into the palm of his hand, he had to contain himself.

You handed him your phone, allowing him to take a picture. If he didn’t know any better the shadow suggested he was actually fucking you. The thought of how tight you would be, how good you would take it, it was flooding his mind. Shit shit shit. He needed to stop.

He handed you your phone back, stepping aside, it would drive him insane if he kept looking at your ass.

Soap looked over your shoulder as you sent Ghost the picture. A grin on your face when you started to type.

‘Sorry, I was busy.’

Ghost POV:

It has been more than a fucking hour since I’ve sent my last text, and yet you lack the fucking respect to answer me. You’re a fucking worthless waste of air.

I look over at the table when my phone buzzed. “Sorry, I was busy?” I repeat your text to myself. My fingers are quick to open the picture you sent me.

My phone buzzed. A text from you.

No, no, no, no, NO.

I could feel my stomach drop from that picture. You’re a fucking disgusting slut and you know it. How the fuck dare you? After all we’ve been together you’re throwing us away like this? How fucking dare you?

My anger gets the best of me. I want you to be hurt. I want to take away the things you like. I want to see you cry, beg me for the mercy you don’t deserve.

In a blind rage I pull out the cutlery drawer in the kitchen, I was looking for some scissors but couldn’t find them, so I took our kitchen knife. The fucking stuffed animal I had won for you at the fair was the first to go. God it felt so good to take my anger out on something. Besides, who the fuck has a stuffed unicorn?

The rest of your clothes became my second target, a maniacal laugh leaving my throat as I could hear the fabric rip under the force of my knife. Shit it felt good, too good even. For a second I would imagine you there instead of your clothes and the rage would leave my body, but it’s temporary, I want to destroy you.

If I can’t have you, no one should have you.

My hands tremble when I look at the picture again. My eyes widen when I recognize the room, I recognize his fucking backpack, the idiotic sunglasses on his fucking nightstand.

God fucking damn.

My best fucking friend. The fucking son of a bitch.

Where the fuck did the two of you get the fucking nerve to betray me like this?

Granted, Soap had been more distance towards me since I’ve started to cheat on you, but he never had a problem with it during my last relationship. This must’ve been his idea. Letting you catch me cheating, so I’m the bad guy, while you’re getting your pussy pounded by that fucking traitor.

I’m angry, furious even. Part of me wants to take the knife and stab the both of you, watching as the life leaves your eyes. I can feel the rage boil inside of me.

A sudden wave of relief washes over me. I know what I have to do.

I leave the knife in our matrass, I don’t even grab my jacket. I know the way to his house, it’s a short walk and I know what I’ll find when I get there. You all loveydovey in his arms, as the goddamn slut that you are.

The walk there pisses me off even more, it gives me the time to think about you, about that fucking traitor of a man I used to call a friend.

My fists bang on the door. “Soap! I know you’re in there with this filthy whore.” My voice is a mere bark.

“Be a fucking man and face me.”

Your POV:

You had nearly forgotten about Simon. Not really obviously, you knew you still had to face him one day. Half of your belongings were still at that house. But for now, for now you could forget him. Soap’s bedroom was filled with laughter, you had more in common than you thought, memories, hobbies, even the same dishes you liked.

Although he liked olives, and the mere thought of them was enough to make you shudder.

Soap was in the middle of a story about Captain Price, something about his hidden porn stash when three loud bangs made the both of you quiet. It was unmistaken who’s voice it was. It felt as if a hand had reached out to your throat, squeezing it shit. Your eyes pleaded to Soap, begging him to stay in his bedroom with you. Surely Simon would leave, right? Right?

The banging got louder, more violent, his profanities carrying out over the street. All you wanted was for the ground to break open and swallow you whole.

“I have to face him.”

“What? No Johnny that’s ridiculous.”

“He won’t leave, I can just explain what happened. I’ll tell him you don’t want to see him.”

“But he sounds dangerous.”

“I’ve known him for years, lass. I’ll be fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You couldn’t ignore the knot in your stomach, the horrible feeling as if something was bound to happen, Soap had closed the door behind him, as if he wanted to shield you from what was about to happen. You hid away in the corner, your knees brought up to your chest, as if you wanted to make yourself as tiny as possible.

You could hear the door open. Soap’s voice was the first to be heard. “Hey man, I know this looks ba-“ His sentence got cut short.

Something was happening, but you couldn’t make out what it was. The closed door muffled the sounds to much.

Yet the sounds of a person falling was clear to you. A man begging another man to stop, the faint sound of fists hitting their target.

Your bag.

It was still on the couch, you knew it was there, all you could do was to pray that Simon didn’t find it.

Your mind was racing, where had you put your phone? You knew it was in this room, somewhere, you had used it to text him that picture.

Oh god, why did you do that?

This was all happening because you just had to be petty. Johnny was getting murdered and you were having a pity party. Selfish bitch.

You had to find that fucking phone. Call someone. Call the police even.

But you were too scared. Afraid that if you were to move, Simon would hear you and come for you.

The sounds of footsteps on the stairs snapped you out of it. You wanted it to be Soap, you really did, but you knew it was Simon. “I know you’re in there you fucking filthy slut!”

You pressed yourself against the wall, hoping that you could blend in, maybe disappear while you’re at it.

The bedroom door swings open, and the man before you is no longer the man you once loved. His eyes are wide, his nostrils flared, a predator looking at his prey.

You can hear the soft groans coming from downstairs. You want to escape, you want to leave, but your body betrays you.

“Simon, I, I, I.” You start to stutter. His hands grab a handful of hair, forcing you to look up at him.

“You really thought you were smart, huh?” He hisses through his gritted teeth. He lets go of your hair, and for a second you think you can breathe. That was a mistake.

His right fist hits you, then his left, right, left, right, left, right. Until you start to lose count.

You hold up your arms to defend yourself, but it’s useless. He is trained to do this, and you’re his target.

You start to beg him, beg him for your life, but you can tell he is enjoying this, your tears, the fear in your eyes, it is nothing but fuel to his anger.

His hands grab your hair again, dragging you towards the bed. You’re too stunned, too terrified to even react.

The sound of his zipper going down makes your eye widen in fear. “I’ll show you who the fuck you belong to.” He hisses at you.

It is Soap who stumbles into the room that make the both of you look up. God. He looks horrible, he looks as if he was dragged through hell and back. The pain is visible in his eyes, the blood on his face, the red marks on his body.

A broken promise.

Ghost let’s out an annoyed grunt. “I’ll take care of our little problem.” He whispers into your ear. His voice, the tone, the words, it sends shivers down your spine. The sound of his zipper going back up is a blessing and a curse.

You’re safe, for now.

You can only watch in horror when you can see Ghost make his way over to Soap. You want to react. Your mind is screaming at you to do something. But your body can’t.

It seemed as if time was slowing down. The sunset slowing illuminating the room you’re in. The tension in the thick air. It looks like a horrible nightmare, one you wish to wake up from.

You’re held captive by your own body and mind. No control over what you’re thinking or doing, it makes you feel helpless.

Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths. Snap out of that freeze response, no more freezing. You need to fight or you need to get out. Go. Go. Go.

Your body handles on it’s own, despite the pain you’re in, you manage to get up, stumbling over your own feet.

Get out or fight.

It’s the gunshot that follows next, that puts you into freeze again.

Your POV:

Ghost looked at his hands, he was visibly confused by the blood on them. His blood?

Your hands are shaking, your mind goes back to a date you and Ghost went on 2,5 years ago.

It was a sunny day, and he was so excited to take you there. He had been talking about it for a few weeks and you finally decided to give in.

Who would have thought a silly little date to a shooting range would save your life one day?

Not you, not Ghost.

You had spotted the gun in Soap’s backpack, the will to survive took over, your body snapping out of your freeze mode before your mind was able to.

“That’s a good lass.” A Scottish accent broke the silence.

Ghost dropped to his knees, his hands pressing on the gunshot wound. So much was happening at once, yet you tried to take control over the situation once again. Your hands tremble as you load another bullet into the chamber.

“Stay down or I’ll fucking shoot again.” Oh how you try to be confident, but the words are a mere whisper as the tears start to roll down your cheek. You try not to choke on your shallow breaths.

The tension in the air is horrible. You can tell Soap is holding on for dear life, not knowing how to continue. You can tell that Ghost is defeated, as if the shot held a mirror in front of him, he was no better than his father and he knew it.

And you, standing there. Holding on to that pistol for dear life, your knuckles white from the tight grip.

A few loud bangs, a loud voice, a small army of police men joining you in the room, the rest of the day a blur.

You didn’t exactly look innocent, holding a loaded weapon, pointing it to an already wounded man.

And God, for the first time you felt lucky. You could show the texts he had sent you, the way he had torn up the place you used to call home, you had only shot him once, and it was a non-lethal shot.. It all ruled in your favour, the judges ruled it self-defence.

Ghost on the other hand didn’t get as lucky, all the evidence pointed in his direction, even after you’d shot him.

Although the sentence he got was a joke.

Sixty days.

He would spent two months in jail for traumatizing you, for harming you, for destroying what belonged to you, for harming Soap, for making your home feel unsafe.

Just sixty days.

But, for sixty whole days you felt safe. You knew he wouldn’t be lurking around the corner, you knew that for sixty whole days you could breathe again.

Ghost POV:

I lost it all. And for what? For a little toy, for a little smile, for a little weak moment. Sixty goddamn days of my life.

It wasn’t even worth it. It made me lose the job I worked so hard for. Price didn’t want to hear shit after I got my sentence. I tried to explain how it wasn’t really my fault. After all, you and Soap had planned this. No matter how innocent you tried to act in court. I knew what had happened.

I really tried to live with my anger. I had to go to therapy, but that was a waste of my fucking time. I have one little outburst and all of the sudden I am the problem?

I had to sell the house, because of you. Everything reminded me of you, at night I thought I saw you stand in the doorway, I swear I could hear your footsteps, your laugh, your voice. But you were never there. It haunted me, you know that? So I sold it, bought another house. Tried to forget about you. The money I had made during my time in the military, it lasted me a long time. I didn’t have to work, no I could drown my sorrows in liquor and hookers. The funny thing was, money doesn’t last, just like we didn’t.

And I really tried. I tried to get new jobs, but they would never last. God, people are morons and I just cannot deal with them. Do you know how hard it is to keep your house when you’re not able to keep a goddamn job? And furthermore, do you know how hard it is to keep a relationship when you’re not able to hold a job, when the bills are stacking up?

God, and even if I could hold a job, I’m not able to keep a relationship, I keep searching for a piece of you. Even when they’re a perfect match, they’re still not you.

I hate myself for letting you go, I crave how predictable you were, I crave your touch, your voice, you.

Yet at the same time, I am so angry at you for taking everything from me. I deserve better than this. You took everything I worked so hard for.

The anger is tucked away, for now. It reappears whenever I hit the bottle. Everything I’ve been holding in comes out then. It’s not a pretty sight when I get my shit together again, it makes me feel ashamed.

Your little action has made me unable to look into the mirror. I see my fathers eyes whenever my eyes linger to long on the man I see in the mirror. I became what I hated the most and I can only blame you for it.

I even tried to make up with the last woman, the one you found the video of. I went to her house, tried to explain myself. I even apologised for calling her my toy. She had the audacity to laugh at me. She told me to fuck right off. Hell, she even pulled her girlfriend to her side when I asked for a second chance. It left me broken. Not even my back up wanted me anymore.

Lately I’ve been wandering the streets, as a soul without a purpose. I avoid the large windows, I cannot stand to see my reflection in them, the shell of the man I was supposed to be. I had such a good life ahead of me, but it was all ruined. My days are filled with sorrow and time is slipping through my fingers.

It is a good day, a beautiful day, so I decide to go to the park, maybe it would ease my mind, before I would go home and get drunk again. I wander around in the park, aimlessly, the sun on my skin is a nice feeling, it beats the feeling of feeling sorry for myself.

My heart skips a beat when I see you. You’re standing close to the water, and I can’t tell what you’re saying to the man in front of you, but you look happy. The clothes you’re wearing fit your body perfectly, and truth be told, you look better than you’ve ever looked before.

God I miss you. I miss you so goddamn much. I start to make my way over to you, I want to talk to you, maybe there is a new chance for us to be together. The guy you’re with can suck it, I can show you what you deserve.

My blood runs cold when I see the man in front of you go down on one knee.

No.

Your POV:

You never stepped foot into that house again, you tried, but the tea stained wall was enough for you to back down. All your belongings you had left behind were things you could replace.

But that wasn’t your biggest worry. Soap had risked his life for you, and for what? Because you needed to prove a point to Simon? You felt so, so, so goddamn guilty. Luckly for the both of you, Soap ‘only’ had two broken ribs, a black eye and a few other bruises. You both knew it could have ended different.

Soap was a kind soul, and you knew it. He offered you a place to stay when you couldn’t go back to the place you once called home. He insisted on taking the couch, even with his injuries. He insisted that you were the one who deserved to sleep in his bed after everything you had been through.

In return you made him breakfast every day. The man was a sucker for fresh pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, maple syrup. All of them together, or just one of those things. It didn’t matter to him, as long as it was something you had cooked, this man was content.

What started as just breakfast, quickly became dinner too, lunch followed shortly after. Although Soap slept on the couch, he wouldn’t hesitate to come running up the stairs when he could hear you having a nightmare, eventually you’d start having flashbacks of that morning. The events repeating themselves in your mind time after time, leaving you frozen in place.

Soap was there for you, no questions asked. He was on medical leave anyway, and he wanted to care for you, protect you. He would always be there when the nightmares or flashbacks started. Holding you, grounding you, bringing you back into reality every time.

After one particular flashback the two of you stayed on the couch, even though it was late at night. You didn’t dare to go to sleep, worried that the nightmares would keep you up again, and Soap wasn’t going to let you out of his sight.

The next thing you knew was that you woke up with him in your arms. His head resting on your shoulder as you held him tight. The best part of it all? It never felt awkward. When he finally woke up he had a boyish grin on his face.

“Best night of sleep I’ve had in a while.” He told you, before he gave you some space again. “How about I make you some pancakes this time?”

You had always thought that Ghost made you feel at home, but Soap.. Holy shit, Soap was something else. When the night fell that day and it was time to go to bed you held your hand out to him, he didn’t have to sleep on the couch anymore. Not if it was up to you anyway.

You could tell he was hesitant to take your hand. “I want you to, no, I need you to know you don’t have to do this to pay me back in any way, shape or form.” He began. You shushed him. This wasn’t about paying him back, this was about the feeling that had began to grow inside your heart.

He responded with a simple kiss on your nose. A token of appreciation.

It was the start of something beautiful, Soap was so much kinder than Ghost had ever been to you. Because it was Soap who woke you up with a thousand and one kisses on every inch of skin he could get his hands on, it was Soap who made sure you were always comfortable, no matter where you were or what you were doing. It was Soap who made sure you would at least get a text every day when he was on a mission, it was Soap who hid little love notes around the house when he was away.

Soap brought you stones from the missions he had been on, always proudly telling you how he picked the prettiest rocks, just for you. Even when he was away on missions, he always made sure you never, ever felt lonely.

He had just come home after he went to a little bakery to get you both breakfast, so you could sleep in.

“I saw some ducklings in the park when I walked back.” He told you, before he took a bite of his croissant.

“Really?” Your voice is filled with excitement. “Can we check them out after breakfast?”

“Only if I get a kiss first.”

“Deal!”

“Ah shoot, I should’ve asked for more.” The Scot pouted while he stole your last piece of pastry.

“Hey! That was mine.”

“Sorry lass, boyfriend tax.” He grinned as he swallowed the stolen bite.

“Now.” A devilish grin formed on his lips. “You still owe me a kiss.”

A laugh escapes your lips before he kisses you, his strong arms wrapped around you, as your hands rest on his waist. “That was worth all the ducklings in the world.” He whispers to you as he presses a quick kiss on your forehead.

“Come little lass, before those ducklings are fully grown ducks.”

He doesn’t let go off your hand for the whole walk to the park, the two of you walk in silence, and it’s nice. His presence is enough for you, and you are enough for him.

You look around the little pond to see a glimpse of the promised ducklings, but they are nowhere to be seen. You have your back turned to him, as your eyes scan the area.

“They’re gone.” Your voice sounds disappointed. “Well damn it, I want that kiss back Jo-“ Your breath hitches in your throat when you turn around to face him.

There he is, on one knee in front of you, a little black box in his hand.

“Will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”

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amentomensmut · 4 months

Note

hi! could I please request an angst piece for Mike Schmidt where he starts working longer hours and accidentally misses his date with the reader because he’s picking up extra shifts to make enough money to buy them nicer things like jewelry? I would appreciate it if they could talk about it and then he tries to make it up to them by spending more quality time with them :)

How can I make it up to you?

Mike Schmidt x Fem!reader wc: 1.8k

warnings: none, really! angst, fluff, pet names (baby, sweetheart)

note: SORRY i've been gone so long, part 2 for first time for everything WILL HAPPEN. however, loved writing some angst for a change :) enjoy <3

45 minutes.

Mike was supposed to be here 45 minutes ago.

You check your phone again out of habit and sigh. No new missed calls or texts. You scan the restaurant once again and you realise how pathetic you must look sitting here alone. You down the last of your chardonnay and call for the bill.

You know Mike works hard to provide for Abby, and you admire that. However, he promised you a nice night out tonight. You hold back tears as you leave the restaurant. Sometimes you feel selfish for thinking it, but you wish Mike didn’t have to work so much. You barely get to see him during the week, and when you do he’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open. You shouldn’t hold it against him, you know that. But can’t he also make time for you?

Tears are spilling out of your eyes and down your cheeks by the time you get to and in your car, and you don’t care enough to wipe them away. The sting of mascara in your eyes doesn’t seem to faze you, and when you see Mike's name pop up on the screen on your ringing phone, you start to cry even more.

“Baby? I’m so sorry I’m late, but I’m on my way over now. I had to pick up an extra shift, and then I needed to make a quick stop at the store which took me way longer than expected.” You hear Mike's distant voice on the other end of the phone, and the sound of a turn signal going off; signalling he’s in his car.

You try not to make it obvious you’re crying, but the sound of his voice makes a broken sob leave your lips.

“Sweetheart? Please talk to me.” Mike calls, and his voice sounds so desperate for any kind of answer on your end.

“Just don’t even fucking bother, Mike. I left already anyway.” Your sadness has very quickly turned to anger from hearing Mike’s half-assed apology, and you couldn’t give a shit if your words hurt him. He hurt you first. You start your car, wiping your blurry eyes and pulling out of the parking lot.

“You left? But you’ve wanted to eat at that place for months.” And Mike was right. You had wanted to eat at that restaurant for months. It was some new Italian place that had sparked your interest, and when you had planned this date, the first thing you did was make a reservation. Too bad it had gone to waste.

“I guess I lost my appetite.” You said, hanging up the phone. You want to yell and scream at him, but what good would that do? You don’t have the energy, so instead when you get home you change into some comfy clothes and curl up in your bed.

You’re not one for big, dramatic gestures, but you do consider burning his hoodie that you currently wear. It smells exactly like him and that makes you cry even more. The one person who you want to comfort you right now, is the reason you’re crying. You’re not sure if it was fair for you to be so harsh towards him on the phone, but you can’t find it in you to care. You had the whole night planned, you wore Mike's favourite dress, you bought his favourite ice cream to share when you got home, all for it to be wasted.

The sound of your doorbell ringing jolts you awake, and you groan as you roll out of bed. You’re almost 99% sure you know who’s at the door, and you consider not even answering it. However, the part of you that still wants to see Mike wins, and you open the door. On your doorstep is a very guilty looking Mike holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers, and in his other hand a bag that holds your favourite candy. You almost want to forgive him right then and there. Almost.

“It’s late, Mike.” You say, crossing your arms like it's a defence mechanism. You take in his appearance. His hair is dishevelled, like he’s been running his hands through it, and you know that’s something he does when he gets anxious. His eyes are tired and his lips are bitten.

“Yeah, yeah I know. I just-, well, I got you these.” He says, handing you the bouquet of flowers. You consider not taking them for a moment, but you rule that option out as you look at Mike’s tired, sad eyes. You hold the bouquet in your hands, waiting for Mike’s next words. You know he struggles with voicing his feelings and emotions, but if he thinks he can just buy you flowers and candy as a way to apologise, he would be sorely mistaken.

“How’d you get these? The flower shop closed two hours ago.”

“It was closing when I got there. I kinda had to bribe the guy to let me in.” Mike says with a nervous laugh, and your heart warms at the sweet gesture. There’s a pregnant pause, and you can tell Mike is trying to find the right words to speak.

“I’m really sorry. I’m sorry for being late, that I upset you.” Mike starts, and you sigh.

“But we planned this, Mike. And you just didn’t come.” You know your eyes are getting watery again, but you’re hurt.

“I know, baby. I wanted to get you a gift, but there was a long line at the jewellery store, and the wait was way longer than I expected. I decided to wait because I’ve been picking up extra shifts for months to get you this necklace and-” You cut Mike’s rambling off.

“You got me a necklace?”

“The one that was in that magazine you showed me.” Mike said, and you furrow your eyebrows. If you’re thinking about the same necklace, it was one you had showed him on a whim a few months ago. You were reading a magazine when you had come across a necklace that was just to die for. You had shown him the necklace, gushing about how beautiful it was, but how you could never afford it. There was no way Mike had bought you that necklace, right?

“But I brought that up months ago.”

“I know.”

“You remembered?”

“Of course I did.” Of course he did.

“That’s too much, Mike.”

“I picked up some extra shifts.” He says with a shrug, like what he did isn’t a big deal.

“You’re making it really hard to be mad at you right now.” You say with your bottom lip between your teeth. Your head and your heart are saying two different things, and even though you do want to forgive him, you’re still hurt from tonight.

“Come in.” You say, motioning for Mike to follow you inside.

“Just so you know, I’m not letting you in because I forgive you. It’s just…cold outside.” You continue, putting the flowers on your dining table before leading Mike to your living room.

“I should’ve just forgotten about the necklace. You’re more important than that. I just really wanted to get you something nice.” Mike says as you both sit down on the couch. You can really see how anxious he is now with the way his leg bounces up and down rapidly and how he picks at his nails.

“Can I see it?” You ask, and Mike is nodding, reaching into the bag that also holds your favourite candy to pull out a box. He hands it to you with bated breath, his eyes scanning your face. You open the box, your lips parting in shock. You knew it was the necklace you had been wanting, but to see its beauty in real life was something else.

“Mike, it’s beautiful.” You say, taking the necklace out of the box to feel it in your hands.

“I thought it suited you.” Mike says. “Can I put it on for you?” He adds, and you nod, turning around so your back is facing Mike. Mike’s gentle hands push your hair over one side of your shoulder. He lays the necklace over the front of your neck, clasping it at the back.

“Let me see you.” He demands softly, and you turn back around. Mike’s lust filled eyes scan your neck and face, and you feel shy in his intense gaze.

“You’re stunning, baby.” Mike says, and the sincerity in his voice makes you melt. “Can’t believe I made my pretty girl cry. I’m so sorry.”

“I really wanted to have a nice night together, Mike. I feel like I barely get to see you anymore.” That selfish feeling bubbles up in your stomach once again, but you push it away. You need to have this conversation with him. Mike sighs, and you can see a look of guilt and sadness wash over his face.

“I know, sweetheart. And you��re right. I don’t mean to neglect you. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a while. You keep me sane.” Mike admits with a sad smile, and he reaches to grab your hand, squeezing it softly.

“I guess sometimes I get so caught up with work, wanting to be able to provide for you and Abby.” Mike continues, and he looks up into your eyes so you can see the truth and a genuineness in his tone.

“I love the necklace, I think it’s incredibly thoughtful, don’t get me wrong. But I'd just rather you spend time with me than buy me things. I know you’re busy, and I know Abby is your first priority so I’ll never ask you to sacrifice the time you dedicate towards her, for me. All I’ll ask is that when we plan a date, or when we're together, that’s the time you dedicate to me, and you're completely there in the moment. Okay?” You say, rubbing your thumb against the back of Mike's hand. You know how hard he works, and it’s one of the many things you admire about him. You’re not asking him to drop everything to be with you, and you know how much Abby means to him. You love him, and the time you don’t get to spend with him feels like time wasted.

“Okay.” Mike says, and he’s pulling you into a long embrace. His strong arms hug you and hold you tightly to his body. You wish that things could’ve gone differently tonight, but you know that this conversation was important, and you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

“Do you want to watch a movie and dig into this candy that I bought for you?” Mike asks, his voice muffled from his face being tucked into your shoulder. You pull away from Mike and he presses a kiss to your forehead, something you know he always does to wordlessly say “I love you.”

“I’ll even let you choose the movie.” He teases, and you roll your eyes at him.

“How generous of you.” You tease back, and soon enough you’re curled up into his side, eating your favourite candy, watching a movie that you got to choose.

#josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #josh hutcherson smut #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #smut #fnafmovie #fnaf

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