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dcxdpdabbles · 2 months ago

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Always the bridesmaid never the bride

I'm not going to lie. I forgot if this was a prompt or a response to something I posted since I got it back before Thanksgiving. But if it's the former then:

Danny says this to Bruce at Clark and Lois' wedding. He is convinced Bruce is in love- or in lust, at the least- with Clark because the wealthy man constantly popped up at their office for important "business" and "private exclusive" interviews.

Now, Danny won't lie and say he's a better journalist than Clark or Lois- those two are the top two of the Daily Planet. There is a reason almost all Superman stories are covered by them- but he's darn good himself. After retiring from protecting his town from Ghosts, he's only ever used his powers scarcely, but they have helped him with a few articles here or there.

His career as a reporting journalist was mainly made by his ability to stumble across trouble alone! Danny had won awards for his articles. He has been included in a city time capsule project.

Danny got the scoop on Jason Todd being alive story way before everyone else. After realizing the boy was in witness protection, he hadn't even exposed it without speaking to Mr.Wayne first. The man was nothing like the tabloids had one believe. Danny found him a severely intelligent man with a deep love for his family and city. He just distracted people with his razzle and dazzle, hiding his beautiful soul in plain sight.

It had been an eye-opening conversation. The duo made a deal to wait until Jason was safe to be announced; Danny waited three whole months before he was greenlighted to release his story. Jason Todd had officially "returned" from the dead with an exclusive interview with Danny Fenton.

Danny honored and protected his dignity by writing a story that made the public love the returned young man. He hated reporters who only dragged people's names through the mud because that wasn't real investigation; that was just accepting the latest gossip on the streets.

Bruce was so grateful that Danny hadn't put his son in danger that he even gave Danny a business card that went to his home office!

And yeah, okay, Clark had Bruce's personal cellphone, but Danny just couldn't understand why the billionaire was so hung up on Clark Kent. It wasn't like the guy was Superman!

And maybe he was overly happy to find out Clark and Lois were an item. Sure that someone as good as Bruce, for all his facade of being a party boy who never grew up, would never chase a taken man. Danny had been right, too, because Bruce Wayne appeared less and less around the Daily Plant office.

It was.....sad not to see him, but Danny was a very busy journalist. He was grateful that the distraction had finally taken the hint and scurried off somewhere. What irked him in the following year and a half of Clark and Lois dating was how often Perry signed the two to cover Gotham News.

Mostly at one of Bruce Wayne's extravagant parties! Yeah, it was sort of cool that most of Bruce's parties were charity events. He had checked the numbers himself, finding that Bruce's efforts were honest and working to better his city. How many billionaires actually kept their word when wanting to be a philanthropist?

Of course, Danny had to write a piece on it. The people needed to see the positive change Bruce was making. Sometimes, it felt like people forgot how much he gave to the city. The article went viral, and people on the other side of the world were praising the good man Bruce.

Perry had given Danny a raise for it.

Clark had ruined that significant mark on his record by placing a wrap present on his desk with a wide grin. Apparently, the two had gone on a yacht trip together without Lois or Bruce's significant other. Whoever that was. "Bruce wanted me to give you this as a thanks."

Ugh, the smug asshole was just rubbing it in Danny's face that he was still friends with his ex. The present had been a shitty ship in a bottle that Danny had placed beside his writing awards in his living room. You know it would be a waste to just throw it out.

Or let it get dusty. Or not stare at and wonder if Bruce knew he liked pirate movies, so the fact he had a model replica of Captain Jack Sparrow's Black Pearl made for Danny was really no big deal.

Then Bruce came by the office after buying out the Daily Planet, giving Clark a month's vacation paid due to some "family emergency."

Danny had been worried about Ma Kent and Pa Kent- the pair had visited the Daily Planet and were the nicest people to ever walk the planet- so like the well-mannered man his mother raised, he had gone to the farm with some of his Dad's famous fudge. Only to find the Kents unaware there was an emergency in the family until Danny reminded them.

He had been a journalist long enough to call bull on their meaningful glances. Danny knew that neither Bruce nor Clark would dare cheat on Lois. They were both too good for something as sleazy as that- and honestly, Lois would kill them- but that didn't stop Bruce from obviously still carrying around a torch for Clark.

Which meant he gave him unfairly favorable treatment in the workplace. Ugh! Perry didn't even seem to care, stating that Bruce had signed their paychecks, and as long as he wasn't forcing Clark into anything harassment-worthy, Danny just had to deal with his coworkers having friends in high places.

That meant they got away with different things. He just had to suck it up and accept it.

But now, Clark and Lois tied the knot. Bruce had to back off. He would never overstep a friend's relationship like this. Danny might have seen him sneak a few glances at the dancing couple- not that he was staring at Bruce Wayne! But the man was one of the hottest topics to write about, and he never knew when a good story would pop up.

It was rather sad, really. How Bruce forced himself to come to a celebration of the man he loved marrying and choosing someone else. Danny had dedicated a drink to his heartbreak- from clear across the room.

He wasn't on a personal cellphone number basis with Bruce Wayne, let's allow a "Drink your broken heart sorrow away with me" basis. And maybe Danny had a few too many. Perhaps he lost count after realizing it was an open bar because, surprise surprise, Bruce was footing the drink bill for all guests.

Danny doesn't remember what made him think he could cross the room to Bruce or why he found the courage to point a finger in his face before slurring, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh Brucie?"

He does remember those piecing blue eyes locking him in place, brow folding in concern as Bruce replied. "Mr. Fenton, are you alright?"

"Me? Oh yeah! Just enjoying the party." He throws his arm up, spilling some of the alcohol out of the cup. He doesn't mind since the DJ starts to play one of his favorite songs, and he just has to sway to the beat. "This is a fun party. Are you having fun? I'm having fun!"

"I think you've had a little too much," Bruce says, helping Danny to his feet. When did he fall? Oh, right, when he was dancing. He laughs again, curling up on Bruce's chest. He feels it shift with the vibrations of the other man's voice. It's rather nice. "Did you come alone? Is there someone I can call for you?"

"Can I tell you a secret, Brucie?" Danny mutters, leaning forward to whisper into the man's ear before he can respond. "I live alone. I have no one to take care of me. I can't even drive."

"I see. I can have my driver take you home then. Can I see your wallet? I want to read the address-"

Danny has a second to think Oh no before his stomach lurches, and vomit falls out of his mouth all over Bruce Wayne's fancy suit that probably costs more than his house. Danny's eyes water. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't usually drink, and I feel terrible, and I-"

"It's alright. " Bruce says, smile still perfectly kind, understanding, and slightly dizzy. Danny knows he's lying, though- his reporter eyes can see right through that facade. He's pissed that Danny threw up on him. Understandably.

He starts sobbing, apologizing even more, and pointing out how he knows Bruce is actually upset.

Bruce looks mildly surprised before throwing one of his arms over his shoulder and helping him out of the hotel ballroom. The reception had started hours ago, and despite it not being anywhere near over, no one would bat an eye at them leaving early.

They were walking down the hallway. Danny found himself leaning on a counter, laughing into his hands about a potted plant, while Bruce chatted up the lady at a computer. He told the pair that Bruce should rebound with a man instead of a woman if he wanted to get over Clark but was ignored by them.

Rude.

Then suddenly, Danny was being pressed into a soft mattress on his back while someone was taking off his shoes and losing his tie. When did he get home? How had he moved that quickly?

This didn't feel like his pillow. Danny has a special one. He can't sleep with it. He packs his pillow when he travels, even if it's just one night he plans to stay. Danny has used the same pillow for years now.

"I'm sorry, I can't get your special pillow, but I can give you lots of water." A man says, making Danny blink and open his eyes. His eyelids feel so heavy that it takes him a moment to stay open.

Above him, Bruce is carefully unbuttoning his suit jacket. The billionaire had removed his own coat, but the vomit-covered white shirt remains. Danny feels ashamed at the sight even as Bruce pulls his arms out of the jacket sleeves.

"Sorry," He whimpers. "About the vomit."

"It's alright. You needed to throw up. Do you feel better?"

Danny nods, closing his eyes and feeling a warm towel run along his face. He sighed as the sticky, gross feeling around his mouth was gone, and he sank further into the Not Right But Comfty pillow.

"Sleep well, Mr. Fenton," Bruce says, tucking the blankets around Danny once he finishes cleaning him up. Danny hums, already half gone, when he whispers.

"You're a good man. No matter what you present to the world. No matter if you believe you're not, I know you're good."

There is a moment of silence before Bruce replies. "I paid for the hotel room. It comes with a free breakfast, so when you're feeling up to it, come down for food tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Fenton."

"Stay?"

"I'm sorry. I never intended to stay; I just wanted to get you somewhere safe. Going home in your state would have been a bad idea."

Danny's words are nearly too slurried to be understood as he slowly slips away: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, Fenton. Bruce would never want you."

He wakes up with a killer hangover, confused about where the hell he is, and almost has a heart attack when he realizes he crumpled up the suit pants he rented. All that is so hard to process in thirty seconds that he nearly missed the written note on the nightstand.

Call me xxx-xxx-xxxx

XOXO

Bruce Wayne

What in the world happened at Clark's and Lois's wedding!?

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Never the Bride #Part 1 #spirt halloween ship #Danny is a reporter at the Daily Planet #Develops a crush on a celeberity he interviewed #Bruce never paid attention to Clark's coworker #Until the wedding #Now he can't stop thinking about him #misunderstandings #Bruce and Clark were just doing JL stuff #TW: Blackout Drinking

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starrydali · 3 months ago

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚✧˖*°࿐Leo Valdez can’t stop thinking about you. Whether he's fixing things or working on the Argo II, your name always ends up somewhere—etched into blueprints, carved into walls, scribbled under tables. It started as a small habit, but now it’s like he can’t help himself. He doesn’t even realize what he's doing anymore. Meanwhile, you’re shy and flustered every time you spot it, trying not to let him know how much it makes your heart flutter. His little secret is everywhere, and you can’t help but find it sweet. ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

part 1

You’re wandering the Argo II, minding your own business, when you spot it—your name, etched faintly into the edge of a railing.

“Is that...?” You squint, running your fingers over the carving.

“Y/n.”

You shake your head, figuring it’s just a one-off thing, but then you find it again. On the control panel in the engine room. On the edge of the table in the dining area. Even on the side of a wrench lying in the workshop.

“Leo,” you mutter under your breath, your cheeks heating up.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you march off to find him. You don’t have to look far—he’s sprawled on a chair near the workshop, tinkering with a small gadget.

“Leo!”

He looks up, already grinning like he knows exactly what you’re about to say. “Hey, sunshine. What’s up?”

You hold up the wrench, pointing to your name. “Why is my name on this?”

Leo doesn’t even flinch. “Oh, that? Yeah, I do that sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” You’re trying not to sound flustered, but your voice comes out way higher than you intended. “Leo, my name is everywhere. I just found it carved into the ship’s railing!”

He leans back, folding his arms behind his head with a cocky smile. “What can I say? You’re always on my mind.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “That’s... That’s ridiculous! You can’t just—”

“Oh, but I can,” he interrupts smoothly, standing up and taking the wrench from your hand. “See, when I’m building something, I gotta put a little of you into it. Makes it better.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” you protest, but your voice wavers because, honestly, what are you even supposed to say to that?

Leo steps closer, his grin widening. “Admit it. You think it’s sweet. Maybe even a little romantic?”

You stammer, trying to think of a comeback, but nothing comes out.

He smirks and tilts his head. “Tell you what—give me a kiss, and I might consider toning it down.”

Your brain short-circuits. “W-what?! Leo!”

He laughs, absolutely delighted at your reaction. “Relax, sunshine. I’m kidding. Mostly.”

You cross your arms, avoiding his gaze. “You’re impossible.”

Leo shrugs, still smirking. “And yet, you’re still here, holding my wrench like it’s a love letter.”

You groan, shoving the wrench at him. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He winks, twirling the wrench like it’s a trophy. “Nah, I’m just full of you, sunshine. You’re in my head, my heart, and apparently, all over the ship.”

You spin on your heel to leave, your face burning, but you catch his voice as you go.

“Don’t worry, Y/n!” he calls after you. “I’ll save you a spot on my next invention. Maybe I’ll carve ‘Leo + Y/n’ in a heart this time!”

You don’t turn around, but you can’t stop the small, flustered smile spreading across your face.

✧. ┊ ⁭Send requests! :)

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revelboo · 4 months ago

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The scavengers?! YEEEESSS!!1! my precious darlings :D They deserve this <3 can't wait to see more :) Thank you for writing this, i really needed something positive right now.

No worries :) I just really wanted to write these five goobers struggling

A Lifeless Ordinary

IDW Scavengers x Reader

• “You realize that thing is sentient, right?” Fulcrum asks, leaning to watch Spinister trying to coax their new pet into saying his name. So far the only response has been for it to lift both hands, middle fingers extended in what he suspects isn’t a friendly gesture.

• Looking up, Krok vents as Crankcase hesitantly mimics the gesture at the alien and it starts laughing like a Cybertronian would. Everything about it, that it’s bipedal, its little face, its hands and legs, is uncannily like a Cybertronian in form aside from being organic. “Of course, I do,” he finally says, servos flitting over the controls to check everything is ready to go even though he’s already checked three times while they wait on Misfire. Knows he’ll check more times, but unable to stop since the repetitive gesture keeps him focused. And from overthinking exactly how much damage Misfire can do running a simple errand unsupervised.

• “Honestly, I’m surprised Spinister’s not forgotten it’s his and shot it yet.” Fulcrum winces in sympathy when the hulking purple medic seizes you and roughly runs a servo over your head while you try to smack him, chattering angrily before giving up and slumping in his hand. “Any luck with that language?”

• Krok hesitates as Misfire comes running into the ship, a tiny container in his servos. “We should probably go,” he says right as the natives start firing on the ship.

• “Did you steal that?” Fulcrum growls, as Krok powers up the ship. Not even sure why Fulcrum’s asking, because of course he did. Why wouldn’t he have?

• Indignities upon indignities. Dangling from the biggest one’s hand, you finally give up as his big servos pet your hair and he rumbles nonsense at you. As far as you can tell, you’re a pet. Not exactly flattering, but since they’re not hurting you and they’ve kept you trapped on their ship since finding you, there’s not much you can do about it. You’d made attempts to try and play charades with the big one and after hours of it you’d decided either you’re just awful at charades or he’s an idiot. But at least his hands are warm even if his touch is a bit rough as he tries to cuddle you against his neck.

• “In my defense, they refused to sell to Cybertronians. Something about us being warmongering abominations destroying the galaxy,” Misfire says, prying open the container and immediate leaning away from the stink. “Organic food for the organic.”

• Grumbling slightly, Spinister lowers you near the box and they wait as you look inside then back at them questioningly. “You think it knows what it can and can’t eat?” Crankcase mutters as Misfire huffs. But that is something Krok hadn’t considered. Surely you do know. Right?

• Whatever they brought you looks like blue noodles and smells like dirty socks. And they’re just staring down at you talking amongst themselves, because they can’t understand you. What even is this? It’s when the one with a chunk missing from his head bends and mimes eating that it sinks in. Surely they don’t think you’re going to eat this garbage? Apparently they do as the calmest of the five gently nudges you closer to the box. And inhaling to gather yourself, you gingerly pick up a slick noodle in your fingers and bite into it. By some miracle it does actually taste good despite having the texture of a raw potato. You suppose they’re trying to take care of you and that’s something.

• Listening to the miserable sounds that aren’t even marginally better than the tantrum Spinister had thrown threatening to shoot Misfire over the whole mess, Krok reaches out a servo and rubs between your shoulders as you keep dry heaving, because apparently you don’t know what you can and can’t eat as difficult as it is for him to grasp. The rest of the Scavengers had retreated a safe distance when you’d started noisily purging the food, so now it’s just the two of you.

• They probably weren’t trying to poison you. Maybe. Shaking and dehydrated, you slump over and the calm one carefully wraps his servos around you and cradles you to his chassis, murmuring softly as you press your palms against your eyes, head pounding and throat raw. His touch is at least gentle compared to the other’s as he runs a big servo along your spine over and over. When you’re less miserable, you need to try charades with him since he seems to be the leader. Maybe you can get it through his head that you’re not a pet. Right now, you just want to soak in the warmth of him and rest.

#idw krok #idw crankcase #idw spinister #idw misfire #idw fulcrum #transformers x reader #idw scavengers x reader

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imperfectskeleton · 17 days ago

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I’ve started on my animorphs read (got a whole heap of notes on the first three chapters somebody help me) and I was thinking about how it’s neat that visser three is the one to say elfangor’s name but also. <an honour to meet you>

like probably nobody else knows this isn’t their first meeting because of Chapman’s apparent memory wipe. And like wow, this is a big moment. Their first face-to-face meeting since the alternate universe.

Prince Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul, decorated by the Andalite military, mortally wounded and the last survivor of the ambush on his dome ship. A hero so big that nobody will ever hear of his crimes, who just wanted to do things right.

And he’s facing Visser Three, who nobody has fought and survived.

Whose face he has personally been spitting in - as well as a creature without a mouth can - since he was just a subvisser in a hork-Bajir body.

Whose hands he played into better than the visser could ever have hoped, allowing this abomination - an andalite controlled by a yeerk - to be created.

And he knows he has to die. There’s nothing he can do, but he makes his ship fire, one last time - not on alloran though, he could never kill alloran, this is all his fault after all, but people have been freed before, and he’s just met the son he never even saw and he needs what he tells these human children to matter.

So he shows them how to fight, how to be brave, as one of the biggest moments in the war against the Yeerks happens in an abandoned construction site on Earth, with five human children as witnesses. Elfangor probably isn’t arrogant enough to think he’s a big moment, but to the yeerks, to the andalites, to the animorphs, he is. So really, of course, the biggest moment in the war was before visser three landed and showed the animorphs what elfangor meant. It was when a dying alien crash-landed in front of a bunch of mall rats who should’ve taken the long way home.

