#Kitchen Exhaust Cleaning Near Me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katsukistofu · 4 months ago

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ikea meatballs before marriage?

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ touya todoroki x fem reader. fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. ⭑ your fiancé and you get a little too into playing house when you’re supposed to be furniture shopping for your new apartment.

“you’re home early.” touya smirks. an apron you’re ninety-nine percent sure he stole from the aisle showcasing the ovens with ‘i cook as good as i look’ printed on it is tied around his waist.

“i’m home!” you say cheerfully, playing along with him.

you take a moment to study “your” kitchen and droop in disappointment.

it was a bit too dim for your liking, the lighting.

there’s no way you could read the recipe books rei had gifted you without touya having to stand there and hold a flashlight while you did.

but the deep forest green accented cabinets, reaching all the way to the ceiling, were beautiful.

perfect for storing fuyumi’s leftover snacks that her students gifted her yesterday.

she had complained to you over the phone about how there was no space at home since all the cupboards were full of soba noodles, courtesy of your fiancé and little brother-in-law.

touya nervously watches, until he sees as you visibly brighten up, and he lets a little huff out, half in pride, half in relief.

he knew his pick couldn’t be that bad.

then you spot the fake plant hanging from overhead, and grimace as you see a cluster of even more potted plants under it near the toaster.

cute in theory, but definitely a fire hazard.

touya notices the little way your eyebrows furrow with doubt, and casually leans against the edge of the sink to distract you from making any more keen observations.

you giggle at the way he almost knocks off the price tag on it in the process, too busy staring at you to bother noticing.

“how was work?” your favorite fire hazard asks, reaching out a hand to gently brush a stray lash you didn’t notice from your cheek.

your face always feels hotter than usual when touya pulls away, even after all this time.

“ugh, so exhausting,” you fan yourself a bit, let out an exaggerated sigh. “the printer blew up and got toner all over my clothes, can you believe it?”

“aw.” there’s a playful sparkle in his eyes as touya innocently frowns in sugary sweet sympathy. “want me to run a bath for you later?”

you can feel your cheeks start to burn. you just took one with him yesterday!

but of course you find yourself stuttering out, “oh, um sure.”

the memory of his fingers softly massaging your scalp as he helped you wash your hair. the gentlest of touches on your skin as he lathered you in suds, pressing a kiss to your forehead between rinses flood back to you.

you remember trying to wash his hair one time, but he quickly stopped you by trapping you in his lap, insisting that he wanted to do yours first. like he does during every bath he runs for you when you stay over at the todoroki house.

and he would take just as good care of you, your heart knows, in your cozy new apartment that was waiting for you back in shizuoka too.

not too far from home, so that everyone could still visit, but not too close either, so the both of you had your own space.

touya grins as a shy expression suddenly crosses over your face, knowing exactly what you’re thinking about.

with amusement, he watches as you reach over to set your purse on the white marble counter.

a pair of strong hands claim their usual spot on your waist, holding you in place, and then you’re pulled away until your back bumps against a familiar, firm chest.

“uh-uh, mrs. todoroki.” he murmurs softly in your ear. “i just cleaned that for you before you got home.”

your breath catches. mrs. todoroki?

“my bad,” is all you can manage to squeak out.

his nose tickles your cheek in response and you giggle at the feeling of his piercings, cold and soothing against your warm skin.

“so. what do you want for dinner today?” touya says, leaning over you to open the fridge. he scans its empty contents with a face so serious that you have to bite back a laugh.

“what do we have?”

“stale air—i mean,” touya coughs. “uh, salad.”

“that’s it? just salad?” you point an accusatory finger at him, and he snorts at the way you force your eyebrows to scrunch together to make an angry face. so cute.

“oh, you think this is funny? take that apron off right now, you big phony.”

“yes ma’am.” he laughs airily, reaching behind him to undo the tie when his hands stop.

touya turns to you with a pout. “can you do it for me? my fingers hurt from cooking and cleaning all day.”

he makes it so hard to stay mad at him, even as a joke.

you bite your lip to suppress the fond grin growing on your face, but it's too late, touya’s already seen it and he knows you’ll give into him soon enough.

“aw, my poor husband all alone in the house, cooking air and salad. it must’ve been so hard for you.”

he pouts even more. “it really was.”

the giggle you’ve been holding back finally spills from your mouth. he was ridiculous, and you loved him for it. “okay you big baby, i’ll untie it for you.” you move to stand behind him, hands reaching for the back of his waist to untie the neat bow he did for himself earlier.

“i think you mean your big strong husband.” touya leans his weight back into you.

not enough to hurt you or make you fall, but just enough to give you a hard time undoing the knot of his apron.

“sewing machine was acting up like crazy today, had to teach it some manners.”

“i’m sure you did.” you fight back another laugh, which turns into a whine as his broad back leans into your face even more.

“touya stop it! do you want this apron off of you or not?”

you can practically hear him smirk from in front of you.

“i’m okay with anything as long as it keeps your hands on me.”

you step away from him and he lets out a ‘oof!’ as his back thuds against the hard floor of the ikea showroom, taking down a fake plant with him.

touya is donning a new apron when the two of you find yourselves outside of another kitchen showroom.

“‘relax, i’ll feed you bitches.’ it read in bold.

you giggle hysterically as he stands there, hands on his hips and looking way too proud of his find, as you snap a pic to send to the groupchat with his siblings.

i’d rather eat poison, natsuo texts back.

his message is hearted by fuyumi and shoto a few moments later.

a miffed touya reaches over your shoulder to steal your phone, which you easily let go of and surrender like usual with a laugh.

his chin rests on your head, your back pressed to his chest as he perches his upper arms on your shoulders to text back.

after he hits send with a satisfied smirk, the both of you walk onto the set.

the kitchen this time was one with a less colorful theme, yet you hear a sharp intake of breath from touya and you feel your own breath catch in your throat.

the tall windows and generous lighting more than made up for it.

framed paintings of cranes were hung on the slate gray wall behind the dining table, and the refrigerator was much, much larger than the one you saw touya open before.

familiar indigo petals catch your eye. there was a beautiful painting of rindou flowers next to the window in the kitchen, and you can’t help but stare.

“mom would love those.” touya murmurs from beside you. your fingers lace through his as you smile softly in agreement.

“she would.”

still in the second showroom, touya’s rummaging inside the cabinets while you study the spice rack.

imagine all the goodies you could fit in there, from sesame seeds to shichimi togarashi.

you drool thinking about all the miso soups and sweet potatoes you could put them on when he suddenly turns to you.

“i’ve been working on my cocktails while you were at work, by the way.” touya grins, handing you an empty, plastic wine glass from where you’re perched on the granite countertop. “wanna try?”

you raise it to your lips and take a delicate sip of nothing.

“oh yum! what’d you put in it?”

“kale juice.” he snickers behind his hand. “your favorite.”

you make a disgusted face. “well that’d explain the kick to it.”

“right? i really, really think fuyumi and natsuo would like it.”

“touya todoroki, don’t you dare.”

“hey.” he raises both hands in innocence. “a little kale never hurt anyone.”

“you say that but you hate kale.”

“a little kale never hurt anyone unless it’s me.”

you roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck. touya’s hands smoothly guide your legs to hug his waist, bringing you closer to him from where you’re sitting on the counter. he stays standing, towering over you.

“can’t believe i’m marrying a hypocrite.” your voice is muffled against his shoulder, and he laughs.

suddenly, you gasp and point at the sink. “touya!”

his eyes widen at your raised voice, instinctively looking behind him for bugs to kill because that’s the only time your tone would sound that alarmed.

touya hugs you closer to him protectively.

you can’t help but melt as his arms wrap even tighter around you, his serious turquoise eyes still scanning around the kitchen for any threats to you.

no bugs.

no tacky “live, laugh, love”-esque sayings framed on the wall.

which he knows is your biggest interior design pet peeve after binging an insane amount of those house flipping shows with you.

“...what is it?” touya finally asks after a moment of hesitation.

you giggle at the ticklish feeling of the cold silver of his lip piercing brushing against your forehead as he speaks.

“the dishes aren’t in alphabetical order!”

touya breathes a sigh of relief, then laughs into your neck.

he pulls away to roll his eyes at you. “you nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!”

“what, why?” you laugh, fluttering your lashes at him. so utterly adorable, that he resists the urge to bite you.

touya fights back a blush and averts his eyes from your face, remembering his protective actions. they had been purely instinctive. he reaches up to cover his face with one hand.

“touuu!” you can’t help but laugh harder, reaching up to pry his fingers away from his face. “come on, look at me!”

touya shyly slides his gaze back to you, and lets you take his hand away from his face.

you lace your fingers through his and lean in to give him a sweet kiss on the lips, which only makes him blush even harder. the chill of the ikea air conditioning did nothing to help.

his eyes trail in the direction of the spice rack you were dreamily looking at earlier.

“why is this crooked?” he frowns, reaching behind you to straighten it.

“pfft is it bothering you?” you take a glance at it. looked okay enough to you.

“yeah it is.” touya’s hands are on the shelf, trying to readjust it into the right position when suddenly—

snap!

the both of your eyes widen at the sound.

the shelf was upright and more centered than before.

except now it had a clean split down the middle of it.

of course, touya chooses to focus on the most important part.

“well at least it looks better now.”

and all he can think about as you laugh into his shoulder is that he can’t wait to stand hip to hip with you in your actual kitchen.

sunshine peeking through the curtains as the two of you make soups, bake each other’s favorite pastries, and indulge in your random middle of the night cravings.

from now until forever.

after lunch in the restaurant, touya adds ikea meatballs to his list of favorite foods.

you’re pretty sure that’s only because you fed them to him.

because while you adore him to pieces, he is an unbelievably picky eater, much to fuyumi’s chagrin.

luckily, he’ll eat anything as long as you’re the one giving it to him.

your sister-in-law thanks you for her lack of headaches when she makes dinner.

in the third kitchen showroom of today, you squint out the window behind the sink.

“i don’t know if i like it.”

“don’t know if you like what?” touya’s still washing his hand in the imaginary water under the faucet that’s clearly never going to start running. his silly self has been there for the past five minutes, at least.

you hold back a laugh at how meticulous he is about it.

“the view.”

he looks up and snorts at the wistful gaze you throw out the obviously fake window.

it had a picture of city scenery taped on the wall outside of it, and the circular shape of a familiar building catches his eye. he recognizes it.

the meguro sky garden in tokyo.

the first place he ever took you out on a date to.

with a fond twitch of his lips, he remembers the way he almost tripped over his feet under the cherry blossom trees when you had suddenly pecked him on the cheek. all those years ago.

touya turns the faucet off, and comes up behind you to lean his head on your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist. his eyes soften as you nuzzle against his chin.

he knows that you know he can’t feel any sensations there anymore.

but god, does touya love that you still touch him in the places where he can’t feel.

the way you litter soft kisses under his eyes, stroke his forearms as you guide them to your waist. like they’re still a part of him, like he’s not broken.

like he’s always been whole to you, never any less.

“but sweetheart,” touya muses. “think about how close it's close to the best schools.”

your face heats up as you realize what he’s talking about. like you haven’t thought about it a million times before.

a kid. with him.

his and your kid.

as if the universe read your mind, a very chubby baby being pushed in a cart passes by the opposite side of the window, covering the picture of tokyo’s scenery.

and it stares at touya and you with the judgiest look you’ve ever seen in your life.

the two of you glance sideways at each other and burst out laughing.

“nevermind,” you giggle, feeling small and safe tucked in his strong arms. “maybe the view isn’t so bad.”

looking softly down at you, the beautiful color of your eyes meets his, and his heartbeat quickens.

touya can’t help but agree.

a familiar weight softly rests on your shoulder when you groggily open your eyes, and your fiancé is close to follow as he stirs beside you.

you flip around to face him from where he was spooning you, giggling at the little trail of drool coming from the corner of his mouth as you watch his eyes flutter open.

you feel your breath catch in your throat as you gaze upon him.

his hair is starlight in the morning.

touya, still half-asleep, snuggles against you, completely drunk on your warmth. the soft feeling of your skin against his.

he doesn’t even try to resist it.

the little giddy smile that tugs at his lips whenever the cool feeling silver of your sapphire embedded ring sparkles under the sunlight pooling through the curtains of your shared bedroom as he laces his fingers through yours.

his own ring softly clinking against the one he gave you.

after moving into the privacy of the apartment, with no prying eyes or nosy siblings randomly bursting into his room, touya loves to sleep with his lips just barely grazing your neck.

whenever you wake up from a nightmare, he’s already kissing the nape of it, the protective hand he has on your hip smoothing circles into your bare skin.

when he wakes from his, you’re already quietly cradling him in your arms, running your hands through his midnight black hair.

you really have no idea how hard you make it for him to get up.

but the idea of seeing you happily smile because of him is what gives him the final push to wriggle out of your embrace, and the adorable little pout you give him almost breaks his heart.

“where you going, tou?”

he grins cheekily, placing a finger on his lips. “it’s a secret.”

there's a grumble from you in response and he smooths the crinkle between your furrowed brows with a gentle kiss.

“i’'ll be back soon, i promise.”

“you better or i’m eating your last pocky.”

he laughs at your threat, as if he wouldn’t give it up to you the moment you asked.

at the sight of your eyes already starting to droop, touya presses another kiss to your forehead. “go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“no.” you pout as his socks pad against the floor when he leaves the room with another laugh.

huddled up in your floral patterned blankets, you drink in the faint scent of sweet cologne that lingers on them.

it still smells like him. warm like him, too.

there’s an old photo of touya framed on your nightstand. you love to look at when you fold his and your clothes.

rei had slipped it out of the family album for you to keep the moment she saw how much you liked it.

it’s the one where he’s holding a baby shoto like a football in his arms. there’s an easy grin on his face.

you look at it for a little longer, letting a sleepy, content smile spread across your lips.

until five more minutes pass, and you’re starting to feel impatient.

“shoto!” you call out the doorway in the direction of the guest room you set up for him the day before he came to visit. “what’s your brother doing?”

“cooking.” comes shoto’s soft voice floating down the hallway.

and that’s all it takes for you to get up and rush to the kitchen at lightning speed.

thankfully, the fire alarm hasn’t gone off yet by the time you get there.

you find touya slicing peaches on the counter, in front of the painting of rindou flowers. there’s a plate of neatly assorted fruit next to him, and your eyes widen as you admire the rose-shaped strawberries. how’d he do that?

“hey.” touya’s eyes narrow playfully when he notices you, putting down the knife. “you’re supposed to be in bed.”

you place your hands on your hips.

“and you’re supposed to not be burning our new apartment down.”

throwing a cautious glance at the unmanned pancakes sizzling in the pan beside you, you add on. “with your little brother in it.”

he breathes a laugh and saunters over where you’re standing by the fridge, cornering you to the counter.

your fiancé grins at your stammers when he leans closer. he can practically feel the heat from your cheeks from here, and touya thinks the tiny house plant overhead grows an inch taller from the sheer warmth you’re radiating.

“stove’s off, sweetheart. they’re not gonna burn.”

“o-oh.” you sigh in relief.

“you worry too much.” touya murmurs softly as holds you in place by the waist to hold up a spoonful of blueberries he forgot to add to the batter.

your lips reluctantly part to let him feed you, and his heart skips a beat at the hint of a smile on your face.

“mmph!”

suddenly, touya’s lips are on yours and you taste the sweet tartness of the peach he must’ve had before you came over.

the cold piercing of his tongue teases your mouth and he corners you even further against the cool marble of the counter to make out, just as you hear a pot start to boil and your eyes snap open.

you’re breathless as you muster all your willpower and break away from him.

“touya, the pot!”

“oops.” he glances at it, still caging you against the counter with his arms.

“forgot about that.”

“found your necklace that fell behind the bed last week.” touya says later after breakfast. you’re both sitting on cushions fuyumi and natsuo gifted you at the coffee table in front of the tv, watching ponyo as sunlight seeps into the living room.

it swings it back and forth on his finger and your eyes widen in relief.

“i was looking everywhere for that to wear to shoto’s class party!”

“i know.” he grins, and you sigh as he presses a soft kiss to your neck. of course he did.

touya reaches around your neck to securely clasp the back of the necklace’s chain, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“i think i deserve a little reward.”

you giggle, he was so cute.

“thanks touya.” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he pouts.

“not there.”

“where then?” you smooth your hands against his bedhead and he almost whines when this time, you press a kiss to his forehead. “here?”

always such a tease, and he adores you for it.

touya looks like a desperate puppy as he huffs, nudging your nose with his.

like you didn’t spoil him with kisses yesterday when he fixed the washing machine that was acting up.

you’re still not totally sure how he did it, but that was probably because you zoned out while he was explaining it to you.

too busy watching the way his forearms flexed as he fixed the pipes behind it and when he’d take whatever wrench or screwdriver he asked you to hand him from the toolbox.

finally, finally your lips find his and you kiss him, soft and sweet.

a cool breeze blows through the open window, and the both of you breathe it in, smelling dewdrops on grass from the rain last night and hints of sunshine.

touya smiles against your mouth, arms pulling you into his lap so he can taste you better.

you’re stuck with him.

from now until forever.

“or maybe home is just two arms wrapped around you when you’re at your worst.”

— danagray

#div cr v6que #pink touya cr @me LOL #domestic touya is so special to me #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x reader #touya x reader #mha x reader #dabi x you #bnha x reader #bnha oneshot #mha oneshot #dabi fluff

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verstappen-cult · 5 months ago

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LOVERBOY, M. VERSTAPPEN.

Just a typical evening / night with Max (and his frat brothers) in the early stages of your relationship.

Content. Major fluff & domestic Max.

A very long and hot shower and your skincare routine after the exhausting day of classes you just had, sounds like the perfect idea. But as you look down at the message displayed on the screen of your phone, you change route.

[17:45] Max: Wanna spend the night with me?

You’re going to have to leave early in the morning to have time to go to your apartment and change clothes before your first class of the day, but spending the night with Max is totally worth it.

The walk to the frat house is not long and in no time you’re standing in front of the door, slightly nervous. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been in the house and met most of his frat brothers a few times before; you always get nervous, hands shaking and butterflies erupting in your stomach just because you know you’ll be seeing him.

The door opens revealing one of the boys and Max’s best friend.

“How many times do we have to tell you,” He says as a greeting, grabbing your arm to get you into the house. “that you don’t need to knock? You’re basically one of us.”

“Hello to you too, Lando.” The boy winks and places a kiss on your forehead before going back to what he was doing before your arrival. “Max is not here yet.”

With just one look around you know that these boys haven’t cleaned the house in days, if not weeks. You remember Max told you about a party they had a few days ago, so you’re pretty sure they have not done anything besides lie around and go to classes.

You pick up a couple of empty pizza boxes near the entrance and follow Lando into the living room. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” He tries to smile with a slice of pizza in his mouth, hands busy playing FIFA.

“Something other than cold pizza?” Lando shakes his head, too concentrated on the game to pay attention to you trying to clean around. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Well, hello!” Alex enters the house, followed by George and Oscar.

“Sorry for the mess.” George gives you a shy smile and a pat on the shoulder, while Oscar waves at you as he plops down next to Lando.

“All right, I’ll make dinner.”

They all cheer as you walk into Max’s room at the end of the hallway.

You make quick work of getting rid of your clothes, changing them for Max’s shirt and sweatpants. You take a moment to breathe in, his scent filling your lungs and providing you a sense of calm.

You take a few minutes to just lie in bed and text Max to let him know that you’re in the house. If you’re right, he still has half an hour until his last class ends, so you’ll have plenty of time to clean around the house and make some dinner.

When you join the others, George and Alex are already tidying up and arguing with the two boys who keep playing, ignoring the “please help us” of their friends. You decide to let them be and escape to the kitchen.

You wash the dishes and get rid of a lot of bad food and empty alcohol bottles before looking in every cabinet for something to cook. There is a lot of alcohol and bags of chips, as expected, but you are lucky enough to find some pasta and frozen vegetables.

You didn’t notice when Charles and Dani got home, but now one is helping you cook while the other makes some drinks. Oscar grew tired of playing with Lando and is now sitting on the counter telling you all about something that happened during one of his lectures.

“You should come more often.” Dani says, pouring tequila on a glass. “I’m tired of eating pizza or chips.”

“You should learn how to cook, then.”

You immediately turn around, heart hammering in your chest.

And there they are; your favorite pair of blue eyes.

You want to run and jump into his arms, but feel shy with the boys around. However, Max doesn’t care about anything and simply wraps his arms around your waist from behind, placing a tender kiss on your cheek.

“Did they force you into this?” He asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Of course not!” Oscar complaints, getting off the counter to remove the pasta from the heat, just to have something to do, really.

“I missed you.” Max whispers just for you to hear. It makes you blush furiously, a shiver running down your spine.

“Let’s eat, yes?”

You eat in the kitchen, next to Max who rests a hand on your thigh while he eats with the other. Some of the boys sit next to you two, others decide to eat standing, resting against the cabinets. It's a pleasant atmosphere, everyone chatting and joking, drinking the weird mix of liquor Dani was pouring a few moments ago.

Even though it is loud, you and Max are in your own little bubble, turning to face each other between bites of food and sharing shy smiles.

When the boys decide that it's time to play a drinking game, you and Max retire to his room.

Brushing your teeth takes longer than usual thanks to Max who doesn’t let you do anything, arms wrapped tightly around you as he kisses your face. He leaves you in the bathroom when you find a little bottle of face cleanser you left not so long ago.

When you enter his room, he’s sitting on the bed with a book in hand.

“I cleared a drawer.” Max says suddenly, not taking his eyes off the book.

You slowly turn around, frowning. “That’s… good?”

“For you.” He clarifies, finally putting his book aside and letting you see his tinted cheeks.

“A drawer for me?”

You can’t help the grin that makes its way onto your face.

Max shrugs, dismissing the importance of his action with a wave of his hand, and goes back to reading. “You can leave some of your clothes here. And I can make space for you in the bathroom, so you can leave some of your skincare things, too.”

Your eyes light up as you turn around walking to his chest of drawers, pulling open the first one to see it completely clear. You want to scream and kiss him and pinch your arm to make sure you’re not dreaming. But all you do is slide the drawer back into place and walk back to the bed.

Max follows your every move with a flushed face.

You pull back the covers and slip underneath, Max immediately lifting his arm for you to curl up against him.

“Thank you. This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” You say, resting your head on his chest. You feel his sharp intake of breath and fight back a smirk. “You’re a big softie.”

You’re not looking at him, but know that he rolls his eyes. “Shut up or I’m going to place all my shirts back in the drawer.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He doesn’t say anything, but kisses the top of your head.

Max loves to read in bed. He said once, not so long ago, that he does it because it reminds him of the summers he used to spend with his mother as a kid. She loved to read to him, and it was Max’s favorite time of the day.

Watching him read calms you. Watching the way his lips move, repeating the words in silence, or when he’s too invested and makes comments about what is happening, but then remembers that you’re there and apologizes.

“Read to me?” You ask, feeling the exhaustion of the day take over you.

“Of course.” He whispers.

Max rests his hand on your upper arm, caressing your skin, as he begins reading. You don’t really pay attention to what he’s reading, you never do but you love hearing him. His voice is always gentle and calm, and lulls you into a restful slumber. You always wake up rested and energized; sleeping in Max’s arms has that effect.

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #max verstappen imagine

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sweetsreverie · 1 year ago

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could you write a drabble where darry’s girlfriend is totally adored by the rest of the boys and she’s almost motherly to them?

bro... thank you for planting this idea in my head ♡︎

pairing: darry curtis x f!reader wc: 972 warnings/notes: none

You met Darry six months ago while you were at the grocery store. You were clearly having trouble trying to reach something on the top shelf and he offered to help you, retrieving the item and handing it to you with a charming, kind smile. The two of you ended up talking in the spice aisle for nearly ten minutes before you both realized that you had places to be. Darry had scribbled his home phone number on your grocery list before leaving. Since then, you mostly saw him on the weekends when he wasn’t working, or on the rare occasion that he wasn’t totally exhausted after work, you would see him for dinner.

It took a while for him to introduce you to his brothers, and eventually the rest of their little gang. But when he did, he came to notice that the boys treated you differently than anyone else. They seemed to respect you, and they didn’t really pick on you or mess with you like they did other people. That was also partially because you seemed to take care of them, and honestly you didn’t even think much of it. You just found yourself doing little things for them here and there. It started with you cleaning up Darry’s work boots one night, and then you ironed Sodapop’s work shirt one day while he was running late for work, and you’ve helped Ponyboy with his homework on multiple occasions when he was struggling through his math homework.

It made Darry’s heart swell, especially when you took care of Ponyboy and Soda. Ever since their mom died, they haven’t had a female, or even somewhat of a motherly figure in their life. Darry could be tough on them, so having your gentle nature around was almost comforting for them.

Today you had the day off of work so you spent some time at the Curtis’ house. Darry was working so you tried to clean up the place to take it off of his shoulders. Besides, you sometimes spent the night with Darry and ate dinner with them, so you figure you might as well pull your own weight and treat the place as your own.

“You know Y/N, this ain’t even your house. You don’t have to clean up after us.” Pony says while he sits on the couch and Johnny sits on the floor near the coffee table, and the two of them were playing ‘go fish’.

“Well- I stay here enough and eat enough of yall’s food, I might as well. And I don’t want Darry to have to worry about it when he gets back from work.” You explain as you wipe down the kitchen table with a damp cloth.

Ponyboy smiles softly at that before he looks down at the cards in his hand. “Well… I know that Darry really appreciates it. He probably don’t show it or say it, but… I know he does.” Pony tells you with a little nod.

“I just know he’s got a lot on his plate, and I don’t see you boys helping him clean up much.” You say, the teasing tone clear in your voice while you grin over at Pony. Pony’s expression turns sheepish immediately, and Johnny even chuckles at your playful scolding.

Later that evening when Darry comes home, you stand in the kitchen with him while you two wait for dinner to finish cooking. After a few moments, Darry turns to you as you’re leaning against the counter.

“You know, Ponyboy told me you scolded him like a mother today.” Darry says, and you groan and shake your head.

“I did not! I was just messing with him-” You insist, and Darry laughs.

“He knows that, doll face. I just… think it’s funny. You really do take care of us.” Darry says with a little smile while he reaches for your hand.

You think about it for a second, and you realize that you really do take care of these boys.

“Well… you’re my boys. And someone’s gotta keep some order around here.” You tell Darry with a grin. You hear the front door open, and you poke your head out from around the doorway to see Sodapop and Steve.

“Aht aht, don’t bring them dirty boots in the house. Leave ‘em on the porch.” You tell the two of them, and Ponyboy laughs as they turn back around and begin to take their boots off on the porch.

When you turn back to Darry in the kitchen, the man is just grinning from ear to ear.

“What were you saying about keeping order around here?” He asks jokingly and you can’t help but laugh.

“Hell, even Dally listens to you. You must have instilled some kinda fear in him or something.”

You laugh at that and shake your head, and you move closer to Darry so you’re tucked in his side.

“But… really. Ever since our folks passed, Pony and Soda haven’t really had… a woman to care for them, or like.. A mother figure. If you know what I mean.” Darry tries to explain, and you nod while giving him a little smile.

“I understand, Darry. Really- and… I’m happy to be that for them. I know I can never replace your mom, and I don’t want to- but… I’m happy to look after them. I know it's hard for you to do on your own.” You explain to Darry, and he lets out a quiet sigh while he looks down at you with an expression of admiration.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” Darry asks, and you laugh softly.

“Yeah. Once or twice I think.” You tease him lightly before the two of you carry on with making dinner before the boys in the living room start getting too rowdy.

#the outsiders imagine #the outsiders one shot #the outsiders oneshot #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders #darry curtis x reader #darrel curtis x reader

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theorphicangel · 9 months ago

Text

“𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬?” | 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

synopsis: you have a valentine’s date tomorrow and you’re somewhat excited for it. but there’s just one thing you’re unsure about…thankfully your trusted roommate can help. right?

tags: roommate au! (Here we go again), mutual pining, these mfs are in DENIAL, no smut in this part but part 4👀

taglist: @ghost-lantern @mreowmoreww @maomaimao @ahano @haileycannotcometothephonern @amberbalcom14 @fire-in-her-veinz @roserfz27 @that-sounds-stupid

PART THREE (click here for part 2)

Miguel remains unmoving for what seems like hours.

He’s cleaned himself up; now changed into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie — one of your favorites that you like to steal. He’s not bothered to make dinner for himself, limbs glued to the couch.

His mind wonders how your date is going, delirious with fantasy how your date might be treating you. Probably gotten you better flowers, a better gift, maybe even a reservation at that restaurant which recently opened in upper Manhattan, most likely beating your favorite italian place in downtown Brooklyn.

His whirling thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a key twisting through the lock.

Miguel frowns, glancing at his phone for the time.

It’s only 10:24pm.

Turning, he finds you walking through the door before shutting it behind you and taking your heels off with haste. Miguel hears you groan with satisfaction as you waddle over to the couch.

“Hey.”

He notices that you have no flowers, not even a gift. The purse that you had taken for the night is now discarded on the coffee table without a second thought, your exhausted body sinks onto the couch next to Miguel with an empty sigh.

“You’re back early.” He figures he won’t even try to not state the obvious.

“Yeah.” You mumble, looking down and fiddling with your hands. “It was a quick date.”

He raises a brow. “Quick?”

You shrug. “Yeah, we went to that new posh bistro near Manhattan.”

Miguel internally curses. He was right after all.

“Was it good?”

“It was alright. I didn’t eat much though.”

“Why not?”

“Nothing looked interesting.” You shug. “Y'know, for a luxury restaurant like them their portions seemed kinda small. I was kinda hoping that you’d make something good for dinner when I came back, m’craving pasta like crazy.”

Miguel perks up a little at your words. “Do you want me to make something for you?”

“No, it's fine.”

“Are you—”

“And why haven’t you eaten?” you cut him off, knowing all too well that he’d get up and start cooking for you. You didn’t want to be a burden to him. You noticed that the kitchen was the exact same as before you left.

“I wasn’t in the mood to eat.”

“Not even take out?”

Miguel shakes his head.

Your brows furrow, finding it unusual but decide to say nothing more about it. The awkward tension from this morning seems to return, lingering around the apartment walls and now beginning to creep in between the two of you.

Your thighs are just brushing his, you can sense his chest rising and falling next to you; you feel so close to him but at the same time so distant all of a sudden. You can sense that there’s something that hangs over the two of you, lingering like melancholic clouds over the late winter skies in New York.

The tension is heavy, too thick to be cut with a knife. You feel a desire to leave perhaps to ease up whatever was going on between the two of you. But before you shift, Miguel seems to finally let his words ease you out of the cage that you were in.

“Did our–uh lesson …work?”

“What?”

It takes a few seconds before realization creeps in, your face softening. He was talking about last night.

“Oh, that.” You avoid eye contact with him. “Yeah, it helped.”

That was the last punch in the gut for him. Internally, his stomach churns. Almost nauseous at the idea of you pleasing someone else and having that look in your eyes which wasn’t solely for him.

He had no right to feel this way, he knows this, you’re free to do anything you want but it takes a moment for Miguel to ease the growