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sunboki · 6 days ago

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⎯ COUNTDOWN TO LOVE. a Christopher Bahng fiction

🎁 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. countdown to christmas, best friends to lovers! au, pining, non-idol! au, comfort, worry of unrequited feelings, slight angst, fluff, cuteness overload

WORD COUNT. 6.5k ☆ 34 minute read

WARNINGS. swearing(??), mentions of a dick(?), insecurity, usage of terms of endearment, mentions of inferiority, mention of vomit, reader is said to wear makeup on an occasion

AUG'S NOTES. this was a very soft and sweet opposition to Christmas Blues last year which, notably, was remarkably “blue” in nature. in the midst of writing i found myself worried this new approach to lighter, best-friend-to-lovers feelings would be too plain—but i had to remind myself this isn’t enemies to lovers, nor is it nearly as angsty as Christmas Blues!! though i hope their feelings can be both established and understood well, so thank you for sticking with me this far :) i hope this fuzzy piece keeps your heart warm during this cold winter<3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. It had always been natural between you and Chris. Knowing someone for almost ten years comes with that. And yet, when he confesses that he doesn’t want to keep up this cycle but pursue you one winter, you’re hesitant in thinking it will work out. Then again, you’ve never been one to deny him.

or alternatively :

Five days till Christmas, five dates to see if you feel the same.

December 20th.

“Move your arm.”

Sunday morning sunlight streams through barely cracked blinds, making your brows crinkle at the onslaught of brightness in distaste. That, along with occupying a mattress with none other than Chris Bahng.

A weekly occurrence at this rate, if not daily. And no, whatever earlier assumption about you two sharing a bed is wrong.

Totally.

Oh, he’s also pitiful to boot, evident with the loud whine heard in response as he rolls over—messy curls unruly upon just awakening.

And.. somehow beautiful, with those big brown eyes and lips the color of burnt russet parting with a highly exaggerated yawn.

But pitiful most of all.

“‘S warm—“ Chris groans out, inch-worming his way to wrap big arms around your form, beckoning you snuggled against his back with a content sigh.

“Too warm,” You scowl, squirming about in his grasp, disagreeable sorts of sounds leaving tight lips. Chris simply giggles.

“Say,” He begins, weighing his chin upon your shoulder, fingertips slipping beneath your shirt to feel your skin, tracing the lines of your abdomen, rising to rest on your belly.

A surprising lover of skin-to-skin, he is.

“What if we became something more?”

When you know someone long enough, an established sense of normalcy alternative to everybody else appears, whether that’s the plentiful times you’d heard Chris squeal like a girl after walking in on him in his boxers, or the not-so pretty nights out where he’d hold back your hair while you threw up in the bathroom a bar whose name you can’t recall.

But then again, it’s always been just that.

Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t demand anything from you, didn't judge you. Listening with an attentive ear those days you would cry on the phone, and bring you a donut before morning classes after passing an exam.

The small things.

So it makes you wonder when you started seeing him differently. And if he felt that same way too.

A slow progression of love, like a river in its path of eroding canyons over thousands of years. Familiar, comforting. Done without a second thought like muscle memory. His fingers curling against yours in busied atmospheres, the look you both give each other when a certain song comes on.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

With your face peering over his monitor, wide eyes he adores peek at him from an upside down angle.

Cute, he thinks, tapping your nose with a chilled index.

Chris always keeps it cold in his apartment, partially because he remembers you’d told him you sleep better that way, partially because he loves to hear you complain about it in the morning.

As for the big question popped earlier today, he chooses to wait patiently per your request (after staring at him like he’d grown an extra pair of eyes then proceeding to smack his arm before realizing he was serious).

So, yes, you’re thinking.

And it scares Chris more than he’d like to admit.

He knows the risks, the “let’s try this” somehow turning into an ugly breakup and never speaking again.

And he can’t afford that when it comes to you, because you’ve become the most important person in his life without even noticing it.

Even if his love is one sided. Unrequited.

He’d be okay as long as he has you.

Just the thought makes him anxious, makes the clicking of his mouse arranging the tempo to become erratic in pace, head-dizzying.

“Chris?”

Until your voice finds him, and the torrential waves of his ocean go back to their slow lapsing. Calming the waters as always, trademark to you.

“New track,” He offers, eyes flickering up to you with a meek smile emphasizing the charming dimples there.

Majoring in music comes with both perks and downfalls: hours spent studying and cramming terms down his throat whilst managing personal projects, and, of course, the fleeting satisfaction after passing an exam by a stroke of luck.

But he loves every moment of it, especially having you listen to some of his favorite productions. Some he’ll strum on a guitar amidst his arranged apartment shared with Changbin and Han—roommates you’d grown quite acquainted with—in the late evening, his heart likely beating out of his chest watching your sweet face nod along.

At the moment it’s him here alone, Han having already relocated back home for the holidays, Changbin at his part time job, working lighting and electrical work at a live-house.

“Can I listen?”

Slow to nod, he beckons you closer with a wave of his hand, carefully placing headphones overtop your ears.

And yet, as your head bobs and face wrinkles up just like he does when hearing something catchy, he can’t help the grin on his face watching you.

You’re beautiful, and he’s too fond it might just be unhealthy.

It’s too easy to fall in love with you.

He has a feeling he’ll be thinking that a lot.

December 21st.

Enough.

If there was an early New Year’s resolution, gaining a lack of hesitation would have to be on the top of the list.

Of course, that would ensue plenty of compromising situations if you did things impulsively considering the amount of times you’d wanted to kiss him, but, for the most part, it would work in a sensible manner.

“Five dates.”

Last night you slept over (similar to most nights), clad in one of Chris’s old t-shirts and a pair of suspiciously clean basketball shorts for the gym-addicted man in question, Changbin, to offer you.

By the stove, Chris occupies himself with cooking eggs, lips puffed in a way downright dangerous to your “no hesitation” resolution and lack of t-shirt displaying a broad, muscled back adding to the list.

Your tongue pokes against your cheek, arms crossed over your chest.

”Five dates.. mhm.. gotcha…” Each nod from the man assures you that, no, he doesn’t “gotcha”; his attention long since drawn to what lies in a sizzling pan and the low hum of “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz rumbling from the small radio on the corner of the kitchen island.

“Chris,” You grunt, brows lifting, resisting the urge to laugh when he glances over his shoulder with that sheepish expression, all-telling.

Or maybe that comes with the years. Unspoken gestures understood without fail.

”Sorry ‘bout that,” He murmurs, and you curse every aspect of your vision being a spectator to his trapezius rippling while dishing down two mugs from the cabinet. One that you bought him, the other purchased by Han.

The latter patterned with.. odd shaped bananas he’s sworn are not the shape of a dick.

But that’s a story for another time.

Although, that’s the least of the oddities. Between the Danny Devito cheeto ornament(how they got their hands on it you couldn’t guess) added to their tiny Christmas tree and the rug in the bathroom with old stains no one talks about, you’ve decided to turn a blind eye for the sake of learning things you don’t want to remember.

“What do you think if.. y’know, before we try something new,”

You pause, scorning the sly smile on his face when turning to face you, long fingers quelling the stove’s flame momentarily.

He thinks you’re the most darling thing he’s laid eyes on, and you think he’s going to laugh at you.

”We go on five dates. And after those five dates, I’ll make up my mind.”

”Is this a part of your “thinking”?”

Jerk. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

Gnawing at your bottom lip, your face pinches.

“Yes.” The words are quiet, too hushed for your liking.

Chris doesn’t make you quiet, he doesn’t make you shy. Yet, these days you find yourself falling back into a cycle of nervous, foreign feelings when speaking. As if he’s picking you apart piece for piece.

As if he hasn’t already read every page of the book named you over and over again.

But now the pages rewrite themselves, too many filled with the word “love” and “affection” and “more than friends” and—

“Can I kiss you after those dates?”

Jerk. For the second time.

”And if I say no?”

He lights a fire under your feet. Maybe it’s the heat causing blood to rush to your ears.

Chris lifts his mug. ”Indirect?”

You scoff, he giggles, squeaky in pitch just as it’s always been. Your cheeks warm.

Because in the midst of a once-normalcy, you can feel a storm brewing. It’s unclear if it’ll be a hurricane or a refreshing rain shower, and perhaps the unpredictably is supposed to be thrilling.

Or maybe it’s doomed, and the debris left after that hurricane will lay untouched, uncared for.

So it’s the feeling of his arms wrapping around you beckoning those thoughts out of reach, holding the doubt just high enough you don’t have to see.

Hear, listen, overthink. For now, all there is to fret about is Chris, and the warmth of his hug, pulling you infinitely close against heated skin.

Then does it register to you he’s always read your pages the same, and he would for as long as you’ll give him time to reread. If they change, they change together.

How foolish you forgot such a thing. As if he wasn’t your best friend first.

“Yes, you can.”

When those five dates are over, kiss me.

His nose buried into your shoulder, he murmurs a quiet “thank you”, a satisfied hum resounding from his chest, eyes crinkling up in the corners with a smile.

“Is that my shampoo?”

If anything, you feel as if you’ve been having dates over the years you’ve known Chris as he lists out ideas from a website on his phone. Except, yours weren’t touchy feel-y and certainly not regarded as “dates”, but simple things.

Dinners, falling asleep on his shoulder (something he remembers very well), baking together.

It’s a cold day, and after his hug that squeezed every fiber of sanity from your being, you now resorted to trying to figure out what that first date should consist of.

The first of the five, pending.

“Ah,” Lips parting to exhale, you peer from the nearest window, watching hot breath fog up the glass whilst gazing out at vastly falling slow blanketing the ground a winter wonderland. A white abyss from your viewpoint.

“It’s snowing.”

A chaste pause ensues.

“Might as well go out ‘n enjoy it, hm?” His voice, paired with a grin saturated in too much mischief for your liking resounds from over your shoulder.

Unable to react fast enough, Chris, sneaking up behind you without your knowledge, hoists you over his shoulder in seconds time—now (unfortunately) adorning a hoodie over his once bare torso.

Your shocked shriek rings about the apartment in reply.

“Out of the way! We’re goin’ outside!” Chris giggles victoriously, shouting to no one in particular as your fists beat at his back upon making for the door.

The faintest gust of frigid wind has goosebumps slithering up your skin—granting the man a cacophony of “No! Let me down!”’s he seems to soak up like praise.

Well, before relenting.

Because then again, who was he to deny you? To some degree it felt like every bone in his bone dragged him close to you, trailing after your footsteps like a lost puppy.

“One of these days,” Sighing heavily like that of an old man, a firm hand pats your thigh before you’re reluctantly flopped onto the couch, glaring up at him in a manner he deems too pretty to keep from smiling at.

That same hand comes to hold your face, smushing up your cheeks and, in turn, earning plentiful laughter you simply huff towards.

“Don’t pout—“ He whines, your heart rate spiking when another hand comes down towards your hair.

If there was any restraint of yours left, it would be relinquished instantly if he so much as touched your hair—

He flicks your forehead. And proceeds to slump down beside you.

“Oh you prick-“

His hand reaches to gently cover your mouth, bringing an index to rest on plush lips of his own.

“No pouting, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Oh he’s going to get it.

Playing you like a fiddle.

And damn does he do it well.

Head tipping, your eyes flicker over his features—silently admiring such a side profile. With the perfect curve of his lips and hook of his nose, he could rival sculptures found in museums.

This was after trying to tackle him (to no avail, sadly) and curse his very existence (another fail).

Then, the mediator came by in the form of a movie night and the small sheet of chocolate chip cookies warming in the oven, scent steaming the air with a mouthwatering aroma.

Your first of five, initiated.

“Mm.. Don’t we have movie nights normally though?” The remark offered quietly, you shift closer to his body, pressing your right side to his, knees tucked beneath a blanket he’d arranged across either of your laps.

Love Actually plays on the screen ahead, but your focus couldn’t be deviating more.

Ever the attentive soul, Chris is equal in the shared admiration, honeyed irises fixed upon you in his peripheral prior to a careful finger lifting, looping a strand of hair behind your ear.

In turn, his gentle palm cups your jaw to tilt your head, sweeping an additionally stubborn hair from the other side of your face as well.

Your heart feels moments from bursting, and he looks at you as if you’re his whole world.

You are, but that was a matter unnoticed on your end.

It’s a quiet debate. Dangerous and fickle. Move too quickly and something might go wrong, hesitate and an opportunity may vanish to never be seen again. Do you kiss him? Is that how it works? Or is this a matter of “kissing on the first date”, treated like a taboo?

More so, what happens next? After the kiss?

His eyes flicker upward to yours, lacking that boy-ish, charming smile he usually dons. Instead, he’s serious, calm. Then to your lips, like the melody of a slow song, flickering with the dips and pitches of the rhythm.

Leaning in, you can’t help but comply, and every thought within your mind numbs into nothingness—

Beeep!

A sharp, acrid stench makes your nose burn, face transforming into both realization and panic upon witnessing the tendrils of smoke curling from the oven.

“Shit!”

And after frantically racing to salvage what little remained of the cookies while Chris furiously fanned the smoke detector, your “date night” turned into a shared glance, laughter, and the both of you trudging to his bed for the night, leaving the remaining bit of Love Actually for another day.

So no, rest assured you didn’t kiss him on the first date.

Maybe tomorrow.

December 22nd.

Y’know how Chris mentioned going out into the snow “one of these days?”.

That day was today, apparently.

“You don’t get it I’ll slip-“

“But you can hold onto me, yeah?” He laughs, squeaky still. Gloved hands find purchase on your hips, gently easing you forward where your back rests to his chest. His right hand shifts upward to rest against your spine, a feeling you have to swallow down wallowing in your stomach.

“Slow steps, I won’t let go.”

Don’t ever, you wish to say. Don’t ever let me go.

And not to keep me from slipping.

Maybe if you were ice skating or slow dancing this would be romantic, but the ugly, waddling manner you make down ice-coated stairs kills off any hope for swooning.

That is, until you do slip, and the man is a fraction too slow until you’re flat on your bum outside his apartment complex, heated from both annoyance and the knowledge far too many embarrassing pictures have been added to his camera roll just now.

In which.. a wonky, slightly-melting snowman comes to be not long afterward, neither of you willing to admit your creation is not “creative”, but horridly unsightly.

“I love it!”

Of course he does. Random pipes substituting as two arms and a carrot nose while Han’s fedora from 2016 awkwardly sits atop a head disproportionate from its body.

Your second date ideas offered a galaxy of possibilities, but after awakening late and coffee’s failure to open your eyes further than half-lidded, you figured today would mimic yesterday as a day spent at home.

He’d get some assignments done in the evening, and you’d probably turn on another Christmas movie while waiting to finish Love Actually in his company later on.

“We should come up with a name,” Nodding proudly at the aforementioned abomination, you cross your arms across your chest, your partner in crime brainstorming in a seriousness practically comical to the situation at hand.

“Hm.. something happy! I mean, look at his face, it’s happy, isn’t it?”

Mind you, cold, visibly dead extra coat-buttons are what stares back at you as its “eyes”, and you easily nod in feigned agreement as he takes ceaseless pictures of the thing with obvious delight, likely to send to friends and family alike.

The bottom snowball is melting, and a pipe has already fallen off what was supposed to be its arm, but Chris is beaming, and you'd rather slice off your own tongue than keep him from enjoying this moment.

Happy.

You feel as if you’d do anything in the world to see him smile.

“Eh? Who’s that?”

5pm, and you’ll probably have to pummel the door open in the morning thanks to the blizzard-like conditions outside.

Among plenty of assignments he told himself he’d fret over in the evening, an unfinished paper sits in front of Chris while his thumbs twiddle along the keyboard of his phone, your chin hooked to his shoulder to glance down at the device—a habit of yours he finds himself unreasonably fond of.

Changbin came home early from the live-house, with most events cancelled from the cold and too little work to be done, there was no need to keep workers around. Dinner beckoned conversation and knowing glances from the roommate whenever you and Chris spoke, earning a scolding scowl while he simply grinned innocently in reply.

It seemed your love was obvious to everyone but you two. How tragic.

Though, amidst photos of both your earlier wipeout (a matter you don’t mention) and snapshots of the snowman he’s currently trying to send while seated at his desk, a certain name within the text catches your attention:

Mister Sunshine.

Chris chuckles sheepishly, your brows lifting in silent inquisition.

“It’s.. the snowman’s name. I named him.” He murmurs, the back of his neck doused pink. A facet of his embarrassment.

He named the snowman Mister Sunshine.

That smile of his making an additional appearance lies responsible for an internal scream to ring throughout your body, deafening your brain despite an external silence.

And in that moment, your feelings become harder to ignore than ever.

December 23rd.

“You should get all pretty today.”

Your attention, once drawn to the different kinds of cookie-cutter molds, flickers up to him when he speaks.

As it always does, hanging onto his every word as if fearful there’d be a day you couldn’t.

Quizzically does your head tip in confusion, spurring the heat blooming by the back of his neck all the way up to flushed ears.

He waves quick hands, having been eyeing through the assortment of donuts Changbin brought home last night after his “buy one get one free sale” turned into buying a dozen at the shop by the live-house.

“I mean, ‘s not like you aren’t pretty every day, but- y’know- like—“

It feels cruel letting him futilely try explaining, but gosh is he too cute.

And hearing him call you pretty feels too good to end abruptly.

It also makes you wonder what happened to the smug-grin-wearing, playful person he could become at times. The one so confident and sure, now rosy.

An alter-ego sounded too far-fetched most days, but as for today… fairly accurate.

“What I meant is,” Turning, Chris extends the mug of coffee your way, heated glass warming your palms as you take it.

A part to your shared daily occurrences, routine.

“I want to take you out tonight. We can go window shopping, see decorations, yeah?”

Perhaps the steam of your cup is what warms your cheeks, and very quickly do you come to recall you’re the one making him wait.

He was willing to go all in from the start. And then you feel even crueler.

“Okay, tell me when to start getting ready.”

But you nod and pretend, because maybe you’re good at staving down things you know will come up anyway.

He’d always chided your procrastination.

Too long have you spent burning holes in your mirror with each scrutinizing glare, and the longer you stare, the worse what’s reflected becomes.

Chris had sent a small text proposing a forty minute window before heading out, in which ensued your frantic scouring around your room for both an outfit and coordinating accessories.

Sure, you may have known the guy since your ugliest years, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun to spend some extra time on yourself, right?

Your third of five dates, and you should be bouncing up and down with cheerfulness, looking forward to “getting all pretty”, dolling up for an evening with your favorite person, your best friend. And, come recent days, your admitted love interest.

But you aren’t. You don’t feel cheerful, ecstatic.

And walking out to his awestruck form doesn’t feel revitalizing, and sure as hell far from a confidence boost.

“You look.. wow.” He gapes, drinking in every article of clothing, the way you’ve got the prettiest of ribbons in your hair a crimson red, your cute socks and warm sweater.

An angel, he wants to say. That, along with many things you’d slap him on the shoulder for speaking aloud.

Worst of all? He knows your tell-tale signs in and out.

“Hey.”

His face seems to melt. Like crying, and it makes you want to cry. The sad, tiny crease of his brows, the puff of his bottom lip.

Worried.

“But, I mean,” Your voice chokes up, and you hate every bit of it, the emotions compiling to the surface—ones impossible to stave down.

You don’t feel nice. Putting on an outfit you both liked and thought you looked good in, fixing up your makeup, the little accessories to compliment certain colors, elements.

Yet, your heart still sunk when looking in the mirror, and now, looking at Chris, it feels like all that confidence is beginning to melt—salt sprinkled on the snow of the driveway.

Greater than that, it frustrates you. It isn’t his fault he’s attractive; beautiful, even, but every second by his side feels akin to a blazing inferiority, causing the already-chilled, flushed fingertips of yours to burn, your ears to grow unusually warm.

Like a child.

How irritating.

“Hey,”

His voice, like honey and pastries and all the bestest, warmest things when in need of comfort.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

The endearment isn’t teasing this time, not even in the slightest. It’s soft and delicate, an ornate vase constructed of glass, capable of breaking from a mere breath.

Standing outside his apartment, snow dappling the sky in endless flurries, it’s only you two in the world.

Your lip wobbles, but Chris always catches you before you fall.

“I’m the man honored to walk around with you tonight, hm?” He starts, thumbing away bubbling tears from your cheeks.

“You look too pretty for these tears, ‘don’t want to mess up your makeup now do we?” He cracks a feeble smile, smoothing down your brows and adjusting your scarf with utmost care from his mitten-clad fingers.

“Ah,” His face lights up with recognition. “You added the glittery eyeshadow.”

You can’t help but crack a laugh. Pitifully croaked, but there no less.

First day of high school and you’d shown up with a downright awful amount of glittery eyeshadow, looking similar to a human-disco ball with the sheer amount alone.

Chris, ever the kind soul knowing you since birth, gave you a two thumbs up, a tight smile, and a “looks great!” that’s lived as one of your best inside jokes even now.

Luckily, this time around the amount is agreeable, just above your lashes and shimmering avidly beneath falling snow.

“I did,” You whisper softly, gaze fluttering down to your shoes before flickering back up to him. “And um.. is it true? That..”

Oh this is embarrassing.

“I look okay?”

Perhaps if he says it, tonight you can believe it’s true.

This time he breaks your heart, with such a heart-wrenching smile on his face.

“You always look beautiful, ‘doesn’t matter how much you think you’re not, you’ll never be able to change my mind. Now let me take you out, yeah? ‘Can grab some hot chocolate,” He ushers, winding your arm to link with his as you make forward, his black trench coat swaying with the click of dress shoes, chilly nose finding sanctuary in a ruby-red scarf wrapped around his shoulders.

Beneath the streetlights and dark skies, Chris could be a prince if he so wished.

That’s another thing you can believe is true tonight.

Curious eyes of awaiting children and scolding mothers litter the streets, tiny fingers pointing to toys through the glass, busied chatter and shared affection blooming within a once blue atmosphere, now dappled in ribbons of color.

The transition from monochrome, like shutters of an old camera capturing technicolor for the first time.

Or maybe Chris was the one responsible for each flourish of color, painting your world the prettiest of hues.

“Do you remember it?”

His voice, honeyed, accompanied by a plume of air in requite of a warm exhale evokes a skip to your step, catching your footing on the stone sidewalk with an awkward clearing to your throat.

“The things you used to want for Christmas?” He continues, and you chose to ignore the knowing smile on his face, gaze shifting upward in hopes of recollection, to no avail.

“Hm.. Do you?” Quietly offered, a change in attention grants you momentary escape from the spotlight.

Well, before it truly does become momentary.

He never has been embarrassed easily, you’d like to add. A matter speaking for itself in the way he automatically clings to your side in response, swaying back and forth whilst singing along to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” you didn’t realize was blaring through overhead speakers above passing until this moment.

Predictably, he earns the bemused grins of passerby and your face (as an individual who does in fact get embarrassed easily, to your own dismay) growing fifty shades of crimson.

“Yah! Quit!” Though your efforts are as futile as your voice and it’s involuntarily chortled-ness, you smack at his hand no less.

Of course, he persists.

Until the sharp turn to a small, annually appearing hot chocolate truck ceases your complaining and his singing in synonymous tandem.

An array of memories come washing across you with each gust of winter wind, and you can practically hear the manner of squeakiness his voice used to be, the foam from whipped-cream topped cocoa sitting atop his top lip like a mustache. You’d always laugh at that.

When you burnt your tongue one year after the beverage was too hot and he remained resilient in his belief you could and would taste Christmas dinner.

You did not, but it was worth a try. Also worth seeing his big, hopeful eyes peek up at you excitedly.

Back then he was always shorter than you, until that fateful day in High school he arrived with a far taller stature than the pipsqueak you knew of most days.

A lot has changed since then. In more ways than one.

Seems his memory remains as sharp as ever, evident in the gentle squeeze he gives your hand—his you hadn’t even noticed was held in your own up till now.

“Get some, hm? My treat.” He quickly urges, watching you pad forward like a child to admire the menu in adoration, waving to the old woman you’d known since a child, always manning her tiny miracle of a truck.

He would keep the fact he’d looked up the hours the truck would be in town to himself. That, along with the tiny heart drawn on the side of the cardboard coffee sleeve you had yet to acknowledge, one he discovers is the old woman’s doing, her knowing smile matching his own when he looks up for silent clarification.

Encouragement.

Go for it.

He feels his palms grow clammy, internally thankful you weren’t holding hands at the moment(which was enough of a heart-attack inducing experience in itself).

The trace of lipgloss on the rim of your cup, the batting of those precious eyes.

Worst is, you don’t even know what you do. The little things compiling into something downright torturous.

And when you look up at him for that split second, his breath catches.

Ah.

He wants to kiss you.

From the scrunch of your nose when you begin to laugh to the snowflakes already dappling your lashes.

Because loving you is easy, and then it’s not. Over and over again. He’s afraid, but his mind is fuzzy and jumbled with feelings, and that small bit of melted marshmallow on your bottom lip he finds himself longing to taste. Lick up the sweetness and sink his teeth into the plush skin–

The tiniest drop of hot chocolate clings to your lips, and Chris wonders if you’d taste like it too.

December 24th.

“Hm?” His hum of confusion falls upon deaf ears, too preoccupied with a call from your mom to take note.

Something must’ve piqued his attention, though you’d have half the mind to guess what.

That is until hanging up, and curious brown eyes boring into your skull from afar transform into this itch you can’t ignore.

“Chris.”

Like an annoying older brother, he is sometimes.

Then there’s that sheepish sort of sound, the “i-got-caught” giggle testing your annoyed facade.

“Hey now,” He begins after a moment, pointing an incredulous finger your way like you’ve said something outrageous, looking like some perplexed old man whilst running a hand through his hair in an odd, cheap rendition of exasperation.

He looks more like he’s choking, but you give full points for effort.

“You haven’t put up your tree or anything? What are you, the grinch?”

Oh, so that’s what this is about.

For context, your conversation minutes prior with your mother consisted of the formalities: “How are you? Eating well? Sleeping well?” which turned into the personal portions: “Classes? Boyfriends?”

As for the last question, you’d keep her posted.

But what seemed to grab his attention most was the additional part where you not-so-discreetly told her you likely wouldn’t bother putting up decorations in your own place this year.

Granted, you spent most days at Chris’s anyway, Christmas as well. Why not skip the hassle to freeload?

Also, you weren’t aware this was chastising season, Mr. Bahng.

“You’re serious?”

Nope. All a joke, every bit.

“…I usually just stay here anyway..?”

Which was true! He knows this!

“Nuh-uh, ‘s gotta change. What if one year I go overseas to visit family and you’re here alone?”

Horribly fast, your stomach sinks, and you’re hasty to scorn the sensation.

This fear, innate and uncontrollable. That on a certain season, you won’t have that certain someone to spend it with.

I won’t, you want to say; treat the words like some totally unrealistic joke, treat his argument like a fable.

The clapping of his hands wards you from your incomprehensible nightmare.

“Alright! Let’s go! We’re decorating your place!”

This year at least, he’ll be by your side.

So you nod, as you do to most things concerning Christopher Bahng.

Love makes a person so.. strange, does it not?

Maybe that’s just you. Or him, or all of it. Who knows.

Crunching of white sheets beneath your feet keep your head from falling astray, as if dancing atop dove feathers amidst your trek to the car.

Too many thoughts, too many questions likely to be left unanswered.

The moon, in her full, glowing glory blinks down from above as a feeble solace.

Of the most beautiful of love stories. For when her lover, Sun, grows tired of arduous laboring in the day, she will arrive to establish her night so that Sun may rest for another day. A night of waiting for the one most beloved to her.

It reminds you quite a bit of yourself, oddly enough, as frosted fingertips shuffle beneath your legs to bask in the passenger seat’s seat heater as a source of warmth.

Each exhale fogs up the windows as the engine rumbles to life, and it’s a wonder you didn’t have to scrape off ice beforehand.

“Mm, in Australia it’d be so warm since ‘was summer, even on Christmas Eve. I remember one year ‘got the chance to get out there during the Holidays. Jisung sent me a text saying it was four degrees celsius in Korea and he was wearing three jackets. Meanwhile, I was outside in a tank top with Berry in twenty-seven.”

His eyes adorn the same sweet crinkle of happiness, ring-clad index tapping an inaudible beat where it rests on your knee, the other finding purchase on the steering wheel as you continue onward through late-December snowflakes.

He lights up your world without even trying. His smile, his excited talking. The way his words grow shorter and shorter the more excited he is to explain something.

Nerd.

You love every second of it.

“And what I said about Australia earlier.” Chris begins quietly, sparing you a glimpse. His palm squeezes your knee gently, and you want to shout, jump, do something to alleviate the scream wishing to claw from your throat in reply.

Since when have you become so susceptible, so easy?

Simple. Since you fell in love.

Or, more like when you realized you were in love.

This was nothing new, after all.

“You wouldn’t be alone here over the holidays. I’d take you with me.” His eyes squeeze shut momentarily in thought, tone this quieted whisper you have to crane to discern.

“Back in October, during my birthday. Do you know what my wish was?”

A wordless look of wonder urges him on, thumb smoothing along your skin in a tender rhythm, never to break.

“One of these days, I’ll take you to Australia with me. Home with me.”

“So my first love can meet my last love.”

The second portion is barely intelligible, as if it were a mere whisper in the night.

You wonder if it was a figment of your imagination.

Nevertheless, the less-than-inviting (compared to Chris’s), pale glow of your flat’s porch light eventually comes into view, and either of you clamber from car doors with evident struggle—abundant layers against the chill making for an awkward toddle to your snow-muddled doorstep.

Quick to retrieve the boxes from your attic, the both of you get to work. Chris frets over shoveling snow from your front porch, and you set to Christmas-ifying the interior.

It’s domestic, almost. His humming from the front door to songs playing on the speaker inside, the slow transition from your usual flat to a festive explosion.

Then, of course, the tree.

In which you awkwardly shift your weight from foot to foot while awaiting his assistance, only for you to make eye contact and want to shrivel into a ball and never come out.

Again, shy. It’s bizarre.

“Hm.. You wanna put up the star?”

After far too long trying to figure out the logistics, a makeshift (albeit lopsided) tree resides in your living space, a few ornaments here and there clothing the sad excuse for a normally grand view.

But it’s yours, together.

You think with that knowledge alone it could’ve been a single sprout and would have been your world all the same.

His traces, everywhere. Both of your hands clutching onto each one you can grasp.

However, spontaneity comes back to haunt you. This time in the form of his hands curling around your hips, giving you a chaste countdown before you’re lifted up to place the star on the very top.

Good luck not having a heart attack, huh.

Miraculously, you don’t. Neither do you combust or squeal or any of the wild thoughts racing through murky depths of your brain.

Instead, you’re placed on the ground once more, his index and thumb taking the side of your top to gently adjust back down where it had ridden up.

Like a gentleman.

Shoot.

He makes it hard, doesn’t he?

Leaning to prop his chin on your shoulder while you admire the twinkling lights, you’d like to believe it was a hallucination that he pressed the most imperceptible, tiniest peck to the clothed junction of your neck and shoulder before pulling away.

“C’mere,” His words fall a near murmur, having to lightly tug at your wrist to truly garner your undivided attention without blood rushing to your face.

As for him, he simply had to pull you from the tree for the sake of his own wellbeing, the sight of warm lights reflecting in eyes he’d easily get lost in making each swallow harder to manage.

That, and there was.. a surprise of a sort. The sweep of a hand on the way out from his apartment, the fretful (clumsy) fastening of this so-called surprise under the guise he was clearing your porch.

Which he was, respectfully.

Just with a little something extra involved.

Nonetheless, oblivious to his plan, you follow along, anticipating some sad copy of Mister Sunshine to be made from fallen pine needles and buttons.

So when he points upwards, nothing short of a roller coaster occurs in your chest.

A spider, a roach, something scary—

A mistletoe.

Right above your head.

He’s got this giddy, nervous grin wobbling on plush lips, eyes searching yours like some little boy seeking a reaction. And you feel like you’re staring at elementary schooler Chris all over again.

At his cheery face knowing he’d be getting ice cream on the way home, when you lied about being able to taste Christmas dinner with a burnt tongue.

A single lightbulb flickers orange, illuminating the mistletoe residing just beside.

Finally not-burnt cookies sit in their container back at his apartment, Love Actually long since completed. Your snowman, named Mister Sunshine, occupies the complex’s front walkway, and too many mugs of hot chocolate have been downed these past few days to count.

When your own place gets lonely, a tree you had put up together keeps you company, so that those nights alone this winter won’t be so cold.

“Can I..?”

Chilled temperatures nip at your nose, and you feel like crying listening to the softened manner he asks, the tentativeness in the way his hand reaches to cup your cheek.

The sound is more like a plea, and you’d be beyond embarrassed if it was anyone but Chris.

“Please.”

And beneath that mentioned mistletoe, Chris kisses you for the first time, and December 25th makes its slow approach above the horizon.

When becoming more grows scary, Chris holds your hand to remind you there’s nothing he won’t step into with you. No matter the doubt, the fear.

It seems this winter you won’t be lonely. Because you won’t be spending this Christmas alone, nor many to come.

He’ll make sure of that.

One day till Christmas, four dates till you told him you felt the same.

You never got to five anyway.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

FIC TAGLIST. @allaboutsan, @velvetmoonlght, @minij-one

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scourgeofmyownbrain · 1 month ago

Text

More "Bumblebee and Optimus meeting as ✨Adults✨ but still being Father and Son" stuff I came up with, plus extra because I can't get these chuckle-fucks out of my head.

Link to my prev. post for context. incase yall missed it bc I'm not explaining myself, we're just diving right into the deep end

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

Bee knows Optimus isn't one for physical affection, and he fully understands and accepts that. He doesn't want to make Optimus uncomfortable by disrespecting one of his boundaries, that's just a shit thing to do. And Bumblebee is not a shit person. But... he's also desperate. Look, being deprived of physical parental affection your whole life fucks you up something good, let Bumblebee tell you, it makes you do some odd shit just to get a taste of what you've been missing out on. And! And most of the stuff Bumblebee has done are perfectly normal things to do! Plenty of casual stuff, leaning against his chair to look at what Optimus is working on, high fives and fist bumps (Optimus rarely, if ever, does these but for Bee he'll do anything just to make him smile, see Optimus acting totally normal about his feelings what are you talking about), leaning against him for a second when he's tired, totally normal! There are, less normal things, like when one of Bee's legs nearly got torn off on a mission and Optimus had to carry him back to base and Bee curled up close in Optimus's arms the whole time- because of the pain, totally 100% definitely only the pain that was Not mostly taken care of by some field anesthetics. It felt nice to be carried like a kid, sue him.

Getting injured is a special case with giving and taking affection. For example, when Bumblebee had to drag Optimus to a med bay after he passed out from a mission. They were walking into the common room together; Optimus was telling Bee he was fine when he CLEARLY wasn't because he didn't want to wake the medics for something as Trivial as THEIR LEADER and FREIND'S HEALTH (Bee is this close to strangling him) when Optimus just pitched over onto the floor.

Optimus, clearly tried and hurt: I will be fine, there is no need to wake the medics, I just need some energ... *faceplants*

Bumblebee: What did I say? What did fragging I say?! *Hefts Optimus's limp body onto his shoulders* fragging, stupid, slagging, moron, 'I don't need a medic, I'll be fine' he says, if I had been the one doing this, you would have torn the base apart getting the medics up, fragging idiot. *drags Optimus's body out of the room*

Optimus: *Mumbles something about not wanting to bother anyone*

Bumblebee: Too fragging bad, big man, you are going to take care of yourself and you're going to like it!

So now Bee has to drag a bot much bigger than him back down the hall and into the Medbay, just because Optimus was being fucking stupid. Yes it looks as funny as you're thinking. Optimus is semi-conscious but delirious as they make their way down the halls of the base and says "I don't want to take anything that would be better served helping any of you, I care about all of you so much I don't want to see you hurt. I love you." and Bumblebee's like Optimus, I feel so loved and so angry right now, but fuck what you want you're getting taken care of. No, you did not just make my fucking day, I lOve yoU tOo dAd-. He gets Optimus into the medbay on a berth then goes to forcibly wake the medics up to calm himself down because he is seconds from crying.

Optimus eventually gets better with affection, and now Bee gets a hug whenever he asks. He has yet to come down from this high.

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

Bumblebee calls Megatron his "Shit Ex-Stepfather". The entirety of team prime thinks this is hilarious. Even Optimus can't help but smile, though he tries to hide it. Someone, probably Jazz, changed Megatron's file name to "Worlds Worst Stepfather". After the war, if Megatron is still alive, he will mysteriously acquire some kind of award saying "Cybertron's #1 Worst Stepfather". He is very confused.

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

If you could get Optimus drunk, he would become such a sap. Like, insufferably soft and emotional. And he would be talking about Bee damn near the whole time. He would be so annoying.

Optimus: *Drunk* Did I ever tell you about Bumbl-bee? He's, he's my boy, my bumble boy, my gold'n boy, my buzzy boy, my sweet cheese. An, he's really yellow, you'll know it's him, he looks like- he's really yellow, it's hard not to see him, but he's really really good at sneaking. Even though he's so yellow. He can sneak around so good, no one sees him. I can see him, 'cause he's my boy. He can sneak around and nooo one finds him, 'cept me, 'cause he's my boy. He can hide so good, he hid under sshockwave's chest once. Riiiight under his eye, his big purple eye. Bee's so funny, he tells such funny stories. He tells his stories better then me, they're a lot funnier. I'm not good at funny stories. He's really good at it. He's really good at lots of things. Bee's so cool. I'm so happy he's here, he's so cool and funny and nice and cool. And he fights real good too, he's so cool. he once- Bee once punched my ex once, right in the face. Riiight in the kisser, just, boosh. My ex sucks, Bee's so cool. I like him, he's my boy. An-and he taught himself how to do aaaaall the cool things he does. He didn't have anyone to teach him, he did it all by himself. All alone... I wish I met him sooner, when he was small. He says he was really cute when he was small and I want to see him small. I like him big though, he's really fun when he's big. He's- *Sobs* He's my booooy, and I love him so muuuuch.

This continues for hours. Luckily he never drinks so no has to suffer through this.

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

If you thought Optimus was the Serial Adopter, you'd be wrong. It's Bumblebee. No bot is safe from his clutches. He scoops up family members like a pelican scoops fish. Optimus is barely aware of how many family members he technically has, he stopped keeping track a long time ago.

Bumblebee: *Bursting into the room dragging some bot he was on an extended mission with* OPTIMUS, I GOT ATTACHED AGAIN YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER FAMILY MEMBER

Optimus: *Not looking up from his data pad* That's great, son, go put it with the rest.

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

Optimus would be such a good grandparent. In the future, after the war ends, Bumblebee comes into possession of a kid; whether he finds someone and takes them under his wing or he just fucking makes one, I don't know nor care, but he gets a kid. And when he introduces them to Optimus, Optimus just fucking melts. He was already a huge softie before but he's so much worse now. He goes full grandma mode. He has snacks in his pockets (or whatever bots have) that he sneaks to the kid every time he sees them. He gives them money at random. You best believe he would destroy anything that even looked at his grandbaby wrong (Bee: Optimus, stop attacking the door. Optimus, the door just bumped them, they're fine. Dad stop, omp(rimus))

The "Bee finds a kid and both of them get attached and now are a family" is the funnier option. Because the kid knows who these guys are, they saved Cybertron. The kid's still getting used to having Bee as their guardian, so when they meet the 13th Prime: Holder of the Matrix of Leadership, Savior of Cybertron, they don't expect Dotting Grandparent Extraordinaire.

Bumblebee: and this is Optimus Prime. He's your Grandpa.

The kid : *nervous* He's my what?

Optimus: *on the verge of tears* mY grAnDbABy-

The "Bee made a kid" version is still pretty funny.

Bumblebee: *Exasperated* Optimus, give me my child back.

Optimus: *violently crying* nO, It'S mY bAbY nOW.

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

Imagine, if you will, Optimus and Bumblebee sitting on a roof together, not talking, not touching, just watching the sun set. Just enjoying the silence together, maybe with some energon to go with it. Because they get it, oh they get it. Sometimes you just need to be alone with someone. That good mutual respect and love from a found family that understands you. this is why I need bee to be an adult, I need both of them to be hurting and find some comfort in each other, to find solace in each other, to be a family and to be equals, is that too much to ask?

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

A list of things Bumblebee is allowed to get away with:

Interrupting Meetings to Tell Optimus Something, important or not (hi dad)

Casually touching the Usually Touch Adverse Optimus (Physical affection ftw)

Calling Optimus out on his self-sacrificial bullshit (you're going to see the medics and you're going to like it, old man)

Using the three points above to drag Optimus into the Medbay by force (Ratchet is so smug about this)

Getting Optimus to do something fun and relaxing (father son bonding time, as Bee says.)

Swearing aggressively (for everyone else it's unprofessional, for Bee its therapeutic. He stretches this excuse as far as it goes)

Making Insulting comments about others to their face (look they deserve it if the Perpetually Friendly Bumblebee is saying it)

Talking about Megatron (Usually team prime avoids talking about Megsy outside of war related convos out of respect for Optimus's history with him. Bumblebee does not give a shit, Megatron is a bitch and he's going to make his opinions known (Everyone thinks it's funny dw))

Illegal activities (this fucker street races in every universe, you think he isn't doing shit like this on the daily?)

Murder

Stealing/Sneaking snacks (he shares with Optimus)

Making jokes about Optimus being his dad (he thinks it's funny bc they're not related and they met like 6 years ago. Optimus explodes with emotion every time bc you consider me good enough to be your dad?)

Bee is a fucking menace, Optimus loves him so much.

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

Misc. funny word vomit I came up with that have no context, reason, or sense

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Optimus is working at a desk focusing on some data pads. A tiny energon cube flies into frame, bouncing off Optimus's forehead and landing on the desk. Optimus grabs the cube and eats it without looking up from the datapad. A few minutes pass, another energon cube flies and bounces off Optimus's head. He eats it without looking. Bumblebee is sitting off to the side in the room with Optimus with a bag of energon snacks, periodically throwing one at the distracted Prime. This is Bee's and Ratchet's newest scheme to get Optimus to actually eat, and it's working splendidly. (Actually, Bumblebee originally was throwing the energon onto the desk, but over time he got bored and started just throwing the cubes directly at Optimus. He hasn't noticed any of the cubes hitting him at all, so Bee's started trying to do trick shots.)

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Bumblebee?"

"Absolutely, now throw me."

"Alright... Three, two, one- Ngha!"

*distant loud metal slam*

"..."

*distantly* "I'm good! We're in business!"

*quietly* "oh thank primus..."

*distantly* "Okay, I'm done. I'm coming back down."

"Wait-"

*distantly* "Hup!"

*loud crashing metal noises*

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It's early morning, everyone got back to base late the night before. Everyone is tired. Optimus is sitting at the table in the common room, slowly drinking a cube of energon. His eyes are half open and bleary. Bumblebee is beside him, head in his hand, dozing. Bee's head falls from his hand and slams onto the table. Optimus doesn't even blink at the noise, just takes a sip of energon.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Bumblebee takes a lot of pictures. Mostly of his team. He's pretty sneaky about it too, usually just taking a capture from his visual feed and saving it to his personal datapad. And at a glance none of the pictures are all that special, captures of a group of bots hanging out between missions, selfies of Bee and company on missions, drunken mishaps, quiet moments, he's got this really funny one of Cliffjumper stuck in a storage closet, but Bee keeps all these photos out of sight. The others are aware of his habit but they never see most of the photos, they never ask. Bee only opens his photos folder when ever he has a quiet moment alone and just scrolls through, reminiscing. His favorites are the ones where he caught someone's genuine smile. Sometimes they're in the background of a larger group shot, or it's just them smiling at Bee in conversation. He's got a lot of Optimus's smile. Optimus doesn't smile a lot, but he always seems to smile when Bee's around. Bee's proud that he can do that for him.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

this could literally be anyone on team prime: *teasing* You playing favorites, Prime? Giving Bumblebee all this special treatment is making the rest of us feeling left out.

Optimus: You all treat him the exact same way I do.

again, literally anyone on team prime: ... Touché, Boss bot, touché...

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

After spending an extended period of time in close proximity to Megatron (for what ever reason), Bumblebee and Optimus talk.

Bee: You had terrible taste in partners.

Optimus: *sighs*

Bee: Physically, I can see the appeal, but everything else is a wild thing to say yes to.

Optimus: ...

Bee: His personality, his interests- just why none of that clocked you onto how fragged up he would be is beyond me.

Optimus: ........

Bee: You're not stupid, I hope that your next partner will be leagues better than him. Ratchet maybe, oh or Elita, they would make great partners (and even better step-parents), or maybe-

Optimus: CanwePleasestoptalkingaboutmylovelife??

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Bumblebee: If you get back together with Megatron I'm disowning you.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

BB: This is... so dumb.

OP: The higher I am the better I can see.

BB: You can- You can fly.

OP: Hush now Bumblebee! I am searching...

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idk man, brain rot hits something different when I think about it for long periods of time

#i really hope these read well and yall can make sense of them #these were very stream of consciousness #I'm still re-learning how to draw so someone who already knows please draw Bumblebee carrying a limp Optimus #please it would be so funny #I'll take any universe please my life will be yours #Optimus is Misery. Bumblebee is CPR #can anyone tell i've lost my mind yet?#personal stuff #transformers #bumblebee #optimus prime #tf bumblebee #tf optimus prime #optimus #macadam #macaddam #maccadam

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azzifuddworlddomination · 6 months ago

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casual pt. 1

okay yall i've never written fan fiction before, but i saw one too many pazzi edits to casual and i couldn't help myself but write something. not proofread lol

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“I’ll be ready in a second, I swear,” Azzi calls over to Colleen, who has been sitting on Azzi’s bed as Azzi gets ready. They were supposed to be at Ted’s an hour ago, where the rest of the team is celebrating first night.

Colleen watches as Azzi paws through all of the drawers in her dresser. Unsatisfied, Azzi begins to dig through the pile of laundry that was building on her floor. “What are you even looking for?” Colleen asks. “My good bra,” Azzi replies, “I can’t find it anywhere. Unless I left it at…” Azzi trails off. “Don’t even finish that sentence,” Colleen advises. “You aren’t still seeing her are you? She’s making you look like a loser, while she goes and does whatever the hell she wants, while you just wait for her to be “ready,”” Colleen wraps air quotes around her last word.

Azzi knew Colleen was right. Azzi turns around and slips her shirt off, before putting on a different bra, and a purple tank top. She turns back around towards Colleen, “let’s just go,” Azzi says. “Come on Az, I feel like you aren’t really hearing me…” Colleen says as she follows Azzi out of the dorm. “I just don’t want you to waste your time on her. You’ve been here for like three months and she’s just made you miserable this whole time,” Colleen finishes. “I know Colleen, but can we please just not talk about this tonight? I actually want to try to have a good time tonight,” Azzi replies. “Fine,” Colleen responds, knowing that Azzi’s will most likely end in a bathroom, crying over Paige.

Ted’s is packed tonight. Both the men’s and women’s teams had gone out to celebrate, as well as what seems like every other student at UConn. Azzi looked through the crowds before finding the women’s team surrounding the counter and taking shots. “Finally you’re here!” Nika calls out to the girls as they make their way over. Nika hands Azzi a shot, “You gotta catch up,” she reasons. Azzi downs the shot. Nika hands her a chaser which Azzi happily accepts. Nika hands Azzi a drink and pats her hand before going back to Dorka. Amari comes over and drunkenly envelopes Azzi in a hug. Amari tries to catch Azzi up on all that she missed while she was still back at the dorms getting ready. Azzi peers around the crowd as she notices that Paige isn’t with the rest of the team. As Azzi looks deeper into the crowd she finds Paige talking to a few guys from the men’s team. Azzi gently touches Amari’s arm “Wow, Amari, I feel like I was there,” she laughs before she leaves to go make her way through the crowd to Paige.

“You and Fudd?” one of the guys asks as he playfully shakes Paige’s shoulder. “No, no its not like that,” Paige responds, “We’re not together. It’s just a casual thing right now.”

Azzi steps back accidentally stepping on the person behind her. “Watch it,” the girl calls out. Azzi turns around and makes her way towards the door. As she reaches the doorway to the alley, she can’t hold it in anymore. She throws up all over the steps of the backdoor.

Azzi carefully walks down the steps, avoiding her own vomit. She makes it onto the ground, and slides her back against the wall. Normally Azzi would be cold in the November weather in just a tank top and jeans, but tonight she was burning. Casual?? She thinks to herself. We’re just casual??

The entire time that they have known each other, Paige and Azzi have been anything but casual. From flying to each other’s basketball games to going on vacation together to Paige moving in with Azzi during covid; they have never just been casual.

When Paige had gone off to college, she and Azzi had agreed that they would wait to be exclusive until Azzi started school. Paige enjoyed playing into the hot shot basketball star persona that she had at UConn her freshman year, but she would still make time for her nightly facetimes with Azzi, even if she had to leave a different girl’s dorm to do so.

Azzi’s been at school for three months, and it seems like Paige has made no effort to become exclusive. Azzi didn’t want to pressure her into anything. She would just wait until Paige was ready. Azzi tried to be with other people, but at the end of the day they weren’t Paige and she could never do it.

The door opens, breaking Azzi out of her train of thought. Azzi turns her head to look at the door, as she sees a blonde figure walking down the steps. “Az, Aaliyah said she thought you come out here. What are you doing?” Paige asks. “I just came out here to get some air,” Azzi responds. Paige reaches out her hand and pulls Azzi up from the ground, bringing her into a kiss. For a split second, Azzi kisses her back, before she breaks off the kiss. She rests her head on Paige’s shoulder. Azzi’s mad, and Azzi knows that she’s mad, but Azzi also knows that all she wants to do right now is be with Paige. She’s mad, and she’s conflicted, which makes her even more mad. “Let’s go back in Az, it’s cold as shit out here,” Paige says.

Azzi follows Paige back in, but stops at the bar as Paige keeps walking. Azzi orders two drinks before retiring to a corner in the back of the bar. Casual??? Azzi thinks. She says we’re casual and yet she’s the only one who came looking for me??? And she kissed me??? What the fuck???

#pazzi #pazzi fics #paige x azzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconn wbb #Spotify

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annwrites · 4 months ago

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⸻ one in the same. part eleven. ⸻

· pairing: otto hightower x bastardtargfem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you make a confession to otto & see only one way out after all you've done. · tw: suicide attempt, ottocent, talk of incestuous feelings · word count: 2,873

You’ve been…not yourself since the night your husband left for Dragonstone, and you deigned to dishonor him.

You’ve not left your chambers, have hardly eaten, and have spent most of your time either crying or sleeping, a nauseating pit constantly settled into the core of your stomach.

You finally see yourself for exactly what you are now, even if you refuse to so much as look at yourself in the mirror—you’ve thrown a sheet over the one atop your vanity—a horrid, wretched creature, filled with…revolting desires. Desires that have suddenly burnt out, leaving you feeling hollow in their stead.

Just the thought of sexual intimacy fills you with dread now.

How could you have done it? How?

Otto had pulled you back from the edge, tended to you, loved you, cared for you, provided for you, and you’ve repaid him with attempted adultery. With incest.

He’ll never forgive you. And you will deserve it. You deserve to be alone after this.

You do not want to tell him, simply because you do not wish to break his heart, but you’ve no other choice. You cannot live with this terrible secret, and he deserves honesty.

When Otto returns to you, you cling to him. For a long while.

Tears sting your eyes while bile rises in your throat, but you remain silent as he threads his fingers in your hair.

“I’ve returned to you, my darling. In one piece. You needn’t have worried for a moment.”

You squeeze your eyes shut more tightly, willing this moment to last.

His first day back, and it begins with you shredding his heart in two.

“I need to tell you something,” you whisper.

He leans back, cupping your cheek with furrowed brows. “Are you…”

He glances down, settling a hand gently over your stomach.

How you wish that were the case. Even if you do not desire it, that would be easier to live with than this.

You shake your head, a tear slipping down your cheek, falling from your chin.

You silently take his hand within your own, leading him over to the settee before the fire, refusing to so much as meet his eyes.

“I—” You stop, trying to calm your stomach. “You’d been right in being concerned the night you left and I went to my father. Concerned with what I might…do.”

Otto straightens, studying you silently.

He does not speak a word.

“I… He was asleep. I lied to Ser Harrold. Told him I had left a book and was retrieving it.”

You digs the nails from one of your hands into the back of the other. “I was dressed in only a robe. I took it off. I pulled down his sheets and…exposed him to myself. He remained asleep all the while, thank the Gods.”

He’d been so incredibly right in pulling away from you that day. You’d made him uncomfortable, and now you could see why quite clearly. To have done it all without his consent… Vile girl.

“I touched myself,” you say tearfully, your chin wobbling. “With no care for you. For our marriage. I thought of only one person that night: myself. Ever since… I’ve not left our room. I can’t…I can’t even bear the sight of myself now.”

You bury your face in your hands, your body shaking as you sob. “I’m so sorry, Otto! Gods, I’m so sorry.”

He stares ahead into the fire, not so much as giving you a comforting word or touch or gesture.

The only sound which fills the silence is your quiet sobs as you double over, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Finally, he stands without another word, exiting your chambers, and you race to your chamberpot, and vomit.

When Otto returns, it is quite late, and you are already in bed, but not asleep. You can't rest. Not anymore.

Your mind had raced all the while during his absence.

Will he desire for himself a divorce now? You would not blame him. But he would need seek your father’s permission to obtain it. And what reasoning would he give him?

You know it would not be the truth.

Otto’s side of the mattress dips under his weight, and he quickly settles into place, keeping a wide berth between the two of you.

You raise a fist to your lips, biting down on it, trying to keep quiet. Not wanting to disturb him with further tears or apologies he doesn’t wish to hear.

You turn slightly, speaking to him over your shoulder. “Do you wish for me to sleep elsewhere?”

There’s a long, silent pause.

“You may do as you wish,” is his curt reply.

You rise then, padding over to the settee, and you lie down, closing your eyes.

You pray you never wake.

It has been a fortnight since your confession to your husband and you’ve returned to your old ways in that time: sleeping as much as possible, and eating as little as.

You’ve dropped a considerable amount of weight, but it matters little to you. Everything does now. The only thing you can think about is your husband.

Not even the news of your father’s impending marriage to Alicent had interested you, even if it had become clear quite-quickly that Otto had already been aware such arrangements were being made.

Weeks ago, you would've been livid. At all of them. Would've argued relentlessly with with your husband over it all. Enough so that you're sure you would've still driven your marriage to the brink with heated, cruel words as you were driven mad by the prospect of anyone else having your father.

Now, you see that the two of you are not nearly as close as you'd once believed. You'd kept secrets from he, and he from you.

Mayhaps...the two of you were never meant to be to begin with...

The handful of times you’ve tried to touch Otto, he has brushed off the tender gestures. He has not spoken to you unless you’ve done so first, and his replies to you have been minimal in nature.

He hates you now. You know that with certainty. And you understand it completely.

You deserve it. Deserve…many terrible things, in truth.

The one thing you never did deserve was him.

And so you mean to do the only thing you can.

You will set him free.

During your last dinner with your husband, you are warm and kind, even if he does not speak to you.

You tell him how you love him. How you will always be grateful for all he’s done for you. How your marriage to him has meant everything to you; had repaired your broken heart. How he is a good, and intelligent, and wonderful man.

He had eventually snapped at you—bidding you be quiet—that he did not wish to hear a further words from your lips.

You’d merely smiled and nodded, and told him ‘of course’ before growing quiet again.

While he is asleep, you write him a short note, ensuring him he should not feel guilty. That if and when he is ready, he should move on with someone worthy of him. That he should never spare you a second thought ever again.

You are easily forgettable; replaceable.

He need merely give it time, and he will soon see.

You seal your letter with a kiss, settling it atop his desk, before silently padding out to the balcony, climbing up, until you are gripping a column, your feet planted atop the railing as you stare down at the stories upon stories beneath you.

You hope it will be quick. You don’t wish to suffer, but you will understand if you are made to.

Your eyes flutter closed and a cool breeze kisses your skin.

Your heart pounds, because in truth, you are terrified.

You don’t wish to die…not entirely. Merely because you are afraid of what will come after. But this is the only way. You must do this. For him.

You cannot bear the thought of him being forced to live the rest of his days with a wife by his side which he despises. He’d been right to feel such a way toward you in the first place.

He should’ve never accompanied you that day to the Sept. Should’ve never given you a moment of kindess.

You’d not deserved it. Not once.

You solidify yourself—harden your heart—and take a moment to listen to the silence you will soon become a part of.

Maybe you will find peace this way at last.

Something you've never truly had.

“Gods forgive me,” you whisper, ready to let go.

“Don’t!”

Your feet nearly slip from the railing as you turn to look over your shoulder with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I must,” you tell him calmly. “You can let me go. It’s alright now. I do this for you, my love.”

Otto takes a small step closer, quickly wiping tears from his own eyes. “You needn’t do this, Y/N. Please, come down so we may—”

You shake your head, a gentle wind whipping loose strands around your face. “This is the only way. It is the only thing left.”

You turn back around. “I love you.”

Just as you make to step forward, into naught but thin air, strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against a sturdy chest.

The two of you collapse into a heap of limbs and tangled clothing on the marble floor of the balcony, while you struggle to get away from him, now a tearful, trembling mess.

“I want to die!” You shout. “Please, just let me! Let me die!”

Otto holds you firmly to himself, refusing to let go for a moment.

“Please, my darling,” he pleads through tears which threaten to drown him. “We will find another way. I won’t let you. I forgive you. Please, you must forgive me.”

He takes your face in his hands, sobbing at the broken sight of you.

Even had you not stepped off the balcony…you are nearly on death’s doorstep as-is.

When had you become so incredibly frail? So wan, and wraith-like? Your eyes…when had they grown so empty?

“I have spent the entirety of your existence making you naught else but miserable. And you think after one instance of…of returning the favor you should pay for the transgression with your life?”

You double over, heaving for breath, rocking back and forth.

“I have to, I have to,” you repeat over and over. "Please, Gods, let me, I beg of you!"

He wraps his trembling arms tightly around you, pressing his wobbling lips to your hair, gently rocking you, desperate to give you comfort.

"I made a vow. A vow to look after your welfare. And instead of doing as much, I indulged your... Your mindset instead. I've naught else to blame but myself. I knew what it would lead to in time. I allowed this to happen."

"I am ill, do you not see?!" You shout, pulling back, shoving against his chest, desperate to finish what you started. "I am broken! Something inside of me—"

You shake your head fervently. "It cannot be fixed! I want it to end! Gods, please, let me do it!"

He takes your face in his hands once more and finally speaks it aloud.

The two of you have for months and months discussed how incredibly the same you are. In this desire, you are no different.

It makes him feel sick to admit it—to put it aloud—but once you hear, once you see that you are not alone, mayhaps this weight you've placed upon yourself to seek out your own punishment by any means necessary will lessen.

"I have desired her."

Your brows furrow. "W-What?"

He grimaces at the name which waits upon his tongue.

"Alicent."

Your eyes grow wide.

"I encouraged her to seek out your father time and again. To...please him. I, in some ways, trained her in the arts of—" He pauses. "Seduction."

You jerk away from him in shock.

"We never—" He mutters a quiet curse. "We were never in congress, if that is your concern. I merely told her ways she might draw him in. Ways you drew me in. I wanted to see her in such a manner. And then I would come to you and..."

You choke back a sob.

He looks at you from under his lashes. "The betrayal was mine first."

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, feeling as if you are staring at a stranger.

He shrugs lightly, grasping for further explanation. "After her mother passed... She looks so like her in certain lights. She reminded me of her, and at times—at times it felt as if I had her back."

A pregnant pause settles into the space between you.

"You have my forgiveness, my love. Might I ever have yours for—"

"Did you?" You ask, looking at him with hollow eyes.

His brows knit together in confusion.

"Love me?"

He comes closer, reaching for you. "With all my heart."

"You saw me as her replacement," you state plainly, scooting away.

"As you did me with him," he states.

"At least I felt guilt. Admitted things to you I... I did not wish to so much as admit to myself. Because you bade me to. Whereas you've been lying to me since the first."

He searches desperately for a reply which will pull you back to him, but finds none to be had.

This cannot be the end. It can't. He won't lose you as well.

The two of you grow silent for a moment.

Otto next speaks.

"It is different, my love. What you feel—or felt—for him... Oftentimes, children's feelings can become...confused, perhaps, when they are young and lonely. But for a parent to look at his own child in such a light?"

His eyes meet yours. "I wished to throw myself upon my own sword at the urges which overcame me. Mayhaps I should have. So much pain may've been avoided then."

You wrap your arms around your knees, continuing to stare at him. "I know not how we return from this. To each other. To ourselves. At the very least, me to myself."

"Do you still want and burn for him?" He asks hesitantly.

You shake your head. "Not since the morn after it happened. In truth, I feel entirely numb. Towards everything. It's frightening. I've never felt this way before. I fear it will never end."

He comes closer, cupping your cheek.

"Do you still feel the same toward her?" You ask.

"Her new engagement, I believe, has changed things in that for me. In terms of how I feel. Her being claimed by him has removed a previous temptation."

You look away, studying the spaces between the small pillars which uphold the balcony's railing. "Mayhaps it's this place. A den of vipers I've heard it referred to as before."

You look at him then, with hope. "What if we left?"

He remains silent, waiting for further elaboration.

"What if we went south, to Oldtown. Or to visit Highgarden? I've always wished to see it. We could go on a sort of campaign... Just the two of us exploring the countryside, and—"

He cups your cheek. "My duties lie here, my love. I cannot abandon my post, so to speak."

You deflate, pulling away.

He comes the least bit closer. "Would that I could. I assure you, darling."

He takes you gently into his arms, holding you close, desperate for you to forgive him.

He presses a firm kiss to your temple. "We made vows that we belong to one another, and we've held true to that, have we not?"

"You don't need to fuck someone to break it," you reply acidly.

He becomes silent at your matter-of-fact reply.

"And I've told you that I forgive you. You tell me you no longer feel as you did toward him? Then I believe you as well. Can you not afford me the same benefit of the doubt in return?"

You clench your hands into fists, at war with yourself.

How can you trust him to mean what he says? You can argue the same toward him with you, but the difference is you've not made a political career out of polishing a silver tongue each and every day, so as to keep it well-honed.

He has.

You'd hardly ever suspected he felt something such as that toward Alicent he'd kept it so well hidden from you.

You do not believe he would ever act on it, no... Nor do you believe he's ever wanted for another.

You glance up to the railing again.

If he did not care, he would've let you fall. Would've not said a word.

But he'd saved you.

Just like he'd done before when it was not his responsibility to do so.

You meet his eyes once more, raising your hand, and it hovers over his cheek.

He braces for the impact of a stinging slap. One he's most sure he deserves.

Instead, you gently settle it against warm, weathered skin.

"I forgive you."

#fic: hotd (otto hightower x reader)#otto hightower x reader #otto hightower x you #otto hightower x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #otto hightower imagine #hotd imagine

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ranchracoon · 6 months ago

Text

The Perfect Plan Pt. 2

Alpha! Mother Miranda x Omega! (Pregnant) Reader

*Birth warning*

Miranda hates you. She hates how you curl up into her when you sleep, how attractive you are with your wide hips and pregnant belly, how weak you've made her, by the Black God, she hates you. She especially hates how easily you tore down her walls and made her fall madly in love with you. You were never supposed to be her mate, she was supposed to impregnant you with a daughter then toss you back to be used by Dimitrescu and her daughters. Everything in her head said to give you the cold shoulder, keep your basic needs met and wait for you to give birth but then her body reacts the complete opposite. She tells herself that you are now her mate but that doesn't mean she needs to treat you as such, but then you look at her with those eyes and she melts.

Her stone-cold exterior now a puddle because of you, and the simple thought alone that she will have a daughter again makes her want to cry. The first trimester was the hardest; you vomited over everything and barely kept anything down except crackers, bread, and water. Even that was too much most days. Now you've gotten better control over the vomiting but have made very strict demands that Miranda no longer use any sort of scented lotions or soaps for the smell makes you queasy. Her false children, Alcina specifically, haven't stopped calling to see how you're doing, and Miranda has been avoiding it. Instead, she forces villagers to construct a whole new room to her home for the baby and provides everything that the baby will need when she comes. She dedicates all of her time and energy to making sure you are comfortable.

That is until one day Miranda has had enough with the phone ringing and finally answers only to hear that infernal doll on the other end. Miranda pinches the bridge of her nose, as the doll goes off. You and her unborn daughter have made her soft. By now she would have snapped and yelled at Angie for even raising her voice at her, but right as Miranda is about to yell, you wrap your arms around her torso. The warmth from your body soothes and smothers any raging fires inside her and she instantly calms. Her hand gently placed atop yours as you nuzzle into her back for added affection. Very well.

"Alcina again?" You murmur when she hangs up.

"No. Donna. She's worried because it's been over a month with no meeting, and I typically call one by now for updates. She doesn't know about you. None of them truly know. I suppose it's time to present you as my mate and inform them to resign their experiments." Miranda sighs.

"It'll be okay." You reassure.

"I hope you are correct."

Miranda calls Donna back and informs her there will be a meeting, then she summons the others and looks you over. You have to be presentable, although she couldn't care less what her false children think of you, she wants to show you off. She puts you in a comfortable outfit that still accentuates your hips and Miranda can't help but stare as you walk by. How much she loves watching you leave, the sway of your hips, the aroma of your scent, everything drives her wild. If it were up to her, she wouldn't let you leave without smelling like her but there's no time now. Because of your pace it takes you and her longer to get to the meeting place, and you use a handkerchief to cover your nose from the smell of rotting wood and mold.

Not the best place to bring her pregnant mate, she'll have to do something about this to remedy that. The others are already there waiting impatiently, Heisenberg taps his foot annoyingly as Miranda keeps you off to the side for dramatic effect.

"Thank you all for being here. As you know I have been conducting a new experiment and I am proud to say it has been a success. I have found an organic way of bringing back my daughter, and I have also found myself a new mate. Allow me to introduce Y/N."

You walk forward to take your place by her side. The room is mixed: Angie is overjoyed to have a child to play with, Heisenberg could care less, Moreau looks hurt and then there's Lady Dimitrescu. She's presenting all seven stages of grief, currently sitting at anger. She abruptly stands, Miranda positions herself in front of you for protection.

"Your mate? Well. Congratulations Mother Miranda. I'm glad your excitement was a success. May I ask, what does that mean for us and the village?" She asks through gritted teeth.

Miranda scoffs and wants to say she could care less about her failures and the village. She only needed the villagers for experimentation. However, you touch her upper arm, and she remembers your request. She hates how weak you've made her, yet she would burn the world if you asked. Yet she loves how excited you get when she agrees, and the way your dimples pop out when you smile.

"The village has been neglected for too long. I want us to halt our experiments and instead spend energy into the village. New homes, better education, healthier fields. I want my future family to have a worthy home. As for you lot, I-" Miranda growls under her breath, she looks over her shoulder at you and you only stare at her with those doe eyes.

"I apologize for how I have treated you in the past. My mate has requested that if you chose, you may be a part of this family proper."

"And what if we don't? What if we don't buy into this bullshit and think it's another plot to keep us under your thumb?" Snaps Heisenberg.

He stands and Miranda shields you from his advances, "what if instead of being one 'happy little family,' I'd rather bash your skull in?"

"Then you are free to leave." Miranda responds coldly.

Heisenberg halts in his step, he's skeptical of course and doesn't believe she's true to her word. He looks toward the door then back at her, inches toward it, looks again. He continues this until he's at the door, swings it open with a loud thud, and stomps through with the door slamming shut behind him. She dismisses the other lords who take their leave without a word, except Lady Beneviento. She approaches you and silently asks to touch your stomach. You agree and she rests her cold hands upon you. She feels the occasional kick and fluttering of movement which is more than enough excitement for her.

* * *

Over the course of the next few short months, Donna and Alcina have sent you more than enough baby items. Clothes, cloths, numerous dolls, but your favorite is something you requested especially from Donna; a stuffed crow. It's the softest thing you've ever held, and you keep it safely tucked in the hand-built crib that Miranda got. Salvatore showed his affection in, well, his own way. He had fresh fish delivered daily and reported that the bay is now clear as crystal with healthy populations to feed the village a hundred times over. You're not going to tell him that fish currently makes you want to hurl. Miranda is the one who takes the longest to adjust. She spends long periods of time in her lab, and if it weren't for the smell, you would go down there to see what she's doing.

"Miranda." You say softly, sitting up with difficulty in bed.

"Yes, my dear?" She asks, helping you sit up and turning her attention to you.

"What are you doing down in the lab? Ever since the meeting you've spent all our time down there."

You are worried for her, but another part of you is sad that she's no longer showering you with attention and affection like she did before the meeting. Miranda sighs and looks down, unsure of how to tell you. She's angry that you've made her change, she's happy that her experiment worked, she's mourning the loss of her purpose.

"I'm down there because, I'm scared." She finally admits.

You take her hand into your own, brushing your thumb over the back of her hand soothingly.

"I haven't been a parent since I lost my dear Eva. I've spent the last hundred years trying to get her back and now, now I'm so close to having that again. What if, what if I've changes for the worse? You saw how the village was, if not for you I would still be that way. You've softened me, made me care, and I hate that. I believe I only hate it because it terrifies me. What if I lose this one too? Or I'm not a good parent?"

You kiss her knuckles tenderly, "if you treat this child even remotely as well as you've treated me then I would say you'll be just fine. I've never been a parent before, so this is a new learning experience for the both of us. I have full faith that you will be an excellent mom to our baby, especially with how much you've been willing to sacrifice and do. Although, I do think we should lock up the lab and not tell them about the thousands of experiments you've done. Not until they're older."

Miranda scoffs but she has a smile. She looks you over and her body relaxes, she hated you so much for you've changed her in the course of a few short months. It would seem you experimented on her as well. She changed your entire biology, and you changed her entire being. She loves you with a burning fire that will spread to the child in your stomach, and to every child after. Miranda loves you so much, it hurts her to try and comprehend how much she does.

* * *

You scream loudly, the pain shooting through your entire body as you push with all your strength. Miranda braces and holds the crowning head and guides the infant out before plopping the crying being on your exposed stomach. She pushes the placenta out and pinches the umbilical cord before severing it. You pant heavily and toss your head back, a million miles swirling as you fade in and out of consciousness with the relief of no more pain. Miranda does everything: she takes your newborn daughter and cleans her face and body, putting her in a diaper and wrapping her warmly in a blanket. She cleans you off, hooks you to an IV, and gets your comfortable in bed to recover. As you regain some strength, now being fed a wonderful cocktail of pain meds, she hands the newborn over to you and you happily take her.

She's beautiful. You tear up and smile down at her, caressing her round, swollen cheek as she scoots around for a nipple. You chuckle and begin to breastfeed your daughter, leaning back against the headboard and finally looking over at Miranda. Her hair is a mess, her face is flushed, she looks like she was the one who just gave birth and yet she still somehow looks beautiful. She brushes some hair away from your face and gives you a tender kiss on the forehead.

"She's beautiful." You say proudly.

"You and her both. I'm so proud of you."

#resident evil village #re8 #alcina dimitrescu #mother miranda & fem mc #mother miranda x fem oc #mother miranda x reader #pregnancy #alpha female #alpha/beta/omega dynamics

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haunteddetectivepeach · 2 months ago

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Danny 'Jed Olsen' Johnson x pregnant reader

You

You met the ghostface regularly, or rather, it went to your home. You had sex many times, at first you felt guilty about the fact that it is the ghostface and the same hands that satisfied you and touched you are the same ones that kill innocent people.

Most of the time he did not use a condom. But it was okay because you are taking pill, but now, the unexpected happened, your mestruation has been late for 2 weeks, you thought it was just because of the stress of work unitil it started to feel alot of nausea and your breasts were well sore, you refused to take a pregnancy test, for fear, fear off what will happen if you are pregnant, pregnant with a serial killer, not just a serial killer, but the ghostface, or rather, Danny, at the least that was the names he gaves you.

You just woke up from a party that your friend Jessie called you, you are not much of parties, but you were a little away from your friend because of your little case with the largest serial killer in the United States of America, and was scared of what he can do about people close to you, Danny is a little jealous, the last time a guy screwed me, he cut his throat the next day...

I felt guilty for days, but the guy ran a hand on my ass, so on a second thought, i don't feel guilty at all.

RING RING RING

The alarm sound tuck tou of you thoughts. And them the desire of vomit again, i think i will really have to do this...arriving in the bathroom, you took the small box were there was the pregnancy test from the courter where you have you things. After doing the whole process, you let out a sign and them start to despair when you look at the results, positive, "Positive, a fucking positive, of couse, the pill was no use shit any" you talk softly "Jesus Christ, what do i do? Abortion? Tell him? Cry?scream? Oh my god, oh my fucking god, i have to run away? Just go?" You start crying softly, looking at the little staff in your hands, and finally, thrown on the trash.

Danny Johnson/Jed Olsen

I woke up early to play the perfect american citizen Jed, the dear Jed, who all love and no one even suspicious. I passed my gel on my black hair I observed my body toned on the mirror, despite some scars, and them my suit and tie, all perfect.

I arrived at gazette journal, greeted the receptionist and secretariats until i arrived at my office. I was trying to make my new article, John Smith, my last victim, but i couldn't have her out of my head, the woman i find myself, me, Danny, not the Jed. Then my mind dive to her body curves, her breasts, her ass..."Damn" i have to stop thinking about her, i have to do this article, and a can't to it with an erection, it would spoil the perfect Jed, no one can think Jed is a pervert that get hard at work, but damn, i still remember our last night, the last time we saw each other, because unfortunately i was too busy with John shit Smith, at least it was a good death, but nothing, nothing make me forget her, my bunny, she's too perfect, her body, her face, i remember every little bit about her body, you can't forget a woman like that, not even if i wanted to, i still remember...our sweaty bodies in that bed, her breasts swaying as the rhythm increased, her nails digging into my back, her legs whapped around me as if she didn't want me to leave, her sly moans in my ears as you told me to go deeper, harder, more...more, the creaking of the bed, the wet sheets, your room smelled of sex, and the only sounds heard were our skins slapping together, you sweet moans. Only her, only she can do this to me, she holds me and i can't let go, she was the only woman, who entered my thoughts and i can't take it away, i can't.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

A knock on the door brought me of my thoughts. "You can come in" Soon Jeff enter "Olsen, here is some informations that the police gave us, we need this article sent today" Jed gives him a small smiley enough to Jeff "Of course sr, it will be ready before you remember it" Jeff nodded "I knew a cold count on you, Olsen" Then Jeff left the room eating his disgusting greasy donut in his hand, Danny wanted to kill this man, but he know's he can't, he realized that he can't kill anyone at work that would bring suspicion, and he really doesn't want to be seen or have problems with the police.

You

I'm at work talking to my boss about a state transfer, it was my decision, i going to leave, i going to run away and I'm not going to tell anyone, not my friends, anyone. I really have to go, what would he do if he found out I am pregnant, and worse, with his child. I can't, i can't take it, I'm terrified, we don't even have a relationship, i don't even know if a know him well, of course I know that he is the ghostface, the most wanted serial killer in Roseville, Florida. But at all, I never saw his face, at least not all of it, we kissed so much times, we had sex but I was blindfolded most of the times or remaining wearing a mask. My boss said there was a transfer to Utah, and i accepted. And about Danny, he hasn't come for a few days, probably busy with new victims, and we are not dating ou anything else, We just fucked, a lot of times. Whenever we fucked i would wake up alone in the sheets, wich still had his cheap cologne on, he would stay with me until I fell asleep and leave late at night so he wouldn't be seen. He always leaves a post it saying something like: See you, Darling. That's why I know he cares about me, but a child? A child of ours? A mini us? I'm definitely scared if he finds out before I can leave, it's for the best for us, because he is a fucking serial killer, and yet, I slept with him and not just once. Okay, i have to leave today, I'm not taking any furniture, nothing, just some clothes and essential objects for my work so that he doesn't get suspicious before I can leave. I told my boss not to tell anyone about where I went , no matter who. I took the first taxi to the airport and just let myself go. "Goodbye, Danny."

Danny

After work, I got ready with my ghostface costume and went to see her, i parked far from her house, in the darkest part, where no one could see me. I watching trying to find her, but nothing. I decided to go in, i looked in every room, and i waited for her to arrive, hour passed and i tried to call her on my spare number that I use for ghostface calls, but she wasn't answering, I ran to check the drawers and nothing, there was no nothing, i decided to go back the next day.

The next day, i went to the hospital where she works, I ask the receptionist if you was there, and she told me that you don't longer work there, i asked to speak to your boss, he told me that you request transfer. Why? I asked him where, but he said you asked him not to tell anyone, no matter who. Shit. At night, i went to your house, pissed, angry, that's all l fell. Why? You think you could get into in my head, and just...leave, like it's was nothing? I started to break down everything, thrown everything on the floor. "FUCK"

You

It's been 2 years, 2 years since I left, 2 year I've been in Utah and a year since my baby was born, a strong and healthy little boy, he has the same grey eyes as Danny, and the face is similar, it's been exactly 2 weeks since he turned 1 years old, I made his day the most especial. My mother helped me with everything since I arrived in Utah, she helped me with the move furniture and my house a large two-story with 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, my son's room is fully of toys, painting notebooks and very colorful for my baby.

I was preparing his food while he has coloring with crayons, when the news on television caught my attention, i was paralyzed. ALERT: 26-YEARS-OLD MAN FOUND DEAD THIS MORNING. On the television was the photo, the ghostface over the censored corpse, my son was entertaining himself with some building blocks, for wich i thank the gods. It took a while to reason, he...he's here, in Utah. He knows? Does he knows I'm here? Did he come after me? Did he come to kill me for leave? No, I just paranoid, there no way he was discovered at all. "Damn, stop worrying, everything will be okay, he will not find me, I hope..."

Two weeks after the first ghostface murder

Danny

I was crouching in a bush watching a house, and that's when I saw her. There she was cooking and dancing to the sound of a song where I couldn't identify. But... she was not alone, squeezed my eyes and managed to see, was a baby, a boy, apparently 12 months or 1 year. Smiling without teeth right. So he made the calculations, 1 years that the baby appears to have and 2 years she left, she was still meeting him, wasn't she? Or she was having sex with another guy while sleeping with him..or is his baby?. That's why, why is she gone? Is the baby really his? A fruit of them two? I was dipped in my thoughts. I need to see right, I need to see the boy well.

You

I was holding my son on my hip while we danced to the sound of (f/v)

And I prepare a food for both of us. Until I observed a movement outside. I put in (y/c/n) in the Feeding chair and headed toward the window, watched and found nothing. Maybe it was my head, or not. When I and (y/c/n) we finished eating, it was a little late and put him in the crib, I sang a song until he fell asleep, when he slept, headed for my room that was near him to be easier to Listening to crying or meeting your needs, put a nightgown and tied my hair awkwardly with a little hair in front and lay down. A few hours or minutes maybe I heard a wooden noise, I took a bat and went towards the noise came from.

It came from my son's room, walked fast towards a totally dark room, I stared at the crib and he wasn't there when I looked at the armchair that is located in the corner of the room and was there. Danny. Holding our son, in his arms, was the small figure sleeping peacefully with his little hands playing lightly in the white mask, Danny who looked at him, suddenly changed his gaze to me, the only lighting in the room was the moonlight brightness, Until then the silence was broken. "Hello Darling"

"What are you doing here?" "What? I can't visit my lover? Or rather, my son's mother"

He said getting up carefully as he snuggled (y/c/n) in the crib. "It's my baby, isn't it? So you left?" He says approaching slowly until he was centimeters from you, the difference in visible height and the small space that could only be heard the breaths of each other, he put his hand gloved in his chin and raised stop his eyes through the mask. "Answer me, honey" He speaks so low that he sounded like a whisper. His lips separated to speak, but nothing left. He raises a little from the mask and gets closer, you finally wave your head."Yes..." he then gets millimeters from you and collides the lips against yours. When you leave it, he looks at you eyes with a predatory gray look at yours and says "our son, and you are mine, sweetheart, just mine, and we are a family. We and our little boy. I love you, bunny"

He said with his head now without the mask touching yours. with your lips almost touching

"I love you too, Danny".

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fure-dcmk · 5 months ago

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FINALLY WATCHED THE MOVIE first impression rambling >>>

[MILLION DOLLAR PENTAGRAM SPOILER WARNING]

HEIJI WAS SOOOOO COOL. HANDSOME. TERRIFIC. the first 20 minute is just me losing my mind from all the heiji details

>> heiji and kid bantering about fairy lips in the intro. kid going your fault for not noticing hmmp! <- huh? are you a tsundere heroine

>> HEIJI ORIGINAL DUFFLE BAG!!! CAMEO-ING IN 2024!!!

>> 4 new outfit from heiji that fits him so well... handsome guy

>> a fairy lip redraw. i died

how the hell did heiji brought his bike with him all the way in HOKKAIDO. you can almost way osaka to tokyo is only half of the travel to hokkaido how many day trip would it take to reach that far. also a jp tweet i read once brought to question how a high schooler was able to use the high way. did he brought kazuha with her in this extreme trip? with the excuse that he's going for a kendo tournament... when his bigger agenda is to confess. everything about the bike being there doesn't make sense but i give it a pass for being cool 😁👍

and the heikazu scene.,.. i came there fully expecting to not care at all but they actually made me invested. ran was SOOOO CUTE her excitement directly influenced me to also want to see heiji succeed. heiji asking if the legendary 100 million night view is better than big ben and ran agreeing just to placate him for the sake of her otp 😭

THE STUN GRENADE! the fact that kazuha immediate reaction is to protect heiji ears.... her self sacrificial nature a call back to mermaid island in the most subtle way 🥹🥹🥹 heiji shocked eyes was so cute. and heiji confession speech isnt cringe and is actually cute! shocker! (sorry trauma from heart anniversary lines its so awful im dnfuebdjfjf) devastated such an ideal confession scene was wasted. but its from kazuha trying to save heiji SO FORGIVEN

need to make sure ppl know im a momiji enjoyer. all her faults are forgiven purely cuz she is funny. let a rich girl be delulu !

also loove how they keep cannonizing her keen hearing from m21 THIS IS THE APPEAL OF KAZUHA THEY GET IT

touichi gifting a lost national treasure to his little brother yuusaku for winning the macademy award, as well as keeping in touch with him and gifting various trinkets.... meanwhile keeping his own son completely in the dark that he's alive this entire time...

conclusion 1: worst parent award goes to kuroba touichi 🥳🥳🥳

conclusion 2: ah he's definitely a brocon huh

kills me that everyone is dejected that the katana with the star shaped guard is a lost treasure. meanwhile its quitely sitting in kudo yuusaku's store room cuz his big brother gifted it to him LIKE SDJDJFF!? turning your justice leaning lil bro into an accomplices. the gag potential here is so made for me

shoutout to sonoko who took up haibara's usual information provider role. every scene with her was animated so cutely IM SHOCKED m27 doing excellent job at showing off her cuteness. there is a fun parallel to think about, sonoko was the first person heiji went to to get information on kudo's whereabout, and now heiji is also going to her for information ♥️ heiji-sonoko friendship crumb thank you for the food

this movie really play a lot with the crumbs from kendo school tournament arc. heiji-ran friendship makes me want to cry, ran efficiently karate chopping hijiri to make sure theres no distractions for heikazu 🥺😭 ive been convinced on okita's cuteness the past 3 month cuz if the okita fanart boom in my corner of jp twitter but watching it for myself... he really have it bad for heiji LMAO wdym "it's boring if hattori ain't here~" how much did you say this for kaitou kid to catch that its a good trait for an okita disguise. im glad this movie give a good balance of real okita and fake okita, m10 still makes me so sad for having ZERO real hakuba 🥲 kid's dosu e~ is so moeblob

ah i still got so many word vomit on this movie it seems to be never ending 😭😭

my final review of the movie is this is my no 1 fav conan movie of all time, 2nd place is bride of halloween. i still havent rank anything below that properly. im truly entertained by this movie it got so many characters i care about with a lot of bombastic scenes. as much as i want to say my ultimate fav is m7 and m21, both of them are kinda... slow with all the deduction talk. im here for eye candy after all 😔 mixing kid's energy is doing wonders for the tone of a heiji movie. heiji's presence is also doing wonders for KID as well cuz gosh!!! KID has never emit this much childlike moe blob energy. heiji and conan being the straight man to kid's prank is the dynamic really help to emphasize his whimsical energy

and the final theme i caught; parallelism where hijiri is willing to do anything to protect his father's legacy only for us to find that its all for naught.... now why does this sound familiar 🤔🤔🤔

rewatching the movie tomorrow so ill probably do another ramble on it

#m27 spoilers #million dollar pentagram #100万ドルの五稜星 #personal

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roosterforme · 2 years ago

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Batting Practice Part 13 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You don't show up to the game the next day, and Bradley has to face Molly's wrath when she comes in your place. His heart is broken as he feels the consequences of his words, but he finally realizes just how much you and Everett mean to him. Then he sees you at Everett's Career Day, but you're not making it easy on him.

Warnings: Angst, swearing

Length: 5300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Bradley sat up most of the night in his sad apartment, sipping on a bottle of bourbon and feeling like a prize asshole. He had finally found a woman he thought he could settle down with, thought the three of you could maybe be a family, but he managed to fuck all of it up before you were even properly dating him.

This was just so on brand for him, it was laughable. Every bad decision that could be made about women, well he made them. He just had to go spouting off for weeks on end that he didn't date moms with baggage, and now Jake had made everything blow up in his face.

The problem was, Bradley actually had said all of that shit, but that was before he really got to know you and Everett. It made him sick now to think about the implications of what he had said.

You hated him now. He knew you must. He had managed to hurt your feelings so deeply, he didn't know if you would ever look at him again. But the truth was, Bradley was the one with all the baggage. He was the one who didn't know how to make the right decisions. He was the one who made everything too complicated. Not you. Not Everett. The two of you were perfect. And he thought for a moment that he could have you. But now he knew he had been wrong again.

And there was no doubt in his mind that Carole Bradshaw would be so disappointed in him right now. Because she would have reacted the same way that you had. She would have stood up for her only son and protected him no matter what.

He groaned as he got to his feet, swaying as he set down his half empty bottle of alcohol on the kitchen counter. He needed to get it together and make it to the tee ball game in six hours.

You would be there! He could try to talk to you then. Unless you kept Everett home instead. Bradley felt like crying, so he just dragged himself to his bed and passed out with his uniform pants still on.

Bradley's alarm barely woke him up as he dragged his sandpaper tongue across his teeth and moaned. His head was throbbing, but he managed to get up and get right in the shower at the prospect of seeing you. He didn't have time to shave or eat, but he did make it to the ballfield early, just in case.

"You look like shit," Bob told him, and his expression was something akin to disappointment.

Bradley closed his eyes briefly. "I feel worse. Promise."

"Did you talk to her?" Bob asked. Bradley wasn't exactly sure how much everyone knew. He hadn't stayed at the bar for very long after you left, preferring to drink at home alone. Chalk that up to another poor decision made.

"She doesn't want to talk to me. I'm such an idiot."

Bob just kind of shrugged as he set things up for their game against the Tiny Blue Jays. "Molly is angry, too," Bob informed him. "She's barely texted me back since yesterday."

Now Bradley felt even worse, because Bob's relationship with your sister shouldn't have to be the collateral damage of his word vomit. "I'm so sorry."

"I'll figure it out," Bob mumbled. "And you need to apologize to Team Mom until she forgives you. Did you tell her that you said all of that stuff a long time ago? You barely even knew her then."

"Yeah, but I still said it," Bradley replied, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. "And between the slap to my face and the valid points she was yelling at me, I didn't get a chance to try to explain myself. But she's not going to want to hear it anyway."

Then Bradley's heart was skipping erratically in his chest, making his head throb more. When he saw Everett in his blue uniform, he squinted against the sunlight and almost took off running. But it wasn't you. It was Molly. And she looked pissed as hell.

"I'll be right back," Bob mumbled and headed for her instead. Which was fine with Bradley, because now something much worse was happening. Everett was bounding toward him, and he didn't know how he was supposed to react. He just braced himself for the pain.

"Hi, Coach Bradley! See? I remembered to call you Coach Bradley instead of just Bradley since it's a tee ball day. When can we go back to the park again?"

Bradley wanted to cry. "Hey, kiddo. I missed you all week when I was away." And that was the honest truth.

Everett just shrugged. "Practice was still fun, because my mom made it funny. And we won our last game, even though you weren't there. Do you think you can still win Coach of the Year if you missed a game?"

Bradley reached for Everett and pulled him in for a brief hug while Molly glared at him right past Bob's elbow.

"Where's your mom, kiddo? Is she coming?"

Everett shook his head. "No, she was crying this morning, even though she didn't want me to know it. She does that sometimes, but it's usually only right after we see my dad."

Fuck. Bradley made you cry as hard as Danny did. Just when he thought he couldn't possibly feel worse, the honest words from a first grader twisted the knife a little deeper. Bradley had assured you that he was better than both Frank and Danny, but he was actually the worst one of the bunch.

"You want me to help you with your cleats?" Bradley asked, and soon he was changing Everett's shoes while Molly kissed Bob on the cheek. He felt a tiny bit better that maybe he didn't fuck things up for Bob as well as himself. But then Everett said something that made him want to drink another bottle of bourbon and pass out.

"Coach Bradley, are you still excited for the Phillies game next weekend?"

Bradley froze with the laces halfway tired on Everett's right shoe. He swallowed hard; in all of his fucking up, Bradley had forgotten about the upcoming game. He was going to have to disappoint Everett, because there was no way you would let him take your son to the game now.

But he didn't know what to say other than, "So excited, kiddo." Then he sent Everett to start warming up while he pulled out his phone and tried to call you again. Voicemail. A second time. Voicemail. He'd left you so many messages already, but he decided to leave another one.

"Kitten. I'm sorry. I miss you. Please, Kitten. Please, call me back."

Bradley was surprised the Tiny Eagles managed to win the game. He was having such a hard time focusing as Molly's glare was burning a hole in his back. But every time he turned toward her, she was looking elsewhere. When the game ended, he took off in her direction, leaving Bob to clean everything up.

"Where is she? Is she okay? Is she at home?" he asked Molly, who was finally looking directly at him as she stood up.

"That's none of your business," she said, and Bradley knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with her, but he was going to try anyway.

"Molly, listen, I fucked up. I said that shit before I really knew her. Before I really knew what I wanted."

She crossed her arms over her chest, and the look on her face had Bradley taking a step backwards. "You called Everett baggage," she hissed as her eyes flashed. And if her sister was a Kitten, then Molly was a feral street cat that desperately wanted to give Bradley rabies.

"Please, I'm begging you. Will you talk to her for me? Ask her to call me back?"

Molly's harsh laugh had him feeling hopeless. "She doesn't owe you anything, and neither do I. She's not your girlfriend. And now she's never going to be your girlfriend."

"Molly! What do I have to do to get her to talk to me?" Bradley asked, ready to beg on his knees for the chance to explain himself. "I made a mistake. But I care about her. And Ev."

Molly shook her head sadly at him. "Even Frank wasn't this bad. At least he didn't mind that she has a son. Who, by the way, is the sweetest child in existence." Now Molly looked like she was going to cry.

Bradley took his hat off and balled it up in his hands. He realized he probably looked insane right now, but he just needed to know how to get you to listen. "I can explain myself to her. I'll beg her to listen to me. I'll bring more flowers and more baseball cards for Ev. I'll-"

Molly cut him off with a jab of her index finger to his chest. "You can bring all the flowers and cards you want, but that doesn't change the fact that you're not good enough for her. You're not good enough for them!"

His voice was soft now, because he knew she was right. "Molly, please help me talk to her."

"You know, she wants to pull Ev from the team," Molly replied, picking up his gear bag as he ran over. Bradley felt sick; he wouldn't get to see you or Everett anymore. "The only reason she's not going to pull him is because of the friends he's made, and because she's a better person than you. But she thought about it. I hope you know you hurt her that bad."

Everett plopped down on the bench, and Bradley watched Molly instantly switch modes and turn into the loving aunt that she normally was. He really was bringing out the worst in everyone right now.

When Everett was all ready to leave, and he and Molly were heading for her car, Bradley jogged up next to him. "Kiddo? Can you tell your mom something for me?"

"Sure, Coach," he replied, smiling up at Bradley like he always did.

Molly was staring daggers at him again as he said, "Tell her I was wrong before, but now I have my priorities straight."

"Come on, Ev," Molly told him, taking him by the hand and pulling him along. "We need to go."

Bradley knew he wasn't like Danny or Frank, and he just needed an opportunity to prove it. But he didn't want to upset Everett who was looking back at him with wide eyes. "Tell her I miss her, and I can't wait to see her next time! Bye, Kiddo!"

"Bye, Coach!"

-------------------------------

Luckily Molly was working overnight tonight and offered to take Everett to his game, because you were in no way ready to see Bradley today. Your heart was actually broken, and you were just so embarrassed.

Your kid's hot tee ball coach. Could you possibly be any more predictable? Any more of a chiche?

You were still in your pajamas forcing down some toast when Molly brought Everett back home around noon. "We ate lunch," she told you. "Everett wanted the baseball Happy Meal toy."

"Thanks," you mumbled, knowing that your little sister who spent the night holding your hand wouldn't judge you for looking like a mess right now.

"Mommy, are you sick today?" Ev asked, and your heart sank.

"Yeah, Ev. I'm not feeling great."

He set his Happy Meal toy down and started taking off his shoes. "I know what will make you feel better! Coach said he missed you! And he can't wait to see you next time. And that he has his prior tires straight."

Molly sighed and shook her head. "He means priorities."

"Yeah. Priorities," Everett said, agreeing with her.

You felt like crying all over again, and now your phone was vibrating with another call from him. You ignored it as Molly told Everett to grab a snack and eat it out on the back deck. Once he was out of earshot, you told your sister, "He keeps calling and texting me. I don't understand why he cares so much, since I'm clearly a joke to him and all of his friends."

Molly sprawled out on your couch. "He actually seems upset, and I am telling you that begrudgingly, because I want to hate him."

You twisted your fingers together, afraid to know, but you asked anyway. "Did he say anything to you?"

"Yeah," Molly said with a laugh. "Plenty. He begged me to get you to talk to him. I honestly thought he was going to plead on his knees. He said he made a mistake, and he doesn't feel that way now at all."

Oh. Well that was interesting. Your phone vibrated again.

"And Bob said Bradley is an idiot, but he didn't think he was actually trying to hurt you," Molly added. "Of course I also asked Bob if he knew that Bradley felt like kids were baggage and moms were a waste of time."

"What did he say?" you whispered, setting your phone down before you caved and answered it.

"Bob said he would find it hard to believe that Bradley actually felt that way now, based on how much he loves you and Everett. He used those words, not me."

Your heart was pounding as your doorbell rang, and Molly sprang up to answer it. "Oh, shit," Molly mumbled as she carried several huge bouquets of colorful flowers into the kitchen.

As you opened the card attached to the first one you picked up, your eyes went wide. All of the cards said the same thing, written in Bradley's handwriting.

I'm so sorry, Kitten. You and Everett are NOT baggage. You're perfect. I didn't mean it. Please, talk to me.

"Well, you don't need all of these flowers, so I'm taking some to my apartment," Molly said, kissing your cheek as she scooped up a few bouquets. "I'll come by in the morning after work."

And then she was gone, and you were sitting inside a massive floral display with very mixed emotions.

-----------------------------

Bradley went home and drank the rest of Saturday away until he was asleep. If Molly wasn't willing to help him, and he could understand why she wasn't, then he would have to figure this out on his own. Because at this point, he didn't know what he was going to do without you and Everett. He needed you. He needed to fix this.

On Sunday morning, he took a shower and got himself cleaned up. Two days of looking like a disaster was enough, so he dumped the rest of the bourbon down the drain as well. Then he grabbed the one thing he needed and drove to your house, nervous as hell that you wouldn't answer the door for him even if you were home.

He parked behind Molly's car and sighed. She was acting as your bodyguard right now, that's how badly he had fucked up. Either you or Molly didn't want you to be left alone. He climbed out of his Bronco with the binder tucked under his arm, and he made his way up to your front porch.

Before he could even knock, the door swung open to reveal an exhausted looking Molly in wrinkled scrubs holding a cup of coffee. "What do you want now?" she asked, and Bradley stood back far enough that she would probably miss him if she tossed the coffee.

"Will you please tell her I'm here?"

"She's not home," Molly replied coolly.

"Her car is in the driveway," he replied.

Molly sighed. "She's soaking in the tub, and she doesn't want to talk to you."

Bradley ran his hand over his face, unsure how much he should push. But then Everett came bounding out onto the porch and into Bradley's arms.

"Coach! I mean Bradley! What are you doing here? The Phillies game isn't until next Sunday! And Career Day isn't until Wednesday!"

Bradley's heart clenched with need. If he couldn't take Everett to the Phillies game, he didn't know what he would do. The kid would be crushed, and truthfully, so would he.

He knelt on the porch and held up the binder. "I just came by to give you this," Bradley told him, really examining his face. He looked so much like you. He could see some of Danny there as well, but there was no denying that Everett took after his mom.

"What is it?" Everett asked, but when he opened it and saw the plastic pages filled with baseball cards, his eyes went wide. "No way! Are these for me?"

"Yep. All yours, kiddo." Bradley had grabbed one of his binders at random, and probably just handed a six year old a collection worth a thousand dollars. But he didn't care. It didn't matter. Bradley swallowed hard and glanced at Molly before he asked Everett, "How's your mom?"

Everett just shrugged while he looked at the baseball cards. "She said she doesn't feel good. Something must be hurting her, because she keeps crying sometimes."

Bradley let the feeling of dread wash over him as Molly sipped her coffee. "Do you think she would let me take you to the park and pitch some balls?" he asked. But before Everett could even get excited, Molly cut him off.

"Not today, Ev. Remember, I'm taking you to the movies after lunch."

Bradley pressed his lips together and patted Everett on the shoulder as he stood up. "Another day, then."

When Bradley pulled away from the curb, Everett was waving to him while holding the baseball card binder, and Molly was standing behind her nephew, flipping Bradley the middle finger.

---------------------------------

On Monday, Bradley flew like shit. He couldn't pay attention, and he was honestly a little nervous that someone was going to get hurt.

"What the fuck was that?" Nat asked him once they were back on the tarmac. "I'm team leader! You need to listen to me!"

"I'm sorry," he told her. "You're absolutely right. I'm just distracted today."

"If this is about your Team Mom, you need to leave it on the ground." Nat was seething, and she had every right to be. "I know Jake blew your cover, but I tried to tell you from the start that if you were interested in her, you needed to get used to the fact that she has a kid!"

Now Bradley was seething too, because nobody seemed to want to listen to his side of things. "I am used to it, Nat! I got used to it real quick! And I wouldn't want it any other way!"

"Then sort your shit out or leave it on the ground!" She stormed away from him without another word.

Then Bradley saw Maverick strolling his way and he tightened his grip on his helmet. "Listen, Bradley. I don't know what the hell happened to you in Lemoore or what your weekend was like, but you can't be flying like that. It's a liability. I'm grounding you for the week."

"What the fuck, Mav!"

But he just held up his hand. "There's no point in arguing with me. The Admirals don't want you in the air for a few days." Then he turned and headed back to the tower leaving Bradley alone in the bright sunlight.

---------------------------

You skipped practice on Monday. It had been three days since Bradley had seen you, and the only thing holding his heart together was the fact that Everett was still happy to see him.

"Hi, Coach Bradley!" he called with a wave as he ran ahead of Molly.

When Bradley headed toward the bleachers to help him change his cleats, Bob grabbed him by the shoulder to stop him. "Hey, I'd steer clear of Molly if I were you. She's not your biggest fan at the moment." At least Bob's face looked sympathetic.

"Yeah, I noticed."

Bob just kind of shrugged. "I took her out for dinner last night, and I tried my best to let her know you're not going to hurt her sister."

"Thanks," Bradley muttered. At least there was one person who didn't think he was horrible.

Molly stood to the side and let Bradley tie Everett's cleats while he rambled on about how excited he was for Career Day. When he paused to take a breath, Bradley asked, "How's your mom, kiddo? She feeling better?"

"She's at a work meeting with someone named Frank," Everett replied, putting his Phillies cap on backwards to match with Bradley. He didn't like hearing that you were with Frank, potentially alone. But then Everett added, "She's still sad, too. She took my stuffed Phanatic to sleep with it. I think she remembered that you said it was good for if you're having a hard time."

Bradley closed his eyes for a beat. "You should go start warming up," he whispered, and Everett was off like a rocket running toward Bob.

"She did give me a message for you," Molly told him as she sat on the bleachers and blew a kiss to Bob, who immediately started blushing.

"What did she say?" he asked, preparing himself to beg her.

"She wants you to stop sending flowers. I took some home, and she donated the rest to a nursing home. She said if you can't seem to stop, you can just send them directly to Bright Senior Living so she doesn't have to drive them there herself."

"Fuck," he growled, dropping down on the bench next to her and burying his face in his hands. He sat there for a bit as Bob started practice without him. He was so far out of his element. He had never chased a woman before in his life. He never saw the point in it until now. If he could figure out what to do, he would do it immediately.

"You actually care about her?" Molly asked softly, and Bradley turned to look at her.

"Not just her. Everett too. I can't get enough of either of them." His eyes were stinging as he watched Everett round the bases.

"Then why did you call him baggage?"

Bradley stared at the turf. "Because I was terrified of falling for someone who was outside of my wheelhouse. Someone with more substance. Someone who would make it impossible to stop thinking about them." He stood, realizing it was time to go help Bob. "I'm an idiot. Truly, Molly, I do understand that. But I said all of that shit weeks and weeks ago, when I was just starting to realize that your sister meant something to me."

Molly nodded at him, and just as he was turning to head toward home plate, she said, "Then show her you care about them. And tell her what you told me. I'll let her know I can't bring Ev to practice on Thursday. And I'm pretty sure you're still on the roster for Career Day on Wednesday."

Bradley's heartbeat was speeding up. He felt more alive than he had since he was with you at the Hard Deck. "Thanks, Molly."

"Don't thank me. I'm still pissed at you. I just want my sister and nephew to be happy."

---------------------------

You left work at lunchtime on Wednesday and headed to Everett's school. When you planned out a five minute presentation for his class, you realized he was right: you did have a boring job. How you were supposed to make accounting interesting for a bunch of six and seven year olds was beyond you. It also didn't help that you were having the shittiest week ever.

Not only were you missing Bradley and trying to get over him, you had been forced to stay late and work with Frank on Monday. Well, he had volunteered to stay late when he heard you were going to. And now you couldn't even lie to him and say you were seeing Bradley to get him off your back.

With a deep sigh, you opened your car door and headed across the parking lot in your suit and high heels, the hot sun making you uncomfortable in your long sleeves.

And then you heard his voice in person for the first time since Friday night. "Kitten."

You turned to see Bradley walking up the sidewalk in his flight suit, boots, and aviators looking impossibly handsome. You had been listening to his voicemail apologies last night, but the way he sounded in person made your spine tingle with need.

You tamped it down. "What are you doing here?" you asked, not bothering to look at him as he caught up to you.

He was silent for a beat. "Everett invited me."

You scoffed. "Well, I'm uninviting you."

"Kitten. Please."

"No," you said sternly. "Why even bother if he's just my excess baggage?"

Bradley stopped walking, and when you turned to look at him, he had the same expression he had worn after you slapped him across his cheek. "He's not," Bradley rasped. "He's perfect. And so are you. And I don't want to make him upset if I don't show up."

You rolled your eyes. "Come on." He followed you like your shadow, his warmth at your back. You thought maybe he was going to touch you when you signed both of them in at the office and got name tags. It seemed like he wanted to, like maybe he was holding back. And as much as you wanted to scream in his face, your body was betraying you by craving his touch.

"This way," you told him, and when you entered Everett's classroom with Bradley next to you, your son's eyes lit up. He waved at both of you from his seat, and you had to plaster on a smile. Before giving it too much thought, you grabbed one of the empty seats between two other parents, leaving Bradley to fend for himself.

You sat politely and listened to Harper's mom talk about neurosurgery. Then Peyton's dad talked about construction equipment. You gave everyone your full attention, firmly ignoring Bradley. You didn't even look at him once while you stood in front of the class and talked about how important math is.

Once you were finished, you kissed Everett's forehead before you returned to your seat. But then it was Bradley's turn, and you couldn't help but look at him.

"Hi, I'm Lieutenant Bradshaw, and Everett invited me here to talk about flying jets called Super Hornets." Every pair of eyes was glued to him as he gave a riveting presentation. Everett was practically vibrating with excitement at his desk, clearly so proud to have brought the most interesting adult to Career Day. You also noted that every woman was drooling over Bradley, including Everett's teacher.

It was crazy to think that for a short time, you thought he was going to be yours.

When everyone was done speaking, you popped out of your seat and told Everett you'd pick him up in a few hours, and then you were making a beeline for the door. You could hear Bradley calling your name, but you just kept going all the way to your car.

"Kitten, please!" He was right behind you now, and you saw his big hand shoot past your shoulder and hold your door firmly closed. "Can we talk?"

You turned to face him, and you were taken back to every single time he had walked you and Everett to your car after tee ball practice.

"About what?" you whispered. He had caught you off guard. You meant to start yelling, but all of the warm feelings he gave you were right there at the surface.

His eyes went a little wide as his lips parted, seemingly surprised you weren't shouting at him. "I'm sorry, Kitten. I fucked up. I should have never said those things, because I didn't even mean them."

You couldn't meet his eyes as you asked him, "Why did you say that to your friends? I feel humiliated. I feel like you think Everett and I are a joke."

"No!" he said, keeping his hand against the door and leaning a little closer to you. "You're not. And he's not. I said that so long ago, because I was instantly attracted to you, Kitten. And that terrified me."

You felt the fight draining out of you, and you knew you needed to get in your car and leave before he saw you crying. But instead you said, "Maybe you're right though. We're a lot to handle. I shouldn't have expected things to be easy."

When you turned and tried to open your door, Bradley held it shut. "Will you look at me?" You glanced at him over your shoulder as you felt tears stinging your eyes. "You and Everett are not a lot to handle. You're the perfect amount. Being around both of you makes me feel so good, Kitten."

You swallowed hard and shook your head. "Thanks for coming today, I guess. It made him happy."

He let go of the door and ran his thumb across your jaw. "I don't think I would be able to live with myself if I made him cry."

You nodded and ducked away from his hand. "I'll figure it out. Make it so that this doesn't break his heart."

"Don't say that, Kitten. I still want to take him to the Phillies game on Sunday. I want all three of us to go," he whispered as you turned your back fully to him again.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

You could feel his frustration rolling off of him, and his voice sounded panicked. "Where does that leave us, Kitten? Do I even stand a chance now?"

"I don't know. I need to get back to work. Bye, Coach."

This time he let you open the door, and he closed it softly once you were inside. When you pulled away, he just stood in the parking spot watching you.

--------------------------

Bradley ended up at the Hard Deck after Career Day at Everett's school. He was grounded from flying, you'd just told him you didn't know where he stood with you, and he was probably going to make Everett cry at some point this week.

He ran his hands over his face and nursed a beer for a while. When Nat and Jake showed up, eyeing him cautiously, he thought it would be to his advantage to just head home. He handed Penny some cash, but Nat rubbed his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I screamed at you on Monday."

"I deserved it," Bradley replied. "I wasn't being safe."

"You look fucking miserable," Jake drawled, leaning on the bar next to Bradley.

"You're literally the last person I want to talk to right now," Bradley replied through gritted teeth. "Thanks for Friday night."

Jake just shook his head. "Hey, I was just trying to get in her pants, okay? She's gorgeous, and you made it pretty clear the last time we talked about her that you were not interested."

Bradley couldn't even get mad, because Jake was actually right. "Well I'm pretty fucking interested in her now, okay? Stay out of her pants."

Jake just grinned. "I think I know what might help."

"This sounds suspicious," Bradley muttered, eyeing Jake cautiously. "Let's hear it."

"You still planning on going to that Padres game this weekend?"

"I don't know," Bradley groaned, pushing his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Well," Jake said as he signalled Penny for a drink. "My landlord's son is the head groundskeeper at Petco Park. I can try to pull some strings if you think it will help."

Bradley gaped at him. "Do it."

---------------------------

Molly is the sister I wish I had! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32!

PART 14

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine

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purriteen · 11 months ago

Text

Ad victor spolia, chapter two

content warnings: incest, manipulation, eventual Stockholm Syndrome, toxic & dark!Coriolanus Snow (as if that isn't his default), named!reader, ANGST, eventual smut, non-con, age gap (5-6 years)

author's note: I feel like this chapter is kinda shitty since I’ve mostly written pure smut before, not to mention I haven’t written in English in a while so I’m still warming back up to the language & structure

but alright, since I've just been projectile vomiting words all day anyways y'all get two chapters at once this time mostly cause I myself couldn't wait to flesh out what happens next

word count: 3,345

Previous chapter

Next chapter

You struggled to fall asleep that night. You’d already come to the conclusion that slipping past the guards positioned along the tall metal fence or the main gate wouldn’t be possible, but at least, before you used to have the privilege of leaving the house and spending time in the garden whenever you wanted. Now you were truly trapped. Now that you needed to get out of here the most.

At first you’d enjoyed going for walks in the garden or having tea in one of the quaint greenhouses, until you discovered the one with those god awful rose bushes. The ones that reeked of your brother. You figured he didn’t tend to them himself, but that didn’t ease the disgust you felt whenever that familiar, overwhelming scent reached you. It was nauseating.

Even in his absence, everything reminded you of him, in the worst way possible. In every nook and cranny of the house there’d be a reminder that this was his home. For a moment you wondered if his signature scent had worn off on you; your shower was equipped with various settings and products, but it was always stacked with that familiar rose shampoo you could smell on him whenever he got close to you - too close for your liking -, without exceptions.

When you finally fell asleep, your face was raw and puffy from all the crying. You hadn’t even bathed or brushed your hair, or changed into one of the many pyjama sets in your wardrobe.

Then, at around seven in the morning according to your alarm clock, you awoke to the sound of keys rustling outside your door. You were relieved when you realised it wasn’t Coriolanus - he’d never make such an awkward entrance. Instead, your nanny maid stepped through the door. Eugenie. She looked even more anxious than usual. Perhaps she took pity on you - if only she knew.

The two of you hardly spoke that early Friday morning. She’d brought something for you to eat, stacked on a silver tray. As if you needed another reminder of your complete lack of autonomy here, your own brother now wouldn’t even let you have breakfast in the kitchen anymore. At least he’d been generous enough to let you have something you could actually stand to eat, you supposed. A bowl of blueberries and grapes and a fresh loaf of bread with butter and marmalade, neatly plated next to it.

You sat on the small couch in the corner of the room as you ate your breakfast, only managing to get small bites down. Watching Eugenie change your bedsheets and clean up after last night, you simply couldn’t think about anything else. That was enough to make your appetite vanish.

Once you were both done she gestured towards the bathroom, and you took the hint. She went in first and ran a warm bath for you, before leaving the room to give you some privacy. Finally you took a proper look at yourself for the first time since yesterday.

Your hair was a mess, but what worried you most was the prevailing handprint on the left side of your face. Three, four stripes of a faint purplish colour that was already fading to yellow in some places. You shakily inhaled, forcing yourself to keep it together. The last thing you needed was for Coriolanus to think he was getting to you, even if he was right.

Yet you still didn’t realise the extent of your injuries until you’d already sunk down into the bathtub, relatively comfortably so. You’d felt the swelling on the back of your head last night, of course, but it was almost worse now. All you wanted to do at the moment was fall back asleep, but the aching bump on the back of your skull made it impossible to rest your head anywhere without being in pain.

A couple minutes later, Eugenie returned. This time with an ice pack in hand, which she carefully placed in your hand and guided it towards the back of your head. She flashed you an almost sorrowful, empathetic smile, before she stepped back and closed the door behind her.

You weren’t particularly fond of her, but you didn’t want to make the poor woman’s job any harder than it already was. So you made sure to thoroughly wash yourself before she got back. The sight of the dried blood from your scalp liquifying and mixing with the bathwater as you rinsed your hair made you feel nauseous.

You wondered what dinner would be like. If he would pretend nothing happened yesterday, or perhaps dish out another beating. You still hadn’t entirely grasped everything that went down last night. Everything he had kept from you, above anything, the hatred he’d felt for you. The thought of your warm, outwardly unassuming cousin having to make such a sacrifice for you made you feel sick. Poor Tigris.

Not to mention being reminded of your mother’s passing. You knew she’d died in childbirth, your birth, but you never thought of it as your fault until he brought it up. Grandma’am never once blamed you for the loss of her only daughter-in-law. And until that moment, neither had Coryo. Not openly, at least. You were left staring at yourself in the mirror for a while, wondering if it was truly worth it. If you were worth it.

You knew you couldn’t afford to think like that, to let him get to you. But this was all so unlike the Coryo you were used to, you’d seen this side of him before, to some extent, but never directed towards you. You wished he had just stayed away, that he would’ve left you alone after the initial shock of Grandma’am’s passing.

As you patted yourself dry with the soft white towel always hung on the gilded heating rack, you couldn’t help but wonder if this is what you deserved. You’d dragged everyone down. You hadn’t even been able to take proper care of grandma’am the last couple days of her life, or at least, Coriolanus wouldn’t let you.

You sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Waited a couple more minutes. Got impatient again. You decided you might as well get dressed again before Eugenie came back, but the pile of clothes you’d left on the floor was already gone. In its place a peachy slip dress and a robe, with a pair of slippers to match. You sighed and slid on the matching set.

A few minutes later, she returned just on time. This time she just had a glass of water and a small yellow-ish pill in hand. You furrowed your brows a little, looking up at her. “What’s this for?” You inquired, silently scolding yourself as you heard the annoyance in your own voice. This wasn’t her fault, it’s Coriolanus you were upset with. “It’ll help the healing, Miss.” You simply nodded in return, washing down the small capsule with a sip of water before returning the glass to her.

Concern was written all over her face as she studied you for a couple seconds, discomfort forming in your gut. “I’ll be back in four hours with lunch. Master Coriolanus asked me to inform you that his personal stylist will pay you a visit tonight at six.” Her words came out tense and rushed, and you were left with no time to react before she stepped back and locked the door again. You weren’t sure why she was so out of it, or if you even wanted to know.

You were familiar with Coriolanus’ personal stylist. She’d been the one to prepare you for any of those important public appearances where your attendance was actually needed. Rumina, you believe her name was. She was not the type of person you’d expected to find working such a job - she was always well dressed, but always in a timeless, classic fashion rather than the bold, colourful looks that were all the rage this year.

You supposed that might’ve been why your brother hired her in the first place. Beyond just that, she appeared to be in her fifties or sixties, whereas most stylists were much younger. The reason for that on the other hand, you couldn’t quite grasp. But despite her elegant exterior, you couldn’t stand her personality. She wouldn’t shut up about how delighted she was that somebody was finally ‘stepping up’ to truly restore Panem to its ‘former glory’.

Truthfully you’d given up on politics long ago - you’d never been among the pick of the litter back at the Academy, largely thanks to being so caught up with caring for Grandma’am. Not to mention the way your last name seemed to precede you every time you entered a classroom - it was clear you had big shoes to fill, after your big brother’s academic achievements - which only drove you further away. So it was clear that wasn’t the right path for you. But at least, before Coriolanus’ presidency, you’d actually thought you might one day have a career of your own, something worth dedicating your life to. You just needed to heal and learn how to stand on your own two feet.

Until he’d robbed you of that opportunity entirely. You didn’t even truly understand why, how it in any way actually served him. He had every reason to lock up Tigris, if he was simply worried about his own family turning on him. You’d never stood up to him in that sense before, or tried to distance yourself. He’d done a great job at that himself. If he genuinely believed you were so frail, he could’ve just left you in that penthouse to let you wither away in peace. He didn’t need to keep you so close to him.

Despite feeling about as rejuvenated as you could get under these circumstances after that bath, you felt a wave of drowsiness hit you. You laid back on the newly made bed, hoping to just fall back asleep. Instead you laid awake for nearly half an hour, staring at the canopy ceiling. Eventually you’d had enough.

You got up and walked over to your dresser, quickly pulling open your underwear drawer. You doubted that it was actually hidden, but you’d kept some old memorabilia from your childhood stashed in the shoe box at the very back of the drawer. Pictures of you and Grandma’am. Of all four of you who survived. Even a couple pictures of Coryo and your mom and dad together before you were born.

There was a particular picture of them you just couldn’t stand. As far as you knew Coryo didn’t even remember the photograph’s existence. Mrs. Snow was sat next to your father, who stood up straight right by her side, with their newborn son in her arms. His gloved hand was steadily placed on her shoulder, but his face was about as devoid of any emotion as hers was of happiness. He had Coriolanus’ eyes - a pale shade of blue, cold and unforgiving.

Your mother on the other hand, looked afraid, exhausted and tense. No amount of makeup was enough to hide the dark circles under her wide eyes. You’d always admired her beauty, and although you never had the chance to know her, you felt a sense of pride in the resemblance the two of you bore. You had her eyes, her smile, her lips. Even her hair, although hers was wavier than yours. Coriolanus always recalled her as a warm, loving mother, and you didn’t doubt that, but this picture always gave you the impression she had to have been wildly unprepared for the task of becoming a mom, and consequently disillusioned. Or worse.

Everyone always spoke fondly of her, of her charm and youthfulness, and you couldn’t help but wonder if they were simply tiptoeing around the word naive. You didn’t have any memories of your father either, but just from the few photographs you had of him he’d always instilled a sense of fear in you. You hated how much Coriolanus was starting to resemble him.

Finally you got to the picture of Grandma’am holding you in her arms shortly after your mother passed. She was visibly shaken up, and both you and her worn hands were bloody. You’d been told many times of how close a call it was, how the family cook was convinced you wouldn’t make it. You could only imagine how she must’ve felt in that moment, holding her two weeks premature, frail granddaughter in her arms after watching her daughter-in-law lose her life.

It didn’t take long for you to start crying, something which only got worse as you scrambled through the rest of your small collection of family photos. The family fortune had run out awfully fast during the Dark Days, so there were hardly any taken during your childhood. The few you had left were mostly school photos and ones taken at various social events. Even though you couldn’t afford your own photographer, you’d always kept the unprocessed copies and had them processed and printed whenever you had some extra money to spare. Much to Coriolanus’ dismay you’d always been sentimental, just like your cousin.

You stayed like that for almost an hour. All those photos of you smiling in your brother's arms, the ones where he posed so proudly with his baby sister, made you feel nostalgic for something you’d hardly even experienced. You couldn’t grasp that this boy, your Coryo, could’ve gone from that prideful older brother you saw in those pictures to the man he was today. You wondered if Grandma’am had felt the same way bringing up Crassus.

When you finally got up from your seat on the floor, you carefully put the stack of photographs away again, along with the pearl necklace and perfume bottle you’d kept after Grandma’am’s passing, to remind you of her. You didn’t have anything tangible left of your parents, but you had fond memories of Coriolanus letting you sleep with your mother’s powder compact when you were younger. He’d always been possessive, though - only if you were really upset would he share it with you.

You checked the time. Almost ten o’clock. You went off to your bathroom to splash your face with some cold water, shivering as you looked up and were met with the sight of the yellowing bruise on your cheek. You’d almost forgotten. At least it was healing quickly, like Eugenie promised. After nearly exhausting yourself with tears, your throat hoarse and eyes puffy and red, you finally felt tired enough to take a nap. So you did. You nearly threw yourself back onto the soft, queen size bed and let your eyes flutter shut.

When you woke again it was noon. This time Eugenie had gone unnoticed when she entered, as you only awoke when you heard the wheels of the food cart she wheeled in after herself awkwardly bumping into the threshold, making the porcelain inside clatter against itself. You were startled at first, but immediately calmed down when you realised it was just her.

Soon enough lunch too had passed, and this time Eugenie stuck around to keep you company for a little while. She taught you how to knit, and you lent her your favourite book. For a moment you’d almost forgotten the gravity of the situation you were in. Until she scurried to get up, proclaiming she was late to laundry service. You glanced at the longcase clock across the room, a bit surprised to find it was already quarter past four in the evening. You had forty-five minutes until your brother’s stylist would turn up.

You spent that time trying to perfect your knitting technique, ignoring the stiffness in your hands as best as you could. You’d never excelled at crafts like Tigris did, or patience, for that matter.

Finally Rumina arrived, and you were almost relieved. She immediately started to babble on about the latest gossip, and as always, sang your brother’s praises. Though, today it was particularly unbearable, and you thought to yourself that someone working so closely with him and his image should know that it’s just that, an image. That your brother didn’t give a flying fuck about the districts, even if he had improved the living conditions of the tributes in the annual Hunger Games, and that he didn’t even really care about the Capitol either. You’d come to terms with the fact that Coriolanus was only loyal to one thing: power.

You had stayed silent as she blow dried, brushed and twisted and folded your hair up behind your head. When she was done she offered you a handheld mirror to have a look for yourself, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes when you were met with a tidy french twist. Of course your brother had chosen something conservative that’d thoroughly conceal the bloody lump he’d given you.

Then she had done your makeup. This time she laid the base on thicker than usual, but you weren’t surprised Coriolanus intended to hide your bruise, too. You wondered if it was for his own conscience’s sake or for his image. But it could hardly be the latter, you doubted he would let anyone see you so soon after last night’s events. Then again, you weren’t sure he even had a conscience, either.

When you were done, you looked perfectly rejuvenated. Though to you it felt like an empty shell. Rumina eagerly guided you out into your bedroom and helped you get dressed. It seemed your brother had picked out yet another tasteless, phoney dress that you’d feel nothing like yourself in. Much like the makeup it was more glamorous than you’d expected.

The material was flowy, probably something like chiffon, but it was perfectly cinched at your waist, the sweetheart neckline and the puffy fabric at your hips flattering your figure just right. There was some sort of built in corset that stopped just below your chest. The sleeves were long and puffy much like the skirt, which stopped just above your ankles. You knew Coriolanus was always up to whatever dress code applied, and something this elegant was hardly necessary for a simple dinner.

But what really stood out to you was the colour. It was a deep shade of burgundy; one you’d seen on Coriolanus oh so many times. You felt your jaw clench. It was bad enough that he insisted on dressing you up, like a mere doll, but this was yet another jab at your independence and individuality. Like you were just an extension of him.

Still, complaining to his own stylist would be of no use, so you decided to suck it up and let her finish dressing you. She clasped a silver necklace around your neck, a garnet pendant in the shape of an octagon hanging from it, framed by more silver. It almost seemed compulsive how your brother just had to show off his wealth every chance he got. Finally you slid on some black velvet kitten heels and had a look in the mirror.

You looked like something out of a gothic painting. (A tragedy, if you had to guess.) That wouldn’t be too unlike your current situation. Only there wouldn’t be a handsome, brooding young mythological hero to save you. No, your ‘prince charming’ had few positive attributes beyond just that - his superficial charm -, and no intention of saving you.

You felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter as you walked down the stairs to the main floor, confusion spreading on your face as you saw one of Coriolanus’ many servants waiting for you at the bottom. He stiffly informed you that there’d been a change of plans, that he’d be escorting you to the larger dining room over in the east wing. You hadn’t even explored the house enough to know there were multiple.

When you arrived you quickly understood what the sudden change of plans was for.

taglist: @caffeine-addict-slug, @phoward89, @catesbaroquecasahouse

#banner credit: @benkeibear #minors dni #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow x you #named reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas fanfiction #thg fanfiction #eventual smut

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kepamount · 2 years ago

Text

let me love you

mason mount x reader - one-night stand, smut and fluff

warnings: discussion and consumption of alcohol, brief mention of drugs, brief mention of infidelity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, dirty talk, praise and degradation, crying during sex, asphyxiation, overstimulation, i think that's it but pls lmk if i missed anything!

word count: 10.4k+

rating: M

a/n: hey guys! this is the first instalment of a new trilogy from the ariana grande series! the next two parts after this will be titled safety net and into you (after the two songs ofc), and hopefully it won't take me too long to get those out! this hasn't been proofread so pls forgive any mistakes lol. lmk what you think, hope you enjoy! <3

‘You alright, love? Can I-’ ‘I’m not interested,’ I respond shortly, not even looking in his direction as I pass by, following after Steph and Isla as they lead me through the club. We walked through the front entrance less than a minute ago, and I’ve already had four different guys try it on with me. They must really appreciate my skin-tight, tiny black dress, and the face of makeup I spent an hour doing.

The back room is cut off by a velvet rope, manned by four big and burly bouncers. They don’t even ask for our names or IDs, moving the rope out of our way as soon as we approach and letting us through without a word. I feel myself relax as soon as the curtain falls shut behind us, the music that was blasting in the main room becoming a low pulse in the background so I can actually hear myself think.

‘Benny!’ Steph exclaims when she spots her boyfriend across the room, forgetting about us and rushing over to him. I almost want to remind her that she’s here with her friends, but I can’t be annoyed when I see his face light up at the sight of her, his arms outstretched so she can fall into them, instantly dropping into his lap and pressing her lips to his.

‘You can go to your boyfriend as well, if you want,’ I say amusedly to Isla, the girl already making eye contact with Cal, the boy beckoning her over with a cocky head motion. ‘Nah, it’s girls’ night,’ she says, though she sounds completely unconvincing, and I roll my eyes. ‘Just go. I’ll be fine. Gonna get myself a drink, or five,’ I say drily, Isla laughing. ‘I’ll be back in a couple minutes though, okay?’ she promises, and I nod, watching her go and join him.

Most girls who have just gotten out of a relationship would feel shitty at seeing their friends and their boyfriends together, but I couldn’t care less if I tried. In fact, I’m relieved I’m single now. My ex was so boring that I can’t even remember the last time I was in the club, and it feels good to be back. I’m ready to get drunk as hell, snort some blow and then get a box of 20 nuggets on the way home.

‘Three shots of tequila and a glass of rosé, please,’ I ask the bartender, the boy instantly starting on my drinks as I get my phone out of my bag, checking through my notifications. I laugh to myself when I see that I’ve got seven texts and three missed calls from my ex. Someone must have spotted me at the bar we went to before this place and reported back to him already, so now he’s saying he’ll pick me up and take me back to his at the end of the night if I want him to. I’d rather crash at Steph and Ben’s and have to listen to them having sex in the next room.

‘Lime and salt with the tequila shots?’ the bartender asks, and I nod instantly. Tequila isn’t complete without lime and salt, and I think I’ll need whatever help I can get to stomach these shots. It’s been a while since I drank tequila that wasn’t in a cocktail, and I don’t wanna end up vomiting all over the boujee back room of this club.

‘y/n,’ a vaguely familiar voice says from behind me, and I turn to see Mason Mount standing there, looking heart-flutteringly handsome with his flattering all-black outfit, his perfectly trimmed beard, and his short hair long enough to tangle your fingers into. Not to mention his dark eyes that sparkle brighter even than the thin silver chain around his neck, visible where his top two buttons are undone.

‘Mason. Hi. Long time, no see,’ I reply with a smile, stepping forward to hug him. The last time I saw him, he was so slim, all skin and bone without an ounce of muscle on him, but he’s bulked up since, his arms feeling strong and sturdy when he wraps them around me. ‘It’s been too long,’ he agrees as we break apart, which is kind of him to say.

We’re more acquaintances than friends, and even that feels like a bit of a stretch. My best friends date two of his teammates, so we used to see each other fleetingly at parties or on match days, but we barely spoke when we did see each other, just polite greetings and superficial small talk. And even those encounters became a rarity after I got into a relationship with my ex-boyfriend, a player on a different team, and became a social recluse. Not seeing Mason for so long has made me forget how beautiful he is.

‘Should I give you my condolences or my congratulations?’ he asks with a mirthful glint in his eyes, and I can’t help but let out a little laugh. ‘Congratulations, definitely. I’m glad to finally be free,’ I say drily as the bartender puts a wineglass down in front of me. I pick it up, clinking it against Mason’s whiskey tumbler, both of us taking long sips of our drinks.

‘I didn’t realise you drank,’ I say, knowing that Ben’s in the minority as a footballer who loves a good drink from time to time. ‘I don’t, really. We’ve been here an hour and I’m still on my first,’ he says bashfully, making me laugh. ‘You chose the worst possible spirit. If you don’t drink often, you’re supposed to have a vodka and coke or something. A drink where you can’t even taste the alcohol. Whiskey’s awful,’ I say, wrinkling my nose in disgust.

‘You’re an expert on alcohol then?’ he asks amusedly, the bartender putting my three tequila shots down in front of me just as he finished speaking. ‘Don’t tell me they’re all for you,’ he says with mild shock on his face, and I nod proudly. ‘I’m newly single and everyone here knows it. I need all the help I can get to get through the night,’ I say drily, putting down my wineglass as an idea appears in my mind. It's a terrible idea – the entire room will be watching if I do this, and it’ll only enrage my ex when he finds out – but the boy standing next to me is far too enticing for me to decide not to do this.

‘Can I borrow your hand?’ I ask innocently, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. ‘My… hand?’ he echoes, and I nod amusedly. ‘To take my shots,’ I clarify, the boy still looking lost. ‘You’ve never done tequila shots before?’ I ask, Mason shaking his head, looking intrigued. ‘Can I?’ I ask, holding a hand out to him, and he nods, putting down his drink and resting his hand in mine.

‘So first, you’re supposed to coat your tongue in salt, so that it’s easier to drink the tequila. Traditionally, you put salt on this part of someone’s hand and lick it off,’ I say, running a manicured nail down the skin that connects his thumb to the rest of his hand. ‘And you’re supposed to lick the skin before you even put the salt on,’ I add, the boy raising an amused eyebrow. ‘Go ahead then,’ he prompts, victory unfurling in my chest as I pass him a lime to hold in his empty hand.

I lift his hand to my mouth, eyes locked with his as I drag my tongue along his skin, his pupils dilating as he watches me. I shake some salt out onto the damp part of his skin, licking that up too, my tongue stinging with the sharp flavour. I pick up the shot, knocking it back and trying my best not to wince, before taking his other hand into mine, lifting it so he can put the lime in my mouth, my eyes on his as I suck the juice out of it, the tips of his fingers touching my lips.

‘Bit much just for a shot, isn’t it?’ he asks amusedly, though his darkened eyes and slightly heavier breathing betray him, the boy clearly worked up. ‘People do body shots with tequila, which is even worse. Licking salt and sucking limes off different parts of people’s bodies,’ I tell him, the look on his face making it instantly obvious that his mind is imagining what it would be like to do body shots with me. I wonder which part of my body he’d choose.

‘Well, if you’re about to ask me if you can do body shots in the middle of the room, I’m gonna have to decline,’ he jokes, prompting a soft laugh from me. ‘I have more decorum than to do body shots in public,’ I smile, the boy grinning. ‘Only in private then?’ ‘Only in private,’ I confirm, both of us laughing.

‘Here, you do one of these. Not as a body shot. Just a normal one,’ I say, and he looks conflicted. ‘I’ll set it up for you,’ I smile, licking my own hand and pouring out the salt before picking up a lime, resting it in my exposed collarbone. He’s instantly convinced, a dark grin on his face as he lifts my hand to his mouth. He licks up the salt along with my own saliva on my hand, before picking up the shot and knocking it back impossibly fast, trying to get to the last step as quickly as possible. He slides a hand around to the back of my neck, pulling me closer and leaning down to take the lime, his lips brushing my skin so lightly that I wonder if I imagined it.

He sucks the lime dry, dropping the peel in the empty shot glass with a grin before licking some juice from his lip, my eyes zoning in on the action, my stomach tightening with desire. He really is a beautiful man, and I know I’ll be disappointed if I don’t go home with him tonight.

‘Gonna do your last one?’ he asks, not waiting for my answer before he sets it up, putting the lime between his teeth, a challenging glint in his eyes. Never one to back down, I lick up the salt, knock back the shot, and push myself up onto my tip toes, leaning in and taking the lime from his mouth, being careful not to let our lips touch. If he wants a kiss from me, he’s gonna have to be a big boy and ask for one.

The disappointment in his face almost makes me laugh as I swallow down the sour lime juice, putting the peel and the empty glass down on the bar. I’m suddenly aware of lots of eyes on us, whispered conversation filling the room, and I smile. ‘We got people talking.’ ‘Your ex won’t be happy.’ ‘Forgive me if I don’t particularly care,’ I say drily, sipping on my wine, and the boy grins. ‘Let’s give him something to be really angry about then,’ he suggests, and I raise an intrigued eyebrow.

‘Come home with me. I hate going to the club. Your friends have ditched you for their boyfriends. There’s no reason for us to be here,’ he murmurs, and I feel butterflies fill my stomach, so tempted by the thought. ‘I’ve only been here ten minutes, if that. It feels like a waste of an outfit, and my hair and makeup took ages,’ I say forlornly, and he laughs. ‘I’m enjoying your outfit, babe, and your hair and makeup. It’s not a waste,’ he promises, and I feel myself swaying even more at the pet name. ‘I wanted to get drunk tonight,’ I pout, and he rolls his eyes amusedly. ‘I have loads of wine at home. You can take your pick,’ he offers, and I’m convinced.

‘Okay. Let’s say bye to our friends and then go,’ I say before downing my wine, the boy offering me his arm so I can link mine through it. He leads me over to where his friends sit, Isla and Steph part of the group, and they all try to pretend they weren’t just watching and talking about us.

‘We’re gonna go and get something to eat,’ Mason says, not even trying to come up with a decent excuse, and badly-stifled laughter runs around the group. ‘Those limes didn’t fill you up?’ Ben asks, Steph elbowing him in his side amongst more laughter. ‘Okay. Just text us when you get home,’ Isla says, directing the comment to me, and I nod though I know her and Steph will be checking my location anyway.

‘Look after her, Mount. I’ll kill you if something happens to her,’ Steph warns, Mason nodding seriously. ‘He’ll take care of her, don’t worry,’ Cal says, clearly making a dirty joke, and Isla hits him with her bag as they all laugh again. ‘You’re all so annoying,’ I sigh, the boys laughing even harder at that, and I just wave goodbye to Isla and Steph as Mason leads me away from them and towards the exit.

We have to walk single-file in the main room because of how packed it is, so Mason untangles our arms, clasping my hand tightly in his instead, leading the way around the edge of the room and looking back every few seconds to check I’m okay. I can just imagine the tabloids in the morning, not to mention the blurry photos and videos of us on Twitter and TikTok. The football world and the celeb gossip scene is gonna have a field day with this.

I can’t help the shiver that racks through my body the second we step outside, Mason instantly shrugging off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. I don’t even have a chance to protest because the valet approaches us, Mason grabbing his wallet from his pocket, handing the valet his ticket.

‘You drove?’ I ask when the valet goes to get his car, and he nods. ‘So I could make a quick escape if I wanted to. I’ve only had three sips of whiskey.’ ‘And a tequila shot,’ I add, the boy grinning. ‘And a tequila shot,’ he repeats, my phone making several text notification noises a moment later. I get my phone out of my bag, unable to hold back a laugh at seeing that it’s Steph and Isla blowing up the group chat, clearly not as cool, calm and collected about the whole thing as they pretended to be before.

‘The girls?’ he asks amusedly, and I nod with a little sigh. ‘They’re freaking out. Sending texts in all caps to the groupchat,’ I say, the boy laughing. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t say anything when we were still inside.’ ‘Girl code. You have to play it cool. Can’t let the guy get a big head from thinking that it’s a big deal that your friend’s going home with him,’ I tell him, his grin growing. ‘Is it a big deal?’ ‘Kind of, I guess. I’ve been in a relationship for a couple years, and I wasn’t one for… going home with guys even before that,’ I tell him, and he tilts his head thoughtfully.

‘What about after your relationship? You’ve been broken up for a while now, haven’t you?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘Yeah. Two weeks since we announced it, but I dumped him about a month ago.’ ‘And you haven’t… had a rebound in that month?’ he asks, and I shake my head shyly, the boy looking satisfied at that. ‘I’m honoured.’ ‘You should be,’ I reply, Mason laughing.

The valet pulls up in front of us in Mason’s Lamborghini, jumping out and handing Mason the keys, the boy thanking him graciously which earns him brownie points. Seems basic, but when your ex was rude and arrogant, you appreciate a guy with manners. He opens the passenger side door for me, grinning at my thanks as I climb in, the boy shutting the door behind me before walking around to the driver’s side.

‘Connect your phone,’ he prompts, and I open my Settings app, clicking on the Bluetooth section and scrolling past all my saved devices to connect to his car. ‘Wow. How many cars have you connected to?’ he asks, and I let out a slightly embarrassed laugh. ‘A fair few. I’m a certified passenger princess,’ I claim, flipping my hair over my shoulder, and he just laughs, pulling away from the curb.

‘What music do you like?’ I ask, scrolling through my playlists. ‘I mainly listen to American rap, but I don’t know if that’s the vibe,’ he says, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘What’s the vibe, Mount?’ I ask amusedly, the boy failing to hold back his smile. ‘Heartbreak music. You just got out of a two-year-long relationship,’ he reminds me, and I scoff. ‘Yeah, right. I was more heartbroken when I was still in the relationship than I am now,’ I laugh, Mason silent for a few seconds.

‘I know you’re probably sick of having this conversation but… what happened with him?’ he asks, and I let out a little sigh, clicking on my ‘gimme the aux’ playlist, full of songs that I play in other people’s cars to prove I’ve got good music taste. Playboi Carti comes on, Mason looking impressed, and I try not to laugh at how successful this playlist is at its purpose.

‘Our relationship got really boring towards the end. He stopped taking me on dates, buying me gifts, even complimenting me. We just spent all our time at home, watching boxsets and having sex. He became really complacent, and I realised that I deserve to be treated like a princess in a relationship, and not taken for granted or made to feel unloved the way I did. I communicated to him that I was unhappy in our relationship, and he turned around and said that he was too and that’s why he slept with the club’s social media girl,’ I say flatly, Mason’s mouth falling open in shock.

‘That is not what I was expecting you to say. Wow. I’m so sorry, y/n,’ he says, and I wave it off. ‘It’s fine, don’t worry. It didn’t really hurt me, because I just wasn’t in love with him anymore towards the end. I felt disrespected and angry, but not upset,’ I say, Mason nodding in understanding as he drives, one hand resting on the wheel whilst the other moves the gearstick every now and then. He’s a sexy driver, completely relaxed behind the wheel, his eyes flitting to the mirrors from time to time.

‘Was he at least good in bed?’ he asks, and I laugh, surprised at the question. ‘He was okay. Not the best, not the worst,’ I say fairly. ‘Same as how he is on the pitch then,’ Mason mutters, surprising another laugh out of me. ‘At least he’s consistent,’ I say, Mason’s response interrupted by my phone suddenly ringing through his car speakers, a familiar phone number appearing on the screen.

‘Spam call?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘Sort of. It’s him. My ex,’ I say as I reject the call, Mason’s eyes widening in amusement. ‘No way. You didn’t even change his contact name to ‘dead to me’ or something. Just straight deleted his contact?’ he asks, and I nod with a laugh. ‘For him to be dead to me, I’d have to actually care about him, and I genuinely don’t,’ I say, my phone ringing with another call from him.

‘Please let me answer and speak to him,’ Mason says, and I shake my head instantly. ‘No way. He’ll literally go insane,’ I say, Mason grinning. ‘All the more reason.’ ‘No way. Don’t your teams play against each other soon? He’ll probably go out of his way to injure you if you piss him off,’ I say, Mason scoffing. ‘Yeah, right. I could take him.’ ‘Okay, skinny white boy. It’s not worth the risk,’ I say, Mason looking at me with big, persuasive eyes. ‘I won’t even speak. I just wanna hear what he says to you,’ he says as the ringing stops, disappointment on his face.

‘He’ll phone again. He calls three times and then gives up,’ I say, Mason looking hopeful. ‘And you’re gonna answer this time?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘Yeah, okay. If it’ll make you that happy,’ I say, Mason grinning widely. He waits, almost excited for the phone to ring, unable to hold back a laugh when it rings again. ‘Go on, then,’ he prompts, and I press the green button, waiting for it to connect.

‘y/n. Where are you?’ his voice blares out from the speakers, both of us wincing. ‘Fucking hell. Are you shouting directly into your phone speaker? Why was that so loud?’ I complain, my ex letting out an irritated noise. ‘Where are you?’ ‘In a car.’ ‘Whose car?’ ‘Mason Mount’s car,’ I say, Mason grinning at the momentary stunned silence.

‘I didn’t think it was true.’ ‘Who told you?’ ‘Twitter. It’s already everywhere,’ he says, and I roll my eyes. ‘Well, yeah. It’s true.’ ‘Why are you in his car?’ ‘What do you mean? We’re driving somewhere. Why else would I be in his car?’ I say irritably, Mason stifling laughter. ‘Where are you driving?’ ‘It’s actually none of your business, at all,’ I remind him, a sigh sounding through the car speakers.

‘I know, but… it’s just killing me to not know what’s going on with you. All the rumours and shit, I just hate it. First, you’ve moved on with Central Cee, and then, you’re getting a marriage proposal from an Indian prince, and now, you’re dating another Prem footballer? It’s driving me insane,’ he says, and I roll my eyes again.

‘You should’ve thought about that before cheating on me and taking me for granted. We’re done now, so you don’t get to ask questions about my life and expect answers.’ ‘Fine, okay. Just at least tell me if you’ve got a new boyfriend now.’ ‘I don’t. I’m single.’ ‘So it’s just casual sex then?’ ‘She’s hanging up now,’ Mason says, a brief stunned silence following his words.

‘Who the fuck do you th-’ ‘Bye!’ I shout, hanging up on him, and Mason and I burst into laughter. ‘Right, I’d better block his number because he’s gonna spam call me now,’ I say, having to reject a call so I can block him. ‘He’s insane.’ ‘Tell me about it,’ I mutter, feeling relieved when I finally block his number.

‘What’s this about Central Cee and an Indian prince then?’ he asks, trying his best to seem relaxed but clearly curious, and I can’t help but laugh. ‘Cench and I aren’t dating. We were in the studio together for my next album, and we wanted WingStop, but delivery wasn’t available, so we drove to the nearest one and collected our order instead. People saw me in his car and the rumours started. But the Indian prince stuff is actually true. A prince spoke at some international relations meeting and mentioned wanting me as a wife in his speech,’ I say offhandedly, Mason’s eyes wide.

‘Wow. Have you responded?’ ‘No. How do you publicly reject a marriage proposal from a prince without putting yourself in serious danger?’ I say, Mason laughing. ‘What are you gonna do though? Just ignore it?’ ‘That’s exactly what I’m gonna do. Pretend it never happened and pray I don’t run into him until both of us are married so he can’t bring it up,’ I say drily, the boy shaking his head amusedly.

‘So you wanna get married one day?’ ‘At some point, yeah, I think so. Not for a long time, though. I wasted a couple years of my youth being in a shitty relationship, so I wanna enjoy myself for a while now. I don’t think I’ll even start dating again ‘til I’m close to my 30s. I’m more than happy to be single for a while now,’ I say, Mason nodding.

‘Fair enough. Dating again when you’re… 27, 28? Then marriage a few years later. Any kids?’ he asks, and I nod instantly. ‘Definitely. I want a few. At least four. Two boys, two girls,’ I say dreamily, Mason laughing. ‘You can’t choose, y/n.’ ‘I can if I adopt.’ ‘You want to adopt?’ he asks surprisedly, and I shrug. ‘Maybe. It’s always an option. I’m not sure if I have the pain threshold to go through pregnancy, and the idea of giving kids who would ordinarily struggle the chance for a better life and better opportunities seems really appealing to me. Why bring more children into the world when I can help the ones that are already here?’ I say, Mason smiling softly.

‘That’s really sweet. I think you’d make an amazing mother. Biological or adoptive,’ he says kindly, my heart warming. ‘Thanks, Mase. I’m sure you’ll be an amazing parent too,’ I say, the boy grinning. ‘Our kids will be lucky,’ he says, making me choke on my own gasp. ‘Our kids? Getting a bit ahead of yourself there, aren’t you, Mount?’ I ask amusedly, the boy just looking content with his own joke. ‘Never say never, y/n. You don’t know what relationship we might have in a few years’ time,’ he says in a mystical tone, and I just roll my eyes. ‘Yeah, we’ll see,’ I mutter, Mason just laughing.

We fall into a comfortable silence, Mason tapping his fingers on the wheel in time to the Lil Baby song that’s playing. I shift in my seat, my dress riding up to a point where it’s barely even covering my crotch, and I pull it down, able to feel Mason’s eyes on me as I do so. I can also feel him smirk to himself, obviously amused at how I’m trying to cover up while we’re literally on our way back to his house.

‘Cold?’ he asks, not even waiting for my answer before he turns up the heat. ‘Your jacket’s keeping me warm,’ I say, pulling it closer around me. It’s still holding the heat from his body when he was wearing it, and it holds his scent as well, something fresh and expensive.

‘You look good in it,’ he says, and I raise an amused eyebrow. ‘Yeah?’ ‘Yeah. It makes the outfit, I think,’ he grins, making me laugh. ‘I did think it was missing something, to be fair,’ I joke, his smile alerting me to the fact that he’s about to make a joke that he’s already very proud of. ‘It was missing the rest of its material,’ he says, and I gasp, hitting his shoulder lightly as he bites his lip to hold back laughter. To be fair, the dress is pretty tiny. The neckline barely covers my nipples and the hem barely covers my ass, not to mention the fact that it’s practically a second skin and it has the thinnest little straps that just about manage to hold it up.

‘Don’t shame me.’ ‘I’m not shaming you! It’s hypocritical to shame something you like, isn’t it?’ he asks with a grin. ‘You like it?’ ‘Yeah, I do. I love your skimpy little dress,’ he laughs, making me roll my eyes. ‘I had to wear something to give me the confidence to walk into a club for the first time in over two years.’ ‘You don’t have to explain yourself. Honestly, I’m just hoping you’re wearing outfits like this every time I see you.’ ‘I’ll wear it to your next match,’ I smile, and he falls into a thoughtful silent for a moment. ‘Actually… maybe not then. I’d end up shooting into our own goal if I spot you in the stands wearing a dress like this,’ he says drily, the car slowing down as he pulls into a familiar residential area.

‘You live around here?’ I ask, and he nods. ‘About thirty seconds down this road.’ ‘I’m literally five minutes away from here. I’m always at the Co-op at the top of the road,’ I say, the boy looking surprised. ‘No way. I’m always there as well. How have we never run into each other?’ ‘I’m glad we haven’t. I always look an absolute mess when I go, and I’m usually buying alcohol,’ I admit, Mason laughing. ‘Should I be concerned about your alcoholism?’ he asks, and I shake my head with a laugh. ‘It’s not that bad, I promise. I barely had a drop when I was with my ex.’ ‘Oh. In that case, drink as much as you want. I won’t even try to stop you,’ he grins, clearly trying to communicate that he’d be better for me thank my ex, and I just roll my eyes amusedly.

He pulls up to his house a few moments later, reversing onto the drive with his head turned, hand on the back of my seat. It takes every ounce of my self-control to not watch him, knowing I’ll probably throw myself at him the second I see him doing the sexy reversing thing. He turns off the engine, climbing out of the car and rushing around to help me out, grinning like he’s proud of himself for being so gentlemanly. He motions for me to lead the way up to the front door, following me up the drive and unlocking the door using the security system keypad set into the brick beside it.

I step into the front hall, slipping off my uncomfortable heels, my feet relieved at being flat on the cold floor. He flicks a switch beside the door as he shuts it behind us, flooding the room with light, and I find myself impressed at how nicely decorated it is. It’s also spotless enough that I can tell it was cleaned today, and I find myself unusually jealous at the thought of some girl cleaning his house. I try to comfort myself with the possibility that his cleaning staff are male, though the thought’s tinged with doubt.

‘Let me get you a drink before you start getting withdrawal symptoms,’ he jokes, stepping around me and leading me to the kitchen. It’s similar to my own, with a big island in the middle of the room, and I admire the furnishings, impressed at his taste in décor. ‘Your house is beautiful,’ I say quietly, not wanting to disrupt the complete silence filling the room. ‘Thanks. My mum helped me choose everything,’ he admits, making me laugh. ‘Well, your mum’s got good taste,’ I say, the boy smiling at hearing a compliment for his mum.

‘Which wine do you want?’ he asks, opening the wine fridge. ‘I’m happy with whatever,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘You must have a favourite. Just come and choose,’ he says amusedly, busying himself with getting a wineglass and ice out for me as I look through the many unopened bottles in the fridge. I spot a bottle of Asti, instantly won over, and I get it out carefully, shutting the fridge and bringing the bottle to the island where he’s standing.

‘Why do you have so much wine if you don’t drink it?’ I ask, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes as he watches me pour out a half glass, dropping in two ice cubes with the little silver tongs he hands me. ‘So I’ve got something to give the girls I bring home after a night out,’ he grins, and I pretend to hit him with the tongs, the boy ducking with a laugh.

‘I’m joking, I’m joking! The wine fridge was already there when I bought the house, and Mum said I might as well just fill it up so it doesn’t look weird, and so I’ve got options for people to choose from when I host,’ he explains, and I nod in understanding, putting the wine bottle back in the fridge as he puts the ice away.

‘So do you do that on a regular basis? Bring girls home after a night out?’ I ask casually, Mason looking amused at my question. ‘Not regularly. A couple times. But I’ve never let them choose their favourite wine from my wine fridge,’ he adds, making me laugh. ‘I guess I’m special then.’ ‘So special, babe.’ ‘I’m honoured,’ I say drily, taking a sip from my glass as he laughs.

‘Can I use your toilet?’ I ask, the boy nodding. ‘It’s just down that way. Door on the left,’ he says, and I walk down the corridor he points at, opening one of the doors. ‘That’s your right, y/n, not your left,’ he laughs as I stop myself from stepping into a store cupboard. ‘Oh. I struggle remembering my left and right.’ ‘Clearly,’ he says amusedly, my eyes landing on something in his cupboard.

‘Wow, this is quite a board game collection,’ I say, Mason coming to stand behind me as I admire the three shelves lined with board game boxes. ‘I know it’s not why you came back to mine but… do you wanna play one?’ he says excitedly, like a big kid. ‘Excuse you, Mason Mount, but playing a board game is exactly the reason I came back to yours,’ I lie, pretending to be outraged by his insinuation, and he rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, right. The only game you came here to play is an adult version of Twister,’ he grins, wiggling his eyebrows, and I can’t help but burst into laughter at the terrible joke, Mason unable to hold back his own.

‘What game shall we play then?’ I ask, and he looks surprised. ‘Wait, you really want to?’ ‘Don’t tell me you’re scared of losing to me, Mount,’ I taunt, his competitive streak taking over when he raises a patronising eyebrow. ‘Can’t be scared of something that has a less-than-1% chance of happening,’ he replies childishly, and I scoff. ‘Put your money where your mouth is then. Let’s play,’ I challenge, and he holds out a hand for me to shake. ‘You’re on.’

And five minutes later, here we are. Two grown adults on the carpeted floor of his living room on a Saturday night in our clubbing clothes, two Guess Who? boards set up between us and my wineglass on the coffee table beside us, music playing from his sound system in the background. Mason’s lying on his front, legs outstretched, while I’m sitting with my legs bent to the side, keeping my thighs clamped shut.

‘Okay, shall I start?’ ‘Wait,’ he says suddenly, that mischievous glint in his eyes again, ‘let’s… raise the stakes a bit.’ ‘Don’t tell me you wanna put money on Guess Who?, because that is a low I’m not ready to go to,’ I say with narrowed eyes, the boy laughing. ‘No, not money. What about… clothes?’ he suggests, and I tilt my head in confusion. ‘The loser buys the winner a new wardrobe?’ ‘No, y/n. You lose a round, you lose an item of clothing,’ he grins, and my eyes widen in surprise.

‘Don’t chicken out on me now, babe,’ he taunts, and I roll my eyes, my own competitive streak appearing. ‘I’m no chicken, but it’s unfair on me. You’re wearing way more than I am,’ I pout, and he’s silent for a moment, obviously working it out. ‘No, we’ve got the same. I’ve got socks, boxers, trousers and shirt. You’ve got dress, bra, pants and my jacket,’ he lists off, and I bite my lip, feeling awkward about having to tell him he’s overestimating what I’ve got on. ‘I’m not wearing a bra. Or pants,’ I say quietly, his mouth falling open for a moment.

‘Nothing under your dress?’ ‘Nope.’ ‘Right. I guess that’s not as simple then,’ he says, clearly trying not to laugh, and I don’t reply for a moment, debating whether or not I’m bold enough for this. And then I decide, fuck it. ‘It’s still simple in my eyes. I told you, Mount. I’m not a chicken,’ I murmur, his eyes darkening as he grins. ‘You’re sure?’ 100%.’ ‘Let’s do it, then,’ he says, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

We start the most competitive game of Guess Who? ever, both of us aggressively tapping down the tiles on our boards. I win the first round, downing half of my wine in celebration as he pulls his socks off. He throws one at me, my scream as I bat it away making him burst into laughter. He wins the next round, and I reluctantly take off his jacket, resting it on the sofa as he gives me a greasy grin, bursting into laughter again when I lean over to swat at him.

‘You’d better pray you don’t lose the next round,’ he says, sitting up with his shoulders in a competitive stance, and I smile confidently. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to,’ I promise, and I’m right. I win the next round, managing to guess correctly when I still have six people left to guess from, and his mouth falls open at how lucky I am.

‘What shall I take off then?’ ‘You’re letting me choose?’ I ask, the boy nodding, lips quirked up in amusement. ‘Shirt. Obviously,’ I say, the boy laughing as his hands lift to undo the buttons on his shirt. Our eyes are locked together as he shrugs his shirt off, but once he’s shirtless, I can’t resist the temptation to let my gaze slide over his bare torso, muscles and tan skin and tattoos galore. Desire settles low in my stomach as he watches me admire him, a darkly satisfied look on his face. His light-hearted and jokey side is slowly melting away, leaving a very intimidating side in its wake.

‘When you’re finished… I’m ready to beat you again,’ he says in a low tone laced with mirth, and I roll my eyes. ‘Don’t bet on it, babe. I’m winning this round as well,’ I say with conviction, and I’m right again. It comes down to the wire this time, pretty much anyone’s game, but I manage to scrape the win at the last second, the boy looking outraged that he didn’t.

He stands up as I sip victoriously on the last of my wine, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers before pushing them down his strong legs and kicking them aside. I feel my pulse quickening as I look up at him standing there in nothing but his Calvins, a noticeable tent in them already. He grins at me as he sits back down, and I avoid his amused gaze, resetting my Guess Who? board.

‘Last round,’ he reminds me, and I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, knowing what’s coming right after this round. He doesn’t seem to be trying very hard to win, but my nervousness distract me from concentrating, and by the time he makes his guess, I’ve still got half my board up. I can’t even muster up the disappointment at losing, too on edge about the fact that I’m about to strip off my dress to leave myself naked in Mason Mount’s living room.

‘Why do you look like you’re about to vomit?’ he asks amusedly, stretching out his legs and leaning back on his elbows. ‘Too much to drink,’ I say weakly, the boy sighing. ‘y/n, if you’ve changed your mind, you can say so. Don’t worry ab-’ ‘No, it’s not that. I’m just… I haven’t slept with anyone other than my ex in the last three years. And almost every time we slept together, it was boring and never felt special. It was just a really dull part of our routine. This is different. I feel nervous,’ I admit, Mason chuckling softly.

‘Come here,’ he says softly as he pushes the Guess Who? boards aside, speaking in a tone that no-one would ever be able to say no to, and I crawl across the carpet towards him. When I reach him, he slides an arm around my waist, effortlessly lifting me to straddle him, his bulge pressing directly onto my core.

‘There’s nothing to be nervous about, y/n. We’ll take this as slowly as you want to, and we don’t have to do it at all if you decide you don’t want to. There’s only one thing I want you to feel tonight, and that isn’t anxiety,’ he murmurs, one of his hands resting on my back as he lifts the other hand to brush a lock of hair back from my face, butterflies exploding in my stomach.

‘We can play another game if you want? Or I can get you another glass of wine before you start getting withdrawal shakes?’ he jokes lightly, and I can’t hold back my giggle, the boy smiling at the sound. ‘I’m okay,’ I say, lifting my hands to rest on his bare chest, his skin hot against my palms. ‘Yeah?’ ‘Yeah. I don’t want games, or wine. All I want is you,’ I say shyly, his grin growing. ‘That works out well then.’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Yeah. I’m already yours, babe,’ he murmurs, sliding his hand up to the back of my neck and pulling me closer.

My eyes slide shut as he kisses me, his lips pushing mine apart and his tongue sliding into my mouth. The kiss is sweet wine and bitter tequila, my head going light at the taste of him on my mouth while his hands roam up and down my sides. I slide my hands up his chest to the back of his neck, using my grip on him to press my torso against his, accidently rocking forward against his bulge. The friction makes me whimper into his mouth, and he groans at the noise, gripping my waist to press me down again, stealing the breath from each other’s mouths as though the only air that works for either of us comes from each other’s lungs.

The kiss escalates quickly, my hands gripping onto his hair as his fingers press into my waist tightly enough to leave bruises, controlling my movements so I’m grinding down onto him, both of us moaning into each other’s mouths. His skin is so hot against mine, and I realise I want to touch every inch of it, my hands sliding down from his hair to explore the curves and ridges of his strong body.

‘Can I?’ he asks against my lips as his hands slip down to my thighs, tips of his fingers playing with the hem of my dress. I hum into the kiss as response, his hands instantly disappearing under my dress and sliding over my bare skin, pulling the material up with them. We break apart briefly so he can pull it over my head, throwing it over his shoulder as he reconnects our lips, my boobs smushed against his chest. His hands explore my completely naked body as I continue grinding down onto him, unclothed core dripping arousal all over his underwear.

‘Fuck, you’re so wet. I need to…’ he breathes into my mouth, lying back and bringing my body down on top of his before rolling us over, the soft carpet against my skin as he hovers over me. ‘Can I touch you?’ ‘Please,’ I whisper, his hand instantly moving down to push my legs apart, two fingers lightly swiping across my folds to collect up my arousal. He lifts his hand to his mouth, tasting me on his skin, and he lets out an appreciative noise.

‘You taste so good, babe,’ he praises, slipping the two fingers between my lips, and I suck on them gently, able to taste myself. He takes his hand from my mouth, replacing it with his own mouth and capturing my lips in a kiss, absorbing the moan I let out when he pushes those two fingers into me. He remains still for a few moments to let me adjust, distracting me from the stretch with a messy kiss, tongues and teeth clashing.

He breaks away from me when he starts moving his fingers, slowing sliding them in and out of me, my walls fluttering around them as I bite down on my lip to hold back any noises. His eyes are trained on my face, watching intently for my reactions as he presses his thumb down on my clit, my back arching up from the floor as my breath catches in my throat.

He curls his fingers inside me, a pathetic whimper escaping my lips, and he fails at trying to hold back his satisfaction at the sound. ‘I know, baby, I know,’ he murmurs, half-soothingly and half-patronisingly, his tone making me gush around his fingers. He’s trying his best to take it slow but he can’t resist increasing his pace, rocking his hand against me so his palm rubs my clit whilst his fingers move inside me, little moans falling from my lips every few seconds.

‘That’s it, babe, good girl. Let me hear how good it feels,’ he prompts with a small grin, replacing his palm with his thumb and rubbing hard and slow circles on my clit, forcing a desperate whimper out of me. I look up at him, stomach turning when I realise he’s still watching me, eyes studying my face as his fingers work their magic, and I can barely maintain his eye contact, hearing him chuckle when my back arches up again, a gentle moan escaping my lips.

‘Fuck, you sound so pretty,’ he mutters, fingers curling inside me again, and I can’t help but clamp my thighs together, overwhelmed at the sensation. ‘Want me to stop?’ he asks, hand stopping its movements, and I shake my head desperately, needing him to stop but needing him to carry on even more. He grins amusedly as he pulls one of my legs up so it bends at the knee between our bodies, allowing his fingers to go even deeper inside me. ‘Fuck, Mason,’ I breathe out when his fingers brush against that spot inside me, and he curses under his breath at hearing his name on my lips.

I clutch at the carpet as his fingers continue to thrust into me at a ever-quickening pace, an obscene squelching filling the room. ‘God, you’re so wet. Soaking my carpet, dirty girl,’ he chuckles, and I let out whine after whimper as he starts to bring me to the edge. ‘You’re doing all the work now, y/n. Feels good, baby?’ he asks softly, tone laced with cockiness, and I only realise after he says it that I’m grinding down onto his hand, each movement sending gentle waves of pleasure through me.

My body squirms beneath his, walls clenching around him, and he knows that I’m close, his pace quickening as he whispers honeyed filth into my ear. ‘Close, babe?’ he asks, and all I can do is nod, letting out a loud moan. ‘Fuck, bet my neighbours are gonna come knocking soon with a noise complaint. But how could anyone complain about your pretty noises, babe?’ he grins, the thought of being heard only prompting a fresh wave of arousal that soaks his skin.

‘Fuck, Mason, I’m gonna…’ I trail off, feeling myself get closer with every brush of his thumb at my clit and every curl of his fingers inside me. ‘Gonna cum, babe? You wanna cum on my fingers?’ he whispers against my ear, and I just let out a moan in response, teetering at the edge. I’m so close, and then he takes his fingers out of me, my orgasm disappearing within seconds, and I whine, eyes filling with tears of frustration and desperation.

‘Don’t complain, babe. I’m not done,’ he murmurs soothingly as he moves down my body, pressing kisses my skin. He briefly sucks one of my nipples into his mouth, making me sigh in pleasure, before continuing down my body, pushing my legs apart so he can settle between them.

He doesn’t waste any time, immediately burying his head between my inner thighs and sucking my clit into his mouth. I let out a moan of his name, fingers tangling into his hair as he alternates between flicking his tongue over my clit and slurping at my folds noisily like a man starved. It doesn’t take long for my orgasm to build up again, and I fall over the edge when he pushes his tongue inside me, his nose pressing against my clit.

My vision goes blurry as I moan out loudly, fingers gripping onto his soft locks for any form of stability as the pleasure crashes through my body in strong waves, my limbs tense and tight. As my orgasm subsides, my body goes slack beneath him, and he takes it upon himself to continue eating me out. I whine at the overstimulation, body squirming as he sucks and flicks my clit whilst thrusting one finger into me.

‘Mase, I can’t. It’s too much,’ I whimper between moans, tears steadily running down my face, and when he finally gives me reprieve, I let out a long sigh of relief, a dark grin on his face as he sits up on his knees. ‘You’re not done already, are you, babe? Haven’t even let me fuck you yet,’ he murmurs, slipping a hand into his Calvins and touching himself, my core flooding with arousal at the sight.

I sit up, pulling his underwear down just enough to free his cock, mouth-watering at the sight of it. I can’t resist from leaning down and sucking the head between my lips, his salty pre-cum coating my tongue. ‘As much as I’d love to feel your mouth right now, babe, I’d love to be inside you even more. Gonna let me fuck you?’ he asks as I sit up, and I nod shyly, his grin growing.

‘Let me grab a condom from ups-’ ‘No, don’t. I’m on birth control, and I’m clean,’ I say, his eyes darkening. ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Are you clean?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Then, yeah, I’m sure. I wanna feel you raw,’ I breathe out, his pupils blown out completely with lust. ‘Fuck. Yeah. Okay, then. How d’you want it?’ he asks, and I think it over for a moment. Missionary’s always been my favourite – I’m a simple girl – but for a one-night stand with a friend of a friend, it feels a bit too intimate. The last thing I need is to stare into his pretty eyes while he fucks me. I’ll end up falling in love.

‘From behind,’ I murmur quietly, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes before he grins, making me question if I’m imagining it. ‘Get on your hands and knees for me, babe,’ he prompts, and I do as he says, anticipating his touch on me. And then he smacks my ass harshly, making me let out a pained yelp, before he rubs the area soothingly.

‘This is fucking perfect,’ he mutters, groping my ass cheeks like a horny teenage boy, and I push back into him, needing him to fuck me. ‘Okay, okay, I get the hint,’ he laughs, his hands disappearing from my ass a moment later. I let out a moan the second I feel him running the head of his cock down my folds, another escaping my lips when he begins pushing into me.

‘Good girl. That’s a good girl,’ he says, voice soft and soothing as he slowly sinks into me, the slightly painful stretch tearing a sob from my throat, and he rubs my back soothingly as he bottoms out. ‘Feels so big,’ I whimper, and he chuckles lightly, his ego obviously inflated. ‘You’re taking it so well, babe,’ he praises as he stays still inside me, allowing me to adjust. ‘Please, Mason, move,’ I plead, and his hands stop rubbing, gripping my waist instead. ‘Sure?’ he asks, though I can feel that he’s practically itching to fuck me. ‘Yes, need you,’ I breathe out, and he doesn’t hesitate any longer.

He pulls out before slamming back in, winding me. He’s ruthless, pounding into me so hard that his balls slap against my thighs, hands digging into my waist, both our skin damp with sweat. My head falls forward, and he leans over to grab my hair in one hand, tugging it to hold my head up, the pull only slightly painful. He fucks into me, hard, with no restraint, my head bent back at an uncomfortable angle, my moans projecting around the room. ‘Does my pretty baby like being fucked like this?’ he asks, the pet name making me gush, and my moans seem to be answer enough for him, a strained chuckle falling from his lips.

He props one foot up on the floor, allowing him to hammer into me at a bruising pace, cock filling me up completely, having me completely blissed out. ‘You take it so well, babe. So well. You take it like such a good little slut,’ he breathes out between grunts, and it’s heart-stopping, toe-curling, tear-inducing, the way he’s fucking me, so good I can’t think of anything but him, and how fucking amazing this feels.

My arms give way before I can realise how much they’re aching, and I fall face first into the carpet. ‘Shit, baby, I’m sorry. Are you tired?’ he asks gently, his cock stilling inside me, and I try to lift myself back up, desperate to feel him again. He slips an arm around my stomach and, at first, I think he’s just trying to help me back into position but, instead, he pulls me all the way up so my back is pressed to his front, my body weight resting partially on my knees but mainly on him.

He continues fucking into me in this new position, but at an agonisingly slow pace. He rocks into me, cock dragging against my walls leisurely, and I can feel it even more like this, can feel every inch filling me up and stretching me out. I let out a loud moan of his name and he slips two fingers into my mouth to shut me up.

‘You’re so loud, babe. Gonna have the neighbours knocking on the door, but I don’t wanna rush. Wanna take my time with you. Isn’t that what you want, baby? Want me to fuck you nice and slow?’ he murmurs against my ear, and I let out a garbled moan around his fingers, my wetness dripping down my own thighs.

He takes the sound as a yes, grinning against my neck as he fucks me deep, and I whimper and whine around his fingers as he lets out sinfully soft grunts and groans against my skin. He brings a hand to rest at the base of my neck, fingers still in my mouth. ‘Feels good?’ he asks, and I just about manage to nod as my eyes roll back, a little laugh falling from his lips.

His hand around my neck tightens, cutting off my airways slightly, and I let out an unintelligible string of curses around his fingers, my breathing quickly becoming laboured. I clench around him sporadically, quickly feeling my high approaching, and he can feel it too, keeping his torturous pace with a smirk pressed to the side of my throat.

He releases my neck after a few moments and I gasp for air, my inhale cut off when he puts a hand on my forehead and pulls my head back far enough for us to make eye contact, his face just as handsome upside down. His eyes are dark, skin flushed, and hair pasted down to his forehead with sweat.

‘Fuck, you’re so pretty, babe. This body is so perfect. So beautiful, and so good for me, with your pretty noises. My pretty baby,’ he murmurs, my body weakening and my heart skipping beats at all the praise. I’m so close, but I just need more – his pace is mind-blowing, and the dirty talk has butterflies going wild in my stomach, but it’s not enough to push me over the edge.

‘Faster, Mase,’ I mumble around his fingers, and he shakes his head amusedly. ‘You’re crying, babe. You can’t even handle this, and you want it faster?’ he chuckles before complying, pounding into me hard enough that the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around the room, filling my ears along with the sounds escaping my lips. He slips his fingers out of my mouth, reaching down to rub at my clit in circles fast enough to match his thrusts, and I’m hurtling towards my orgasm.

‘Close, babe? Gonna cum for me? Come on, baby, it’s gonna feel so good,’ he breathes against my ear, one hand groping my boobs whilst the other keeps a steady pace at my clit, and the mixture of all the different sensations whilst he whispers filth in my ear makes me hit my high, my mouth falling open in a silent scream before letting out a moan of his name.

My walls clamp down around him so tightly that he can’t even move, so he keeps rubbing my clit to get me through my orgasm, murmuring praise and encouragement in my ear before pressing soft kisses to my skin. When I start coming down from my high and my walls loosen around him, he pushes me down so I’m resting on my elbows, his hands gripping onto my waist. He pounds into me, chasing his own orgasm, and it washes over him within a few seconds, the sexiest moan of my name falling from his lips as he fills me up with his cum.

For a long few seconds, the quiet music and our heavy breathing are the only noises in the room, and I take a while to try and compose myself with my head resting on the carpet. ‘You okay, babe?’ Mason asks breathlessly as he pulls out, leaving me feeling empty, and I turn over to look up at him, nodding with a small smile. He grins at me, pushing my legs apart to watch his cum drip out of me, eyes trained on my face as he collects it up with two fingers and pushes It back into me. I try to say his name reprimandingly, but it comes out as a moan, and he chuckles as I push his hand away.

‘Come on. Let’s… get you cleaned up,’ he says, easily lifting me up into his arms and carrying me out of the room bridal-style. He takes me up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms, putting me down gently on the bed. He puts on a lamp and disappears into what probably is an en suite bathroom, coming back with a damp towel a few seconds later.

‘Your house… really is lovely,’ I say through a yawn as he cleans me up with the towel, wiping up all the sweat on my skin, the saliva around my mouth and the cum between my legs. ‘After what just happened, you’re thinking about my décor?’ he laughs, and I roll my eyes. ‘I mean, to be fair, my head was in your carpet, and it was very soft, so…’ I say, trying to keep a straight face but unable to hold back my giggle when he bursts out laughing.

‘Do you want some clothes? A t-shirt or a hoodie? And you can borrow some of my boxers if you want underwear,’ he offers, and I laugh. ‘I’ll sleep like this. If you don’t mind,’ I add afterwards, though the look on his face clearly shows that he really doesn’t mind at all. ‘Yeah, that’s fine,’ he grins, getting up from the bed and going into the bathroom again. I stare at the ceiling, already getting flashbacks about what just happened, feeling myself getting wet again. I’m praying he doesn’t have training early tomorrow because I need him again in the morning.

I listen to what he’s doing, hearing the tap running and then shutting off a little while later before he comes back into the room. I listen to him leave, his footsteps going down the stairs, light switches being flicked and the music being turned off before his footsteps come back up and he steps into the room. I look over, the boy grinning at me. He’s wearing new underwear and looking fresher, like he’s splashed water on his face and combed his hair. He climbs into the bed beside me, sitting with his head resting against the headboard, back on the pillow. I move to lie in the circle of his arm, my head on his chest, and I can hear his heart beating through his skin.

‘So… gonna let me take you on a date?’ he asks suddenly, and I don’t react for a few seconds. ‘Um… no way.’ ‘No?’ he asks, sounding surprised, and I sigh. ‘Nope. I told you, I’m not looking for a relationship anytime soon,’ I say, and he laughs. ‘A date doesn’t equal a relationship, y/n,’ he says, and I lift my head to look up at him, arms resting across his chest.

‘Yeah, but one date with me is all it would take for you to fall in love,’ I say as though it’s obvious, and he nods amusedly. ‘And that’s a bad thing?’ ‘Yes. I don’t have the time, patience or energy to deal with someone being in love with right now,’ I say dramatically, though we both know I’m speaking the truth, and he just nods thoughtfully.

‘Okay. If you don’t want me to love you, then at least let me… love you,’ he grins, making me laugh. ‘You mean physically instead of emotionally, right?’ I ask, and he nods. ‘Yeah. Let’s turn this into a thing. No strings attached and all of that,’ he says, and I raise an amused eyebrow. ‘What makes you think I’d wanna do this again?’ I ask jokingly, and he clutches his chest like he’s hurt. ‘Your moans and your crying made me think you’d wanna do it again,’ he says, and I cover my face in embarrassment, the boy laughing.

‘Okay, yeah. We can turn this into a thing. You just have to promise me that you’re happy with this not being serious, that you won’t let any feelings get involved.’ ‘I promise.’ ‘And promise me you won’t sleep with anyone else while we’re doing this.’ ‘I promise.’ ‘And promise m-’ ‘y/n!’ he laughs, ‘we’re gonna be friends-with-benefits. Nothing more. I promise. Okay?’ he says, and I nod amusedly, putting my head back down on his chest. He strokes my hair gently as I trace lines over his abs and, before I know it, I’m drifting off, the steady beat of his heart lulling me into sleep.

#mason mount #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fanfiction #mason mount smut #mason mount fluff #mason mount imagine #chelsea fc

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grand-theft-carbohydrates · 1 month ago

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-the old king is dead, long live the king- (edited version)

I was thirteen years old when I ascended the throne. My memory of the most important day of my life--exceeded by only my birth--was nothing but a frenzied whirlwind of fanfare. It's difficult to describe the experience if you've never been in that position, but I'll do my best. I felt helpless, out of control, like a rider on a runaway horse; I could do nothing except cling on for dear life and pray for it to be over soon. One false move could end with me bleeding and lifeless on the palace steps.

I had started the morning by vomiting discreetly behind the royal carriage, and my mouth still tasted sour. Eunuch Zhao, one of my long-time attendants who was not much older than I but already impossibly calm and worldly, had held onto my robes so they wouldn't get dirty. Afterwards, he rubbed my back and whispered raunchy jokes into my ear because he could see I was on the verge of tears.

The tears were not for the dead king, though I let them believe it was. Custom dictated I had to wear the mask of the filial son in the same way I wore the cumbersome long guan and the heavy, brocaded robes. My life had always been full of these flourishes that served no practical purpose, and I was used to it. I only dared to be honest in the privacy of my mind. I'm glad he's dead. I thought viciously whenever the roiling feelings in my heart threatened to break their banks. I don't care. I don't care. He had it coming. Does this make me heartless? Maybe so, but I'd rather be heartless than dishonest. The truth of the matter was that I had no sympathy for the lofty stranger they called my Father, always doling out judgement and criticism from on high--who had callously abandoned my mother and I in the middle of enemy territory all those years ago and only deigned to fetch me when it was convenient to him.

The arbitrary nature of filial piety had always rubbed me the wrong way. Why should I worship a man just because he sired me? Even dogs and pigs can do that much. If someone wanted my respect, they should have to earn it first. If the ancient kings of Zhou could lose their heavenly mandate through incompetence, then so could a father lose the love of his son. I would have been more saddened by the death of a single, hard-working farmer. A farmer would have at least contributed a single grain of wheat for my bowl, and that would still be miles more than Father ever did for me.

My tears were not for the dead king. I was mourning myself. Mourning the boy who had once been Ying Zheng, that dreamy little idiot who had been content to spend his days lost in his studies, chin on the windowsill, convinced that he was safe and unimportant. I knew I would inherit one day, but I had naively assumed it would be years down the line. After I had a chance to travel the world, marry, and finish my education. Never in a million years could I have guessed it would be like this, with the former king dead under murky circumstances, an overbearing regent who had skyrocketed in power, and myself thrust suddenly into the open without a single ally in my corner.

With the pounding of the procession drums still echoing in my chest, I bowed in the four cardinal directions and lit the ceremonial ding, moving carefully to avoid knocking askew the guan, which was an unfamiliar weight on my head. The next thing I remember was climbing the stairs to the throne. An attendant supported me under each arm. Zhao Gao had been left behind at the foot of the steps, along with my carriage and the rest of my servants. These eunuchs were the Prime Minister's creatures; they looked docile now, but I knew they were as trustworthy as vipers. I can still remember the stern lecture Prime Minister Lu gave me at yesterday's rehearsal. The King is supposed to move ponderously as if weighed down by the affairs of the state. He must not rush. He must not trip. He must not stutter, or cry, or misbehave in any way.

'Why not dress a lapdog in my regalia and call it a day?' I thought bitterly and felt more bitter still because I did not dare to voice these thoughts. Lu Buwei was the one who made my father heir back when he was nothing but a useless middle-ranked prince. Father was so grateful he promised to make Lu Buwei the prime minister when he became king. After that, a series of incredible coincidences happened. My Grandfather died just three days into his rule. My father died within three years. Now, it was my turn to sit on that unlucky throne.

I might be inexperienced, but I am not stupid. Grandfather was not old, and Father was not sickly. Life and death might be the domain of Heaven, but there was plenty that mortals could do to speed up the process. Nothing could be proven, of course, but one common thread runs through these events, and his name is Prime Minister-Regent. He benefited every step of the way, and now he will benefit more. Even a child can tell you that a thirteen-year-old king is easier to control than a thirty-year-old one.

I sat trembling on the throne as hundreds of my father's ministers--now my ministers, if only in name--bowed and scraped, reciting in unison, "All hail the King of Qin! May His Majesty live ten thousand years!"

Construction for my mausoleum began on the same day.

notes:

someone left a ton of nice comments on my gao jianli fic so now im on a writing roll!

ying zheng's critique of the one-sided power dynamic of filial piety is a representation of his non-comformist mindset and willingness to break from tradition. his administration also did away with heritable titles and awarded positions based on proven competency.

he's still a semi-idealistic person at this stage. i want him to start high so we can watch him fall and see his values become corrupted.

im going to try to work the extracts i wrote about ying zheng's childhood + his dad's backstory into the Ode To Grief -verse. current plan is to just publish them in the order they were written, with some edits.

#my writing #ying zheng

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genshinluvr · 2 years ago

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Oh, Baby!

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Iseka'd!Reader

Summary: Congratulations! You and the men are officially a parent to a newborn son! You thought you were prepared to be a parent because of the parenting books you and the men bought during your pregnancy. But boy, you and the men weren't prepared for your child to be so clingy to you.

Note: This is a mini-fic for the Isekai'd!reader series. Just a reminder that any [character] x isekai'd!Reader mini-fic is part of my ongoing Isekai'd!reader series and is usually around 5k words or less. These mini-fics are made so each man in the harem gets their own screen time with the reader; sometimes, some men (or all) will make an appearance, but not all the time. Usually, mini-fics for my Isekai'd!reader series is for individual characters. This fic, in particular, has all of the Genshin men in the harem currently. I believe this is the first mini-fic that doesn't have smut 🤔 I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Mentions of vomit, but it's not major. Poop is one of them. Would a baby overall be a warning?

Word Count: 2.3k

This is a mini-fic to these three fics: Mixed Signals, Eating for Two, and The Men Who Worry a Lot.

The birth of your and the twenty-five men’s child was long and torturous. You were in labor for almost twenty-four hours, and boy, the baby did not want to come out at all. Giving birth is traumatizing, and you don’t think you want to have another kid any time soon after the first baby. Well, at least for now, of course. It’s been almost a week since the birth of your son, you and your son have been discharged from the hospital, and now you and the baby are back at the estate. Even though the men have made a nursery for the baby, you insist that the baby sleeps in the same room as you because of your paranoia.

You worry that you’re not going to be able to hear the baby cry while sleeping, but you are so clueless. Clueless to the fact that you’re going to get some sleep after the baby arrives. You know you would get less sleep than usual, but here you are, awake at three in the morning, nursing your son.

“You know, I was looking forward to the birth of our son, but I did not expect to lose sleep in exchange for a mini version of myself,” Itto says, sprawled out on your bed, watching you rock back and forth on the rocking chair.

Childe does a double take, asking, “I’m sorry? Our son?”

“Mini version of you?” Diluc asks, raising an eyebrow at Itto.

You sigh in relief when your son unlatches from your nipple, muttering how a newborn can drink that much milk after a week of being alive. You pull your shirt up and adjust your son, patting his back and lightly bouncing him in your arms.

“Please don’t start any argument right now, boys. You’ll make him cry and put him in distress,” you murmur. “Besides, I think Itto meant ‘our’ as in all of us. As for the ‘mini version of himself’ part, I’m not so sure since the baby looks like a mix of everyone.”

You’re grateful to have twenty-five men who help you care for the baby, but even if they tried to help you, the baby gets fussy until he’s back in your arms. You get off the rocking chair and begin pacing back and forth around the room. You hardly sleep a wink, and you are exhausted.

Aether rubs his eyes sleepily and yawns, stretching his arms in the air with a strained groan. “I didn’t think that was possible. I expected the baby to look like you and one of us, not you and everyone else in the relationship,” Aether says, gesturing to everyone in the room.

“I was hoping the baby look would look like both me and [Y/N], but instead, he came out looking like everyone,” Heizou sighs, watching you continue to burp the baby.

You roll your eyes and shake your head. After the birth of your and the twenty-five man's son, your son ends up having the features of each man. Well, most of them, at least. Since the baby is still a newborn, many other features have yet to develop. Your son is a unique child to be born in the history of Teyvat because your son has a tail, he has horns, and fluffy ears. He’s undoubtedly one of a kind, and you didn’t think that was possible until your son came out of your womb.

Not only did he have horns, furry ears, and a tail, he was born with a full head of hair. No wonder you had intense heartburn during your pregnancy. Your son whimpers softly before letting out the smallest burp. You coo at your son and hold him up in front of you. Your son stares at you through his semi-closed eyes, smacking his lips together.

Venti squeals softly. “He’s so cute! Look how tiny he is!” Venti coos.

“There’s nothing that can take away his cuteness,” Kazuha smiles.

Your son makes a noise, and before you know it, your son spits up on your nightshirt, making you groan. The men around you wince at the sight in front of them, shuddering with disgust. You and your twenty-five boyfriends (and the fathers of your baby) know that the twenty-six of you need to get used to being a parent. And dealing with baby spit-up and vomit is one of those things you all need to get used to.

Kaeya chuckles and shakes his head. “Our son is adorable, but that was certainly not adorable,” Kaeya comments, walking over to you.

“I’ll go prepare the shower for you,” Thoma says.

You shake your head and give Thoma a smile. “It’s okay, Thoma! You don’t need to do that—”

You stop midsentence when Thoma rushes to the bathroom. You sigh and pass over your son to Kaeya, reaching for the towel over your shoulder and wiping the baby's spit up off your shirt. You’re glad that it was only spit-up and not vomit. Even if it was vomit, it would be liquid and not chunks of food, thankfully. You love your son, but what he did just now was disgusting. Thoma exits the bathroom and gives you a thumbs-up, signaling that the shower is ready.

Scaramouche shudders with disgust. “I don’t think I’ll get used to being a father of a tiny being that poops and pees more than we do,” Scaramouche mutters, rubbing his temples.

“Is that all they do? Besides sleep?” Xiao asks, staring at the tiny baby in Kaeya’s arms.

Gorou and Tighnari sigh, leaning against each other.

“If you think that’s bad, how do you think we,” Tighnari gestures between him and Gorou, “feel when he poops? It’s horrendous.”

Gorou interjects, “And don’t get us started when he starts crying and wailing. We love our son, we really do, but his crying makes our ears hurt.”

“You two aren’t the only ones with keen senses of hearing. Our son also has fluffy ears,” Albedo says, stroking the baby’s head.

The baby starts to squirm in Kaeya’s arms, letting out small whimpers before bursting into tears. Ayato sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, watching Kaeya bounce the tiny baby in his arms, trying to soothe the baby.

“He’s very attached to [Y/N],” Ayato murmurs.

Dainsleif nods. “More attached to [Y/N] than that bumbling fool over there,” Dainsleif says, pointing over in Itto and Childe’s direction.

Itto and Childe look at each other in confusion, pointing at each other while silently asking who Dainsleif is referring to. As the baby continues to cry, the men crowd around Kaeya, trying to figure out what’s causing him to be fussy other than wanting you to hold him. He’s not hungry, for sure, despite the spit-up. Tighnari and Gorou don’t smell anything foul coming from his diaper (thank Archons), so that isn’t the reason why the baby is crying.

A few minutes go by, and you finally exit the bathroom wearing clean clothes that aren’t covered in baby spit-up. You watch your son get passed around from man to man, trying to calm down your fussy son.

As much as you wanted to laugh at the adorable yet comical sight, you know how they feel. The feeling of helplessness when the baby wouldn’t stop crying and wailing at the top of his lungs. Not knowing the reason why he’s crying. Everyone, including yourself, looks exhausted.

You and Zhongli lock eyes for a moment. Zhongli gives you a pleading look and holds your son out in front of him. “Dearest, please help us,” Zhongli pleads.

“He won’t stop crying, and we don’t know why. You fed him not too long ago, and it doesn’t seem like he soiled his diapers,” Kaveh sighs, tugging at the roots of his hair.

“Give him to me,” you say, walking over to where the men are standing and taking the baby from Zhongli’s grasp.

You cradle your son close to your chest, and he calms down almost instantly. You caress his head, letting out a shaky breath. Al Haitham directs you to the rocking chair, helps you sit, and tucks your damp hair behind your ears while you rock the baby to sleep.

Pantalone pinches the bridge of his nose. “Since he’s clingy to [Y/N], I don’t think it’ll be easy for any of us to take care of him without him bursting into tears when he’s with someone that isn’t [Y/N],” Pantalone mutters.

You give Pantalone a weak smile and lean your head back. “He’s still a newborn baby, Pantalone. He’ll get used to everyone’s presence and smell if you all hold and care for him. It takes time, don’t worry.”

“If he’ll let us hold him without fussing and causing a scene,” Dottore snorts.

Within the first few weeks of having the baby home in the estate, the men concluded that babies are disgusting. They’re cute, but they are gross. It sounds harsh, but it’s the truth. That doesn’t make the men love their son any less, but everyone is trying their best to get used to it.

One time, you woke up in the middle of the night out of nowhere. You put your son to sleep less than an hour ago, and here you are, awake in the middle of the night. You sit up and nearly choke on a gasp that made its way up your throat.

“Why are you guys awake at this time!?” You hiss, turning on the bedside lamp.

Al Haitham clears his throat. “We wanted to make sure you and the baby are okay. We didn’t hear him cry, and we got worried that something might’ve happened,” Al Haitham replies, looking up from his book.

You stare at Al Haitham owlishly. “I appreciate that you’re checking up on the baby and me, but I have a question for Al Haitham….” you trail off, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “How are you reading in the dark?” You ask.

Cyno rolls his eyes. “He can’t read in the dark. He was sleeping the entire time,” Cyno replies, the corners of his lips quirking up.

Al Haitham rolls his eyes and glares at Cyno. You give Al Haitham a sympathetic smile and pat the spot next to you. Al Haitham gets up from the seat across the room, tossing the book on the nightstand before getting into bed beside you.

“I don’t recommend staying up and waiting for something to happen. Trust me, you’re going to regret it the next day,” you say.

“What, did you do that?” Pierro asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You nod and collapse back onto your bed, closing your eyes. You kind of developed a habit where you wake up every few hours to check up on the baby. Every time you do that, the baby is sound asleep. But when you’re not doing that and are passed out asleep or occupied with something else, your son would be wailing at the top of his lungs for you and his fathers. Whether it’s for food, a change of diaper, or because he wanted you to hold him.

“I know it’s in the middle of the night, but I wanted to remind you that the baby needs a check-up soon. We’re a little over a month,” Baizhu murmurs.

You crack your eyes open and look at Baizhu sleepily. “Already? It’s been a few weeks since we brought the baby home from the hospital,” you say.

“Yeah, it has been a few weeks. There are about four weeks each month. Therefore, it’s been a month, or a little over that, since we’ve brought the baby home,” Capitano replies.

“I’m going back to sleep. Wake me up when—”

You’re cut off by the sound of something wet and gurgling coming from your son. You sigh and roll over to look where your son is sleeping. Well, he was asleep. He’s awake now— whimpering, kicking his legs around, his face pinching up with discomfort. Itto shoots up from his spot and point at the tiny baby.

“Did that noise come from him!?” Itto asks in horror.

Scaramouche shakes his head, burying his face into his pillow. “There’s no way something as small as him can make that kind of noise,” Scaramouche’s voice is muffled against his pillow.

Tighnari and Gorou groan simultaneously, covering their noses.

“It’s definitely coming from him,” Gorou says, trying his best not to gag.

“Who’s turn is it to change the diaper?” Tighnari announces.

Childe curses under his breath. “Fuck, I forgot about diaper duty.”

You raise your hand. “I changed his diaper last time, and he peed on me while I was putting a new diaper on him. I’m volunteering, Childe,” you say.

“What?! Why me?!” Childe exclaims.

“Do you not remember when you said you wanted to have fourteen children with me? Be a good daddy and change our son’s diaper since his mother did it for him not too long ago,” you snort, gesturing for him to go.

Aether snickers. “Yeah, Childe! Be a good father to child number one out of fourteen,” Aether says.

“That diaper sounds explosive, not gonna lie. I’m glad I got diaper duty a while ago before [Y/N],” Heizou says, sighing in relief.

Childe grumbles to himself, gets off his bed, and walks over to the tearful newborn. Childe lifts your and his (and the others) son up from the bed and nearly gagged. Childe groans and turns to look at you and the others.

Venti gasps, exclaiming, “Dear archons, it’s all over his back too!” Venti covers his mouth in horror.

Diluc and Kaeya snicker, earning a glare from the exhausted, disgusted ginger-haired Harbinger.

“I will throw his diaper at you if you continue to laugh at me,” Childe hisses.

Childe walks across the room to the diaper changing station, holding the now fussy baby away from him while scrunching his face in disgust. As much as you wanted to feel bad for Childe, this is something he has to get used to. After all, he did claim that he wanted to have fourteen children with you. Childe needs to get used to something as disgusting as the baby’s poop exploding in his diaper and up to his back.

Note: There's a chance I might go back and change the fic up a bit, but idk when it'll happen specifically. Mainly because Idk how to feel about this mini-fic since I started working on it not too long ago. Literally a few hours ago before publishing Tragic Outcomes 6. A few days ago, I noticed that some of the links in my masterlists aren't working 🥲 I'm going to try and re-link all of the fanfics in the masterlist. Since it's currently late [as I am typing this], I will update the link when I wake up. I'm not sure how I feel about this mini-fic. There's a chance there will be another mini-fic coming out next week, but I'm not entirely sure if that's going to happen. We'll see how my schedule plays out! To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

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