#got a little carried away as usual. but man. this book sets the stakes #and I know andalite chronicles almost certainly wasn’t planned at this point #but it kind of adds to Esplin’s flair for dramatics. He knows this is a huge moment #and to treat elfangor like he knows him only by reputation gives the moment more. He acknowledges he’s great - downplays it sure #but it’s not the time for bringing up past failures. they’re both heroes of their armies so he makes sure everyone watching knows #this is a big moment. he’s the one with the power but this is no ordinary warrior that’s been brought down #way too many thoughts sorry #animorphs spoilers #in case anyone is on their first read #animorphs #animorphs book club

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tonysbed · 26 days ago

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Homewrecker | Susie Wolff

Susie Wolff x Singer!Reader

Toto Wolff x Ex!Susie Wolff

Summary: When you find out that the man you had been seeing is married, things get interesting..

inspired song: Homewrecker- Willow Avalon

faceclaim: sabrina carpenter

a/n: Susies maiden name is Stoddart

masterlist | dilf/milf series masterlist

user1 Did susie and Toto break up??

user2 homewrecker

user3 slut!! He’s married!!

user4 why are we blaming her? What if she didn’t know him? He’s the married one!!

user5 THIS

user1 ohh👀

user2 Toto fumbled badddd

user3 dare i say..I ship?

user23 👀

user7 Ew

user8 revenge album coming???

2 months later

ynyln

liked by Susiestoddart, lewishamilton, jenaortega and 1.4 m others

ynyln new album “Homewrecker” out tomorrow!

jenaortega 👀👀

nicorosberg 👏👏

zendaya so excited!!

user susie in the likes??

user i’m so excited, I need to know what went down here

comments:

user now that is a crossover

user Susie and yn unite against that man

user susie is nothing without Toto

user the woman is literally a managing director and has a career in motorsports

user bro stfu

liked by nicorosberg, lewishamilton, charlesleclerc and 2m others

yn london you were so kind! Meet so many amazing people on my little trip here. (Apparently seb wasnt golden retriever vibes all the time??) See you after my break Canada! 🩷

nicorosberg definitely not always that way

sebastianvettel liar

nicorosberg yeah? Do Ibhave to mention Mark?

yn who’s mark now?

sebastianvettel Doesn’t matter. It’s been decades, come on

nicorosberg i’m still right 😊

yn 👀👀

carmenmundt it was such a lovely evening ❤️

yn ❤️❤️

user okay..so susie attended..AND MISS YN IS SOFT LAUNCHING

user the soft launch??

user who else has she met omd

user sebastian was at the tour???

gossippage

gossippage Singer Yn Yln and Susie Stoddart (Wolff) spotted in Canada, 2 weeks before her next concert!!

user holy shit

user she really stole his wife 😂

user they only used him for the money

user be so fr 💀

user yesss unite against that piece of crap

f1gossip

f1gossip Toto Wolff was asked about recent events with his now Ex partner and Singer Yn Yln. He simply said “I don’t care. It’s just noise, I focus on the important things in life, which they aren’t” What do we think of the statement??

user is he serious??

user He’s just jealous he lost two drop dead gorgeous women 😂😂

user they’re better off without him

user yes! get rid of those money sucking bitches

user always that one guy that thinks that way. Yn has at least double his money 💀💀

susiestoddart

liked by ynyln, kimiantonelli, georgerussel and 1.2 m others

susiestoddart don’t hate the girl, take the girl 😉

user HARD LAUNCH??

carmenmundt 👀🤍

user HAHAHA TOTO FUMBLED

lewishamilton 💜💜

ynyln my love ❤️

susiestoddart ❤️❤️

this took ages to finish 💀💀

#formula one imagine #susie wolff imagine #susie wolff #toto wolff imagine

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wannabeschyulersister · 4 months ago

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part one

Despite attending dozens of premieres, the flashing lights momentarily stunned you. A firm squeeze of your hand brought you back to reality. “Amor, are you ready?”

You glanced over at the man sitting beside you. His face lit up with joy, clearly relishing the moment they were sharing together. It was one that you both would remember forever.

The moment you both stepped out as a couple for the first time.

“I’m ready.”

Pedro, being the gentleman he is, stepped out of the car first and made his way to your door. With a warm smile, he opened it for you, extending his hand to you to help you out.

As soon as you got out of the car, you heard the crowds of fans cheering your name. You waved in their direction and blew them a kiss.

Pedro intertwined his fingers with yours and guided you. Both of your publicists were present at the commencement of the red carpet. They provided you with a brief overview of the journalists you needed to interview.

They led you both to the designated area at the carpet’s beginning where photographers had already begun lining up.

Before stepping out, Pedro gave your hand a quick squeeze.

Once in the spotlight, you were surrounded by the shouts of your name and the rapid rise of flashing lights.

Pedro released your hand and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispered in your ear, making you smile.

“You’re a little biased, Mr. Pascal,” you retorted.

After a few moments, your publicist had to separate you to allow both of you to do interviews. Pedro gave you a chaste kiss on the forehead before he went to one media outlet and you the other.

Once the interviewer had asked the standard questions about the movie and your outfit, she practically buzzed with excitement to inquire about Pedro.

“I must ask, you attended this premiere with Pedro Pascal and even walked the carpet together briefly. Is there a romantic connection between you two?”

You couldn’t help but grin, “Yes, we’ve been dating for quite some time now. I’m very happy.”

She looked shocked, exclaiming, “Oh my! What an exclusive! We need all the details.”

“I’m not sure how much time I have left with you, but we’ve been together for almost two years and were introduced by mutual friends.”

You felt your publicist gently nudge your arm, indicating that it was time to move on. You quickly bid farewell before proceeding to the next interview.

After a few interviews, Pedro caught up with you. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing better now that you’re here.”

“What a line,” he teased, gathering your hands with his.

“I’m so glad we did this,” you thought back to the other premieres in the past two years that you had wished Pedro could be your date for. You were overjoyed that both of you could publicly support each other.

“Me too, Amor,” he winked. “It seems like the rest of the world is too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently, we’re already trending online, and people have been shipping us for years.”

“Wow, trending already? That’s quicker than I thought.”

“I thought it would at least take a few hours,” Pedro chuckled.

It was amusing how, amidst the chaos of the premiere, with the constant shouts of your names and the flashing lights, you and Pedro managed to create your own little bubble of peace.

He gently kissed your forehead, “Shall we continue with the carpet and head inside? My family is waiting for us.”

“Lead the way, my love.”

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x ofc #pedro pascal imagine

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ellieputellas · 16 days ago

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3 am | elisa de almeida x reader

When your ex Elisa texted you at 3 AM, you already knew entertaining it would be a mistake. You knew exactly how it would end, but that never stopped you before

tags / contains: 18+ smut, angst, toxic ex!Elisa, strap r!receiving, fingering r!receiving, grinding, teammates, toxic relationship, cursing, pet name usage, not proofread at all, vaguely inspired by this song || wc: 4.6k

masterlist | do not repost or plagiarize

"Hey, I need you. Come over?"

You didn't know when this started to become a thing. You didn't know why you let this become a thing. You swore several times over that this could not be a thing... and yet here you were, hailing a cab at three in the morning, shivering slightly in the cold, telling yourself again that this would be the last time.

When you broke up with Elisa, you thought the best course of action was to stay friends. After all, you were still playing for the same club; it wasn't like you had any other choice. You convinced yourself it was a good idea not to cut ties, to remain close, to act like your little failed dating stint never happened.

As friends, you had something effortless. You had a fun dynamic wherein you could rant all night, laugh at random stupid shit, and just be there for each other whenever you needed it. She was your best friend.

But even then, Elisa had always been a problem for you. Because even if you were great friends, you still couldn’t help but feel attracted to her.

You flushed and grew flustered whenever she pulled you into her lap, held you just a little too long, let her fingers ghost over the small of your back. You knew it was nothing; Elisa was always a little touchy with her friends but it still made your stomach flutter. You tried to not be too affected by it but whenever she flashed that charming smile at you, your breath always hitched. You tucked your hair behind your ear more often around her, an unconscious habit that came out whenever she smiled at you or teased you. It was just so hard not to be affected by her presence.

It was just a crush, you told yourself. A harmless, happy crush.

Until it wasn’t.

Until you had one too many drinks at a team party and ended up making out with her in the backseat of her car, drunkly confessing your attraction in between sloppy kisses.

After that, you two decided to give it a shot. You liked her. She liked you. You were great friends. What could go wrong?

Everything, apparently.

She brought out the jealous side of you, the one you didn’t even know existed. You were always snapping at her for entertaining flirtatious fans, for indulging them when they asked for hugs, selfies, cheek kisses that lingered just a little too long. You hated the way she brushed it off, like it meant nothing, like it was just part of the job.

And then there was her ex.

The way she still talked to her all the time, still texted, still called, still found reasons to be in each other's lives. You would fight her about it, tell her how uncomfortable it made you feel. But she’d brush you off, call you overly jealous and delusional. You tried to believe her but you still silently doubted her intentions. Like how you itched to check her phone whenever it would ping and she'd set it on the bedside table face down, like she had something to hide. The jealousy consumed you completely.

She wasn’t any better. She insisted you keep the relationship private. She explained that it’s cause she had just gotten out of a long-term relationship, and she was still in the process of shipping all her ex's stuff out of her apartment. She told you if her ex found out she was already dating someone else, she'd freak out. She said that she was doing all of it just to protect you.

You told yourself you understood. You really tried. But you just didn’t get why you had to keep it a secret from everyone — your friends, your family, even your teammates. It felt like being back in the closet again, like you were something to be hidden.

You liked Elisa. Fuck, you loved her. Even after just half a year of dating, your heart became completely hers. Because even if being with her was a mess, even if it made you feel like you were losing yourself, she made you feel things no one else ever had. Even after you agreed to go on a mutual break, your heart still yearned for her.

And that’s probably why you let this happen. You swore every single time that that would be the last, but it never was. She would message you in the dead of night, and you’d go running to her, like a moth to a flame.

You called yourself an idiot one more time, sighing at your complete lack of self-control, before knocking at her door. Even after everything, your heart still beat faster whenever you saw her — those eyes, that knowing smile, that face you could never say no to. It was an infatuation that consumed you.

"There you are," she said, her voice low and thick with her French accent.

You exhaled slowly, bracing yourself. "Here I am," you murmured, a weak smile tugging at your lips. "Are we going to do this at the door, or are you letting me in?"

She huffed a quiet laugh, stepping aside. "Come in."

The apartment was just as you remembered it: dimly lit with the faint warm light of her kitchen lamp and the glow of the television flickering against the walls, casting long, shifting shadows. It smelled faintly of her perfume. It still felt like a place you belonged. And yet, you knew better now.

Your eyes landed on the box in the corner of the living room. The same fucking box. The one filled with her ex’s things. You clenched your fists.

"Still haven’t sent it?" The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take them back.

“Yeah.” Elisa sighed, rubbing her temple as she plopped down on the couch in front of the muted television. "She’s in Switzerland right now. Covering some tournament. I figured I’d just bring it to her there."

Your stomach turned. "Bring it to her?"

Elisa groaned, already exasperated. "Can we not do this right now? I called you because I needed you, not because I wanted another argument."

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Right. You need me, but only when it’s convenient for you." You muttered under your breath as you sat on her couch, immediately regretting your decision to go here. You should have known better.

Her jaw tightened. "That’s not fair."

"Isn’t it?" You crossed your arms, exhaling through your nose. It was all you said even if there was more you wanted to let out but you figured that an argument was the last thing you needed. You grabbed your phone from your bag, clicking on the Uber app, filled with regret over your decision to entertain her again.

"Hey," she murmured, her voice quiet now, almost pleading. She put a hand over your phone. You looked at her to see her features soften. "I’m sorry. Don’t go yet, please.”

Your breath hitched. She knew exactly what she was doing. She always did. Her touch lingered on your hand before slowly moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m not getting back with her. If that’s what you’re worried about."

You swallowed hard, nodding as you placed your phone by your side. It shouldn’t have mattered anyway. You weren’t hers anymore. But it still felt good to be comforted about it.

Her fingers skimmed your wrist before slipping into your palm, her thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles. "I told you, I’m not in the right mindset to date anyone. You know that."

You closed your eyes briefly, willing yourself not to fall for this again. Elisa sighed. "But once I am… you know it’ll always be y—"

"Elisa." Your voice came out quiet, but firm. You pulled your hand away. "Don’t. Just… stop."

A muscle in her jaw twitched. She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. "I just— I felt like shit about the game yesterday, alright? I needed someone who gets it. Who gets me."

You swallowed, something heavy settling in your chest. “Is that why I’m here?��

She nodded. “I mean, yeah, I just feel like… I don’t know, I let everyone down with my performance.” She ranted. “I feel past my prime, y’know.”

You frowned slightly, turning your body more to face her. "Elisa, you’re still one of the best defenders I know. You had an off game — fuck, we all did. One bad game doesn’t mean you’re past your prime." You comforted, being the one to reach for her hand this time. “You shouldn’t be so bummed out about it.”

She looked at you then, searching, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Her gaze dropped to your lips for just a second, barely there, but enough to steal your breath away. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah… if anything, I think I did shittier than you did. I had so many chances to score and…” you gulped as you felt Elisa’s hand slowly rest itself on top of your lap. “Uh… I just think we really had an off game. Like, we’re tired and all.”

Elisa hummed in silent agreement, letting you stumble upon your words as her hand gently grazed your thigh. You blinked. “Uh, so yeah, I think this just means we need to train harder and focus.”

Elisa smiled weakly and moved closer to you. “You always know what to say," she murmured. "You always make me feel good.”

"I just tell the truth," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Elisa smiled, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you thickened, dense with something dangerous. Her touch lingered, moving from your leg, trailing up your forearm, then your shoulder, then the curve of your jaw. Your breath hitched when she brushed her thumb against your cheek, so painfully gentle it made your stomach turn.

“I wanna make you feel good too,” she whispered in a low voice.

There it was, you thought. The real reason why you’re here.

You should have known better. Well, you did know better but you let yourself play a fool, willingly step into her trap. You couldn’t call yourself a victim when you willingly let her fool you every time.

You tried to control yourself, pull away or maybe even push her away. But all you could do is freeze. Elisa’s hand was holding your neck gently, cupping it with a subtle firmness, as she slowly leaned in. Her mouth started peppering kisses on your neck, teasing and soft.

“Maybe,” she said in between kisses. “We should unwind too, huh?”

You didn’t say anything, didn’t move or react. But as Elisa’s mouth wrapped around the curve of your collarbones, a breath escaped your lips. Elisa looked up at you, waited for you to meet her eyes. “Is that okay?” she asked in a soft and gentle voice, feigning innocence, as if she didn’t badly act like she was bummed out about a game just to get you under her again.

But those eyes, the way she looked at you.

Just one more time.

One last time.

And you allowed yourself to be consumed by her once more. You don’t know if you or her who made the first move but you were kissing. Elisa was holding your face as she locked her lips with yours, the exact way you just loved. It felt familiar, tasted familiar. It tasted like every mistake you swore you’d never make again.

But god, how sweet it was.

Suddenly, you found yourself on Elisa’s lap. She had a hand firmly grasping your ass and another propping you up by the waist. You kissed her hungrily, as if you haven’t kissed her in decades. A hum of satisfaction escaped Elisa’s lips and vibrated against yours as your tongue slipped into her mouth.

Impatiently, Elisa tugged at the bottom of your shirt before taking it off swiftly, breaking your kiss. Her eyes were half-lidded with lust and hunger as she stared at your torso, taking in every detail of you. “Fuck, missed this so much.” Elisa said as if she didn’t spend nearly everyday with you in the locker room. “You’re so beautiful.”

Elisa reached behind you and unhooked your bra, freeing your breasts. She cupped one of them with her long, firm hands, as her bottom lip tucked between her lip. She leaned forward to capture your breast with her mouth, sucking on the nipple with fervor.

You moaned, holding on to Elisa’s shoulders as she rolled your nipple with her tongue. Unconsciously, you felt your hips gyrate, grinding against her lap as you felt yourself be filled with pleasure.

“Fuck,” a moan escaped your lips as you felt the gentle pressure against your core as you moved against her. With her mouth still attached to you, Elisa used both hands to hold on to your hips firmly, pushing you down slightly and guiding your hip movements.

Another moan escaped your lips as you moved yourself against her.

And that’s when you felt it.

She was wearing a strap underneath her sweats. You wanted to call her out, show how frustrated you were about the fact that she made up some dumb excuse when all along, this was what she planned and wanted. It was all so blatant.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to call her out when it felt so good.

You moaned, rolling your hips as you ground against the length of it. Your breath hitched every time the head of her member nudged your clit, the sensation and friction making you whimper. Elisa watched you, her gaze dark and heavy-lidded, before gripping your waist to steady your movements.

“I need you on your knees,” she said in a commanding but quiet voice,.

You swiftly got off her, not hesitating for a moment, before kneeling in front of the French girl who was now pulling down her pants just enough to expose the transparent silicone member attached to her. She watched you settle in front of her, eyes locked on yours as she moved closer to you and leaned her back against the couch.

“Suck on it,” she ordered as she spread her legs wider, just enough so you could slot comfortably between them. The intensity of her gaze made your stomach tighten as you slowly reached out, wrapping your hand around the base of her member. Slowly, you leaned in, lips parted slightly as your tongue traced the tip.

Elisa cursed under her breath at the sight of you, growing more and more aroused. Encouraged by her reaction, you took her in, mouth stretching around the smooth head before sinking lower into the length of it. You bobbed your head up and down and it drove Elisa insane. The sound of your wet, slow movements filled the room. You tried to move deliberately, adjusting to the sensation, careful not to gag as the silicone brushed the back of your throat,

Elisa’s fingers cupped your face with her hand, a gentle thumb brushing against your cheep before moving to your hair. Her touch was deceptively gentle. “That’s it, baby.”

Then, her grip tightened.

She held on to you firmer, guiding your head and pressing you down until you choked lightly, You looked up at her through damp lashes from the tears that stung your eyes, and the sight nearly undid her. Elisa parted her lips, a warm breath escaping them as her pupils blown wide. “Fuck, take more of it.” She urged, voice rough with arousal.

You obeyed, sucking more enthusiastically and letting her control your movements, her hands keeping a firm hold on your hair as she set the pace. Faster. Deeper.

The wet heat of your mouth paired with the pressure of the base of the toy against her sent a wave of pleasure through her, the friction making her curse again. “You look so good like that,” she said before tilting her head back.

Your lips stretched around her as she pushed you down harder, tongue pressing against the underside of the toy. She held you there for a moment before pulling your head back, saliva dripping on her member as you gasped for air. Then she pushed you down again, her hips thrusting to meet your movement.

More tears pricked the corner your eyes, and when Elisa saw them, a moan escaped her mouth. “Just like that, baby.” Her voice was almost a growl, her grip tightening on your hair as she guided you faster. Every thrust sent a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to her core.

Her breath came in ragged pants as her thighs trembled. “Fuck,” her grip faltered for a second. Elise continued to thrust, fucking your mouth. She took one last look at you, obedient on your knees, topless and teary-eyed — all hers.

And just like that, she came undone. Elisa’s body tensed as she gasped your name. The base of her strap pressing hard against her as she came, her fingers loosened as she slowly rode out the high. The obscene sound of her heavy, uneven breathing and her grunts filled the room.

Elisa exhaled and looked down at you. She loosened her grip on your head and moved it back to your face, thumb brushing over your damp cheek. She slowly moved you up, glistening lips as you parted your mouth.

“You’re so perfect, cherie.” She murmured, her voice still thick with pleasure. She smirked weakly. “Now, get on the couch. I wanna fuck you.”

Her words alone were enough to cause a whimper to escape you. Elisa guided you up. She stood, grabbing your hips gently before guiding you. She instructed you silently to kneel on the couch and bend over, holding onto the back of it.

Elisa moved behind you, she pulled your underwear down swiftly. You struggled to get it off your ankles, kicking them off.

You looked back to see Elisa admiring your ass, shivering as her hand touched them. Slowly, her hand moved from your ass to your sopping wet pussy. “All this from sucking me off?”

You nodded. You flinched suddenly as she slapped your pussy with her hands. “Cherie, I need you to speak up, okay?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl,” and just like that two of her fingers were inside you. Your arms nearly gave up but you kept yourself steady. You moved your chest closer to the back of the couch, clutching on to it with your arms as Elisa thrusted her fingers inside you, not bothering to acclimate you to her pace first.

You moaned out loud as she curled her fingers into you, pressing against your sweet spot. Elisa loved seeing you like this, trembling and dripping wet for her. She loved the sounds you made — your cute moan, the whimpers whenever she went too hard or was a bit too rough, the obscene wet sounds of your cunt taking her. She loved it all.

“I’m gonna enter you now, okay?” She warned, voice low and edged with hunger, as she took her fingers out of you almost as abruptly as she put them in.

“Okay, Elisa.” It came out more submissive than you intended but Elisa loved the obedient softness of it.

She smirked. “Good girl,” she murmured again. “Now, I’m gonna do it fast, okay?”

Before you could even respond, she slammed into you. A sharp cry escape your lips as you felt the entire length fill you, practically stretching you out. Elisa grunted in satisfaction, gripping your hips as she set a steady, relentless pace.

It was mildly painful but the sting of it added a satisfying touch to the pleasure. It didn’t take long for your body to adjust, your walls tightening around her as she thrust into you, each movement deeper.

You could feel your wetness drip on your inner thigh as Elisa thrusted into you faster. You cursed under your breath at the sheer intensity od the situation. Elisa smiled, her breaths heavy and labored. “You good?”

“Mmyeah,” you managed to moan out.

Elisa chuckled, her tone husky, amused at your reaction. “Good, cause I’m gonna go faster now, yeah?”

Again, not waiting for your response, Elisa thrusted against you, guiding your hips to move against her. Elisa grunted as the base of the strap rubbed against her clit with every deep stroke. Your moans grew louder, sloppier, your nails digging into the upholstery of the couch. You clutched onto the back of the couch for support as your arms threatened to give out.

The pressure coiled in your stomach, hot and unbearable. Your walls fluttered around her, and you knew you were close. “Elisa, I think I’m gonna—”

“Not yet.” Her voice was firm, commanding. “Wait for me to tell you to cum.”

You bit your lip, whimpering, trying desperately to hold it in. But Elisa wasn’t making it easy. She fucked you harder, chasing her own pleasure. Your stomach tightened. “Elisa, I can’t—“

“If you cum right now, I will seriously punish you and fuck your mouth all night. Got that?”

The tone was sharp and harsh, a warning laced with a promise, but it turned you on even more. You moaned, your grip on the couch tightening as she drove deeper, harder, her name tumbling from your lips. “Elisa—”

“Cum.”

And just like that, your body was absolutely consumed by a euphoric pleasure — the kind you could only feel when you were with Elisa. You cried out her name as you came undone beneath her, your body melting into the couch.

And Elisa watched you, satisfied, as she followed right after, legs shaking slightly from the sensation. She bent over a bit, holding onto the couch to keep herself steady.

As soon as she pulled out of you, you rested on the couch, tired and spent. Elisa didn’t say anything at first, just exhaled deeply as she unbuckled the strap, sliding the dildo out and setting it aside before tugging her sweats back up. She ran a hand through her damp hair, the dim glow of the room highlighting the sheen of sweat clinging to her skin.

She glanced down at you, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips. Then, without a word, she leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Hold on,” she murmured before reaching for the blanket draped over the edge of the couch. She pulled it over both of you as she settled beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

You let yourself sink into her warmth, pressing your cheek against her chest. She smelled like sweat and faint traces of her perfume; it felt so familiar. Elisa hummed in satisfaction, her fingers tracing lazy patterns along your back.

“I think I feel better now,” she said, the amusement clear in her voice.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t say anything, just nuzzling closer to the French girl, pressing your body against her. “That was… good, Elisa.” You admitted quietly. Elisa hummed in response, the vibration of her reaction buzzing against your skin.

You absentmindedly traced circles on the fabric of her top, feeling the warmth of her body underneath. But even as she held you, even as you lay wrapped up in her, you couldn’t shake the familiar hollowness settling in your chest. You felt kinda used. But you couldn’t pin the blame on Elisa alone; this was your fault too.

Because you knew how these would go.You always knew.

These late-night meetings… they always ended the same way. You’d give yourself to her, let her take you, have her consume you, only to be left feeling like you were the only one falling deeper.

Elisa never talked about it after. Never acted any differently the next day.

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening slightly against her shirt. You had to ask. Had to hear her say it… whatever it was.

You sighed. “Elisa, are we—“

Before you could even complete your sentence, her phone rung. She sighed. “Hold that thought, baby.” She sighrd, barely hiding her irritation, grabbing her phone from the arm of the couch. The bright screen illuminated her face as she squinted at the name flashing across it.

“Oh, wait, I gotta get this,” she said, already sitting up, so fast that you practically tumbled into the couch. “I think it’s an emergency.”

Your stomach twisted. You reached out to tug on Elisa’s shirt. “Elisa, do you really have to?” You looked at her pleading with your eyes. You didn;t even know what you wanted at that moment. For her to stay? To hold you? To tell you that she made a mistake and she was finally going to commit to you? That maybe, she loved you too?

You weren’t sure but one thing was certain: you just wanted to not feel… so disposable.

She hesitated, biting her lip as she stared at the screen. The ringing continued, cutting through the silence between you like a blade. Then, finally, she sighed. With a quiet click, she pressed the side button, silencing the call before placing her phone face down on the couch.

“Yeah, sorry, sorry.” She said before resting beside you again, putting a hand around you.

The warmth was still there, but the hesitation in her touch was new. Like she was suddenly aware of how tightly you were clinging to her. You sighed, trying to close your eyes and focus on the sensation her arm around you and her chest raising and falling underneath your head as she breathed. Maybe if you held on tight enough, you wouldn’t feel the distance creeping in between you.

Maybe this time, she wouldn’t drift away.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

The text notification was relentless and imposing, cutting through the silence. You wouldn’t have been so bothered if Elisa didn’t stiffen up with every ping of her phone. Elisa started bouncing her leg, impatient and restless as if she was waiting for an excuse to move. You sighed, opening your eyes.

“Elisa.” Your voice was quiet but firm as you sat up. She wasn’t looking at you. Her gaze was fixed somewhere else — distant.

She turned to face you, jaw tight with impatience. You swallowed. “You should take it.”

She blinked. Hesitation flickered on her face. “No, no, it’s good. It’s probably nothing.” She shook her head too quickly.

You gave her a weak smile, one that barely reached your eyes. “It’s fine,” you repeated, softer this time. “It might be serious.”

She blinked, eyes searching yours for something… permission, maybe. An easy way out. And you gave it to her.

Elisa looked at you thankfully, shoulders slumping in relief. She smiled weakly as she put her hand on top of yours for a moment — just a moment — before standing up, grabbing her phone. The warmth of her touch faded instantly.

She paused once more, casting one last glance at you, as if to check if it was okay. You just nodded. She smiled tightly again before walking to the kitchen.

You turned to watch her, talking into the phone with a hushed tone, back turned against you. You didn’t need to ask who it was. You already knew. The same person who always seemed to linger like a ghost in the spaces between you.

Again, there you were again, feeling used. You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to move. Your clothes were still scattered on the floor. You bent down, picking up each piece and slipping them back on with slow, measured movements.

You looked at her once more. She didn’t even notice, not even a glance towards you. She was fully invested into the call now. When you were fully dressed, you tried to look once more, hoping she’d meet your glance and realize that… maybe she was making a mistake letting you go one more time.

You stopped waiting for her to look at you. You shook your head, picked up your bag from the floor, and left.

a/n: unedited! finally another elisa fic from me! i hope guys liked it. this was supposed to be just angst but i somehow found myself typing up smut hahahaha! inspired by rosé’s song, 3am… hence, why it should have been just angst haha anyway, more fics soon hopefully! lmk ur thoughts

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fic #elisa de almeida fic #elisa #elisa de almeida x reader #elisa de almeida fanfic #elisa de almeida smut #elisa de almeida x you #Spotify

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merakiui · 5 months ago

Note

gidel deserves a little sibling of his own and after multiple failed attempts to steal a kid (apparently people take that kinda thing seriously? who knew!) fellow just throws up his hands and decides making one of his own is easier and carries way less legal threats

Fellow trying and failing at crime is so funny omg….. he’s really doing his best. Maybe you’re set to be shipped off as a puppet, but he thinks he could use you to be the mother for his child. One minute you’re certain you’re never going to be able to move again and that you’ll be cursed to be a wooden doll for the rest of your days, and the next you’re waking up in an unfamiliar bedroom, able to move in a body that is no longer wooden but very obviously restricted and restrained.

Fellow who, despite being silver-tongued and smooth with schemes, is actually very awkward. He’s never made a kid before!! T_T and you’re squirming so much. Just relax. You don’t want to be turned to wood and shipped off with the rest, do you? He’s giving you a chance to pick a significantly better (in his eyes) option. Don’t you want to keep a sliver of your freedom? He can give that to you; you just need to give him a child. Please. He’s not going to beg (he might), but do it for dear Gidel’s sake!!! It’s no fun for a child to grow up without a sibling. You understand and sympathize, don’t you? After all, he knows you’re a kind-hearted person who will agree. :) and kind-hearted soon-to-be mother… he’ll flatter you so much, saying you’re just made for this, you’re so soft and motherly, so sweet, an absolute dearie peach! <3

Knocking you up just like that (actually,,, it’s just Fellow’s luck that it doesn’t happen the first try and so now he’s coming back to you with his tail between his legs like,,, “my dear, you may not find this to be particularly good news, but we’re going to have to…try again!!!”) He’s handling it tactfully, though, but even then he’s starting to feel just a little impatient. >_< can’t you get pregnant any faster… orz please,,, he’s trying so hard… unexpectedly pathetic.

And of course he didn’t really factor in the fact that he’d grow attached to you and the child through the process. But he’s dedicated to this, to you, to the baby. He hopes you’ll let him hold them… 🥺 he’ll be good… unexpectedly soft yan (via Stockholm syndrome) and now he’s a father and you’re a mother and you have a family together with your kid and Gidel. The horrors from earlier in your one-sided relationship seem so faraway now that the little one is in your arms.

In my heart Fellow salivates over you when you’re pregnant. You’re just so pretty and it’s not empty flattery. He means every praise and compliment. <3 also also,,, it’s probably just so fascinating and amazing to him that the two of you made something special together. Throughout your pregnancy and even after if there’s anything you want, you just need to push him a little bit (puppy eyes, cute pout, saying his name sweetly, etc) and he’s folding for you. OTL he is not immune to his beloved pregnant wifey. <3 he’s an awkward first-time parent, but he has so much love in his heart and it fills him with so much joy when he makes the baby laugh and smile and gurgle happily. And when their little hand curls around his finger…… yeah, maybe this was the better route instead of kidnapping a child.

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: pregnancy

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months ago

Text

Sunk Cost

Pairing: Tom Bennett x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of blood, death and injury. Mild angst and mentions of PTSD. Smut. Word count: ~4.8k

Summary: Following the Battle of the River Plate, she is deployed to the Falkland Islands to tend to the survivors of the HMS Exeter. Some of the naval officers are in better shape than others, and when one in particular makes it his mission to bed her before shipping back home, she decides to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. "Conchies" is slang for conscientious objector.

She had travelled aboard the SS Lafonia to the Falklands, accompanied by two doctors and eleven other nurses to treat the injured of the HMS Exeter following the battle of the River Plate.

Having qualified as a nurse almost five years ago, she was experienced in dealing with blood and injury and, in the days spent sailing across the South Atlantic Ocean, she had been steeling herself for the inevitable carnage she would be witness to.

Nothing, however, could have prepared her for the utter devastation she was met with upon arrival. Pulling back the canvas flap of the medical tent, the smell was the first thing to hit her, pushing her backwards like an invisible, oppressive force; burned flesh and the rancid, yet somehow sickly sweet scent of decay.

Everything from minor burns to missing limbs needed to be treated, but those sailors were the fortunate ones, they still drew breath. Seventy two British sailors had lost their lives defending against German forces.

It would be two weeks until a boat arrived to collect those fit enough to travel back to England, so those able bodied enough to do so assisted with dressing wounds and changing bed pans. She was grateful for the help as, despite there being fourteen medical staff to attend to their patients, it was overwhelming and she was tired, so tired.

She had smiled, though it had not quite reached her eyes, as she’d been introduced to the private that would be assisting her on her rounds.

“Name’s Tom, Tom Bennett,” he’d greeted her with an incline of his head and a lopsided smirk.

“Nice to meet you, Private Bennett,” she’d replied as politely as she could, discreetly taking him in.

He stood around six feet tall, a mop of sandy coloured hair atop his head. He was classically handsome with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose, and carried himself with a self assured swagger that emphasised the fact that he knew he was good looking. She could have overlooked his vanity, were it not for the fact he was apparently cocky in every other respect too.

Her exhaustion had worn her patience thin, however, she was certain that the sailor assigned to helping her with her rounds would have grated upon her nerves even with a full night’s rest. She found his unwavering smirk and continual stream of flirtatious remarks wholly inappropriate, considering the situation they found themselves in. There was no doubt in her mind that he had fought bravely and his service upon the Admiral Graf Spee was to be highly commended, but it didn’t mean she had to enjoy his company, she merely endured it.

“Private Bennett, I need to give this patient a sponge bath, can you please dispose of these dressings?” She asked, keeping her tone curt as she seated herself beside a cot.

“My turn next, yeah?” He quipped cheekily, causing her to press her lips into a tight line to suppress the urge to sigh.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, her stern gaze wholly unaffected by the way the blue of his sparkled with mischief. “The dressings, Private Bennett.”

“You can call me Tom, y’know,” he said airily, the smirk on his face never faltering as he snatched up the dirty bandages and turned to walk away.

“I’d rather not,” she muttered wearily to his retreating form, turning her attention back to the sailor laid dozing in the cot beside her.

All of her rounds were much the same; Tom trailed behind her, flirting shamelessly, and every remark made her blood boil. For the patients yet to regain consciousness, she could mercifully ignore him. However, for the sake of maintaining a pleasant bedside manner for those who were lucid, she had to smile, laugh and remain polite.

As the days dragged on, she found herself wishing the boat coming to ferry Tom Bennett back to England would arrive sooner. Attempting to keep her temper in check and not give him a well deserved telling off in front of everyone was becoming as exhausting an effort as it was caring for the wounded. He was a pain in the arse.

It had been a particularly demanding day - several of the patients being treated for severe burns had developed infections - by the time the next nurse arrived to relieve her of her duties, she was desperate to be off of her aching feet. Sitting down heavily upon a bench in the rest area, she fished her cigarette case from her apron pocket, flipping it open and placing one delicately between her lips. Before her hand could reach for her matchbook, a flash of flint followed by flame ignited in front of her, illuminating the end of her cigarette into a bright, cherry red glow.

She blew out a tight line of smoke, her eyes narrowed in displeasure as she looked up at the smug face of Tom Bennett. The sight of him was enough to spoil the pleasant taste of tobacco that she usually revelled in upon her first drag. The corners of his mouth were upturned into a self satisfied smile, his eyes crinkled in quiet amusement as he looked down at her. He always looked like he was entertained by a joke that only he was privy to, it drove her crazy.

“Thanks,” she said curtly, taking another drag.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” he winked, seating himself beside her and lighting up a smoke of his own.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she muttered darkly, gazing off into the distance, her lips pursed.

“Do what?” He mumbled around his cigarette, keeping it perched at the corner of his mouth.

She sighed, pressing at the point between her eyebrows with the thumb of her free hand, an absentminded gesture of exasperation. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Tom snatched his cigarette from between his lips, holding it between the forefingers of his right hand as he raised his palms in a defensive gesture. “Enough misery ‘round ‘ere, ‘int there? Jus’ tryna make you smile.”

“Well, you’re not,” she spat, taking a quick puff, savouring the short burst of lightheadedness that the nicotine rush afforded her.

He gave an easy shrug, fixing her with a dopey grin. “Well, I don’t see anywhere ‘round ‘ere where I can buy you flowers, so my witty charm will have to do.”

She scoffed, flicking away her butt, and rose to her feet, storming off.

“See you tomorra, yeah?” he called after her, “unless you want someone to help warm your cot tonight?”

Fucking prick.

Sleep evaded her that night. Tom had gotten under her skin. It made her furious that with so many men injured and dying around them, he failed to see the gravity of their situation. How could he be cracking jokes and making clumsy attempts to seduce her in the midst of a war? He needed to be taught a lesson, to be taken down a peg or two, and she decided she was the person to do it. Perhaps if the tables were turned on him, then he’d realise just how inappropriate his behaviour was and feel rightfully ashamed of himself.

The following day, as Tom accompanied her on her rounds, she laughed heartily at his flippant remarks, allowed her fingers to linger against his as he passed her bandages, and stared deep into his eyes every time she addressed him.

“Lucky sod,” he’d jested as she’d dabbed gently at the burns on a patient’s chest.

“You’ll get your turn later,” she’d quipped back with a wink, causing his jaw to fall agape. He’d been quick to close his mouth again, averting his attention to the floor as his cheeks had turned crimson.

It was obvious her being receptive to his advances was having an effect on him. All day she saw the way his eyes widened in disbelief, the slight blush that crept into his cheeks when she returned his flirty banter. He was uncomfortable with not being given the brush off, and she was enjoying every second of it.

“What are you playing at?” His voice came from behind her, as she was rifling through the medicine cabinet, searching for a bottle of iodine. It was a quiet corner of the medical tent, partitioned off from the sick beds for medical personnel to replenish supplies and dose out medicine.

“What do you mean?” She asked casually, not turning around as her hands continued to move aside brown bottles. She hoped the clink of the glass was enough to disguise the hint of amusement in her voice, and if not, at least he couldn’t see her smiling.

“You’re flirting with me,” he stated simply, though his voice didn’t carry its usual confidence.

“Am I?” She replied with faux innocence, casting him a glance over her shoulder.

He wasn’t standing as straight as he usually did, his brow was furrowed and he had his hands clasped in front of him. He was nervous.

Good, she thought.

“I–I think so, yeah…”

She rounded on him, closing the distance between them, delighting in the way his posture visibly stiffened as she pressed close, placing her palms against the broadness of his shoulders.

“I guess I finally figured there’s no use in denying what’s between us,” she cooed, “can’t fight it any longer.”

“Yeah..?” He asked, blinking rapidly, lips parted as he stared down at her with wide eyes.

“Absolutely. You deserve a reward, Private Bennett,” she said, reaching up to card her fingers through the softness of his hair. “You fought so bravely, it would be an honour for me to give myself to you. You’re a war hero.”

His face blanched, and for the first time since she’d met him, she saw the corners of his mouth turn downwards, a flicker between anger and sadness causing his brow to furrow and his gaze to dull. He grasped her wrists gently, moving her hands back to her sides, before quickly walking away.

She had expected to feel triumphant in managing to fluster him enough to get him to back down, but she didn’t. It was wholly unsatisfying, a heavy feeling of guilt sat like a stone upon her chest. There was something in her words that had utterly knocked the wind out of Tom’s sails, she had pushed too far. She hadn’t embarrassed him, she’d crushed him, and the worst part was she wasn’t entirely sure what she had said that had caused such an unexpected reaction.

He was quiet for the rest of her rounds, silently following orders, not meeting her eye when he spoke or was spoken to. It was as though all the light had gone out of him. He didn’t hang around for a smoke once she was relieved of her duties, so she was forced to follow after him as he strode back to the sleeping quarters reserved for uninjured naval officers.

“Hey, wait!” She called out, her feet hurrying to keep up with his longer gait, finally falling in step beside him. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

He stopped, huffing out a sigh as he turned his face upwards, briefly closing his eyes, before looking back down at her. “Forget about it,” he muttered, “message received loud and clear. I won’t hassle you no more.”

She was left standing there as he walked off, leaving her alone. Despite what he said, she knew forgetting about it was the very last thing that she would be able to do.

Her rounds were miserable over the days that followed. Tom didn’t laugh, he didn’t smile, he didn’t even speak unless spoken to. As reluctant as she was to admit it, she missed his jokey flirting. Whatever this was, the silence and sadness that hung between them, she hated it. She couldn’t question it in front of patients, and as soon as his obligation to her was fulfilled for the day, he hurried back to the naval quarters, making it clear he had no desire to speak to her.

Even the patients had started to notice it - of course they had - the stony silence that the pair worked in was a stark contrast to Tom’s usual annoyingly proud and jovial demeanour.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A private with a head injury asked playfully, as she pulled away his dressings to check on the wound.

Tom spoke before she had the opportunity to respond, his tone arrogant and steeped in annoyance. “Nope, just focusing on the job, mate. Got a ship coming to take me away from here tomorra, and the quicker I’m on it the better.”

She felt her heart lurch at his words. So preoccupied with the fact that Tom was refusing to speak to her, she had completely forgotten that he’d be leaving soon. Now his departure loomed imminently and the thought of it made her chest tighten uncomfortably. He couldn’t just leave and never speak to her again without giving her the chance to make amends, or to help her understand what she’d done wrong in the first place; that wasn’t fair.

He didn’t even look at her as she turned to him, instead he handed her the clean set of bandages he’d been holding and walked away, leaving her to finish up with her patient alone.

“Must be nice,” the injured private remarked, as she pressed the clean dressing to his wound and bandaged it up. “Wish I was leaving.”

“Me too,” she uttered softly, a sombre feeling settling over her as she realised she was talking as much about herself as she was the patient she was treating.

Tom was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the day, and she was left to complete her rounds by herself. She supposed she would grow used to it once he left. The strain they were under would be lessened by those fit enough to travel on the boat tomorrow being removed from their care. However, she felt like she was missing a part of herself without him at her side; like looking at the wall and not being able to see her shadow cast upon it. The weight of his absence would fade, but the hurt and uncertainty wrought from his disdain would not. She needed to put things right before he sailed away from her tomorrow, or she would forever live with the guilt of it.

She waited impatiently for the rest of the day for nightfall, deciding that if this was a conversation she was going to pursue then it was better to do so without witnesses - or at least when those witnesses were asleep - the canvas confines of both the medical bay and sleeping quarters provided very little privacy.

Once it was suitably dark, she made her way to the large tent that housed the cots of the naval officers. The humidity made the night air sticky and it clung to her skin, feeling as thick as the inky blackness of the sky above her. A wave of nervous apprehension washed over her as she reached for the canvas flap - what if Tom was already asleep, or refused to speak to her? What if other sailors were awake and questioned her reason for being there?

A simple white lie of delivering pain relief could deal with the latter of those problems, but she had no idea how to deal with the former. Before her pounding heart and trembling hands could convince her otherwise, she pulled back the partition, greeted by darkness and the gentle snores of those who were asleep. A few kerosene lamps were lit by the beds of those who were still awake, their dull glow illuminated the men that were sitting up reading, smoking or playing solitaire with playing cards spread out across their blankets.

Her eyes searched the gloom for Tom, half expecting him to be fast asleep. Finally, she spotted him, and her stomach erupted into nervous flutters as she saw that he was still awake. She felt as if she was intruding upon something far too intimate, seeing him in the tight white t-shirt and briefs of his underclothes. He laid upon his front, the legs of his tall frame almost hanging off the edge of the cot as they crossed over at the ankle. The low lighting that glowed across the sharpness of his features cast long shadows across his corner of the tent, however, it was not dark enough to hide the yellow canary that fluttered around the small cage that he had balanced upon his pillow. His attention was so focused upon the bird and its shrill twittering that he didn’t even notice her as she stepped carefully towards him.

“Who’s this then?” She asked quietly, once she was a few paces away from Tom’s cot.

His head snapped up quickly, brows raising in surprise as he took in the sight of her, almost as if he couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him. He cleared his throat, shifting onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow before responding. “Her name’s Vera.”

“Vera…that’s a pretty name,” she said, offering him a soft smile as she fidgeted awkwardly with her fingers, forgetting everything she had wanted to say to him.

He lifted the cage, placing it gently on the floor between his cot and the tent wall, then looked back at her. “So what brings you ‘ere then?”

“You won’t speak to me,” she replied. Her voice sounded small, sad and vulnerable to her ears, and she loathed it. She had come here to apologise and then leave, not get upset.

“Usually, people take a hint when that happens, they don’t barge in on them when they’re going to bed.”

His reply hit her like a physical blow, and he must have seen the way her face fell, as he was quick to follow it up with; “But I guess I can’t blame ya for wantin’ a peek at me in me undercrackers.”

She felt instantly lighter as she saw the playful grin spread across his face, turning hers away as she felt her skin grow hot.

Silence fell between them once more and she drew in a steadying breath before lifting her gaze to his again. “I couldn’t let you leave without knowing how sorry I am,” she stepped closer, “I don’t know what I said that ticked you off exactly, but what I did I did with the intent to teach you a lesson, to humiliate you, and that was wrong. I was sick of your flirting, but I realise now that after all you’ve been through that you were just trying to make a horrible situation a lighter one. You’re so brave, and–”

“I’m not fucking brave,” he snapped, making her jump.

“What?” She moved to stand directly beside his cot, her head tilted slightly in confusion.

“I’m not brave,” he repeats, his voice turning to the hushed tone he’d used previously. He scrubbed a hand across his face and fixed her with a tired stare. “I’m not a war hero.”

She blinked rapidly, furrowing her brow as she perched upon the edge of his makeshift bed. “Is that what got you upset? Because I called you a war hero?”

“Do you know why I joined the Navy?” He asked, shuffling back to make more room for her to sit within the narrow space.

She shook her head, allowing him to continue speaking.

“Was avoiding the nick,” he uttered, sniffing. “I’m not a hero, I’m a coward dodging a stretch in prison.”

She was surprised by this, but not repelled. He was hardly the first man to join up to the draft to avoid the authorities, and he would be the last. She sighed softly, looking him in the eye. “That doesn’t change any of what you’ve been through, or how bravely you fought aboard that warship. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Well, I’m not,” he said sullenly, “I’m not going back. The minute I get back home that’s it, I’m done with this bloody war.”

“You can’t do that,” she told him softly, suddenly feeling afraid for him.

“Why not? It’s not my fight. I saw people fucking die. I don’t wanna give my life for something I don’t believe in.”

“You could be hanged for desertion,” she argued, a hint of desperation in her voice. Before she had time to think about it, her hand reached for his, grasping his fingers with her own.

“Dad’s a conchie,” he said, intertwining his fingers with hers, “I could be too.”

She glanced down to where their hands were joined, almost wanting to scream in frustration. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Well, what am I s’posed to do?” he seethed, snatching his hand back, leaving her to silently mourn the loss of the contact.

“I can’t convince you to do anything, Tom, but please talk to your dad before you make a decision you can’t take back.”

“Y’know, that’s the first time you’ve called me that,” he said, his expression softening.

“What?”

“My name. It’s usually always Private Bennett. I like it when you call me Tom.”

She averted her gaze, feeling her skin blaze with embarrassment once more. “I guess I should get going. Us talking’s probably keeping people awake.”

His hand shot out, grasping hers once more as she rose to leave, making her freeze in place.

“Stay,” came his softly uttered plea.

“There’s all these other people,” she protested in a quiet voice, though she sat back down.

“I just want you to lay next to me. We probably won’t see each other again after tomorrow, and I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

“I dunno…”

“No funny business, I promise,” he said with a smirk that immediately crumbled her resolve. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright…”

Tom laid out straight and pulled the blankets up around himself, holding one side up in silent invitation for her to join him. She slid underneath, not realising quite how tight the confines of the single cot were until her body was pressed right up against his.

Wordlessly, he leaned over to turn out the lamp, then turned to face her, slinging an arm over her waist and closing his eyes.

She laid there with her eyes open, just about able to make out his features in the darkness. The humidity combined with the heat of Tom’s body and the blankets thrown over them made it uncomfortably warm, and it was an effort not to squirm. But that wasn’t her only means of discomfort. It was difficult to keep her breathing steady and her body from trembling in spite of the heat; she hadn’t anticipated being in such close proximity to Tom to have such an effect on her. The feeling of the long, lithe muscle of his body pressed against hers made her pulse race and her core throb with desire, though the sensation was intermingled with pangs of guilt. He was seeking comfort in her, and here she was lusting after him when she’d spent the last two weeks berating him for doing the same to her.

His breaths fanned softly across her face, and she was convinced that he had fallen asleep, until his grasp on her waist tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. She froze at the intimacy of it, ashamed of the way desire pooled between her thighs at the gesture, until he ducked his head to bury it into the crook of her neck.

“Help me,” he whispered against her skin, a desperate plea for something, anything to make him feel better.

She reached up tentatively in the darkness, her fingers stroking through the silkiness of his hair. He sighed contentedly in response, and the sensation made her shiver, causing an involuntary tug at his tresses, making him groan and grip her tighter.

“Please,” he murmured into her neck. His hips began to grind against hers, the evidence that he was just was affected by her as she was him more than apparent as it pressed repeatedly against her.

Before she had time to consider the absurdity of it all, she hooked her thigh over him, prompting him to roll onto his back as she straddled him. Her chest rose and fell erratically as she stared down at him. He looked back with wide, imploring eyes, his fingers flexing firmly against the swell of her hips, urging her into action.

The touch was enough to ground her, to give her pause to realise they were in a tent full of sleeping sailors, that she’d rebuffed all of Tom’s previous advances, that come tomorrow she’d never see him again.

She swallowed thickly, trying to move off of him. “We shouldn’t.”

“Please,” he repeated with more urgency, his grip upon her tightening, stilling her and preventing her from moving away.

It was the begging of a desperate man, a man who had seen awful things, who was afraid to die, who was sailing away tomorrow into uncertainty. How could she say no? And how could she deny herself? Over the last two weeks she had seen unimaginable horrors, worked tirelessly, didn't she deserve a little fun?

She allowed the throbbing between her thighs to guide her actions as she reached beneath her skirt of her uniform, tugging her knickers to one side. Tom’s breaths grew unsteady as his eyes watched her in the darkness, his own hands moving to push down his briefs.

As the swollen head of him pressed against her entrance she felt that she was aroused, though not wet enough to make his passage an easy one. She had to rise and sink down repeatedly against the upward thrusts of his pelvis before the tight muscles of her heat finally yielded to him.

Sinking all the way in to the hilt, Tom hissed loudly, earning himself a quiet scolding from her. “Quiet, or you’ll wake people up.”

He bit his lip as she rocked her hips gently, allowing herself to adjust to the intrusion. It had been a while since she’d been with anyone this intimately, and it stung slightly, though the pain was not unpleasant.

She gazed down at him, seeing the crease between his eyebrows as they furrowed against the intensity of his pleasure and the effort to stay quiet. Seeing his face contorted into such a state, even though the darkness prevented her from seeing him clearly, was enough to have her sensitive walls clenching with desire, and she took that as her prompt to begin moving in a steady rhythm, lifting up as she rocked forward, then down as she pulled back.

“Fuck…” Tom murmured under his breath, his fingers leaving indentations in the flesh of her hips.

“Does that feel good?” She asked, her voice breathless with exertion.

“Y–yeah…don’t stop.”

In that moment, none of it mattered; the sheen of sweat upon her skin, the other people asleep around them, it all faded to nothing. Her only focus became the man beneath her begging for more and the exhilarating ache each time the head of him brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside of her.

“You’re so brave, Tom, and you’re doing so well, making me feel wonderful,” she breathed, as she moved atop him.

His expression was one of utter submission and pure adoration, his eyes were glossy with pleasure, his full lips were parted. He clung to her as though he was a drowning man and she was his lifeline, and she supposed she was in a way. She served as a much needed moment of respite when all around him was fear and uncertainty.

She could feel her peak beginning to crest alongside his, his cock pulsed inside of her with each spasm of her core. She pulled off of him as white hot waves of pleasure crashed over her, stifling his groan of satisfaction with a hot, messy kiss - the first they’d shared - as she tightened repeatedly around nothing and he spilled himself across his lower abdomen.

He laid against her chest afterwards, once he’d cleaned himself up, and she cradled him to her breasts, gently ruffling his hair. A satisfied ache had settled between her thighs, and her eyelids felt heavy with tiredness.

“Will you write to me?” He asked quietly.

“If you keep your promise, Tom, then I might not know where to write to.”

He hummed quietly before falling silent.

“You will keep your promise, won’t you? You’ll speak to your dad?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, almost thoughtfully, “I promise.”

Tom left the next day, and she didn’t see him again, though he often crossed her mind. Six months later, when she was stationed in a hospital in Paris, her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked upon the familiar, yet bruised face of a man laying unconscious in the ward she was working in. She smiled as she approached the bed and looked upon the sleeping form of Tom Bennett. He’d kept his promise. He was a hero after all.

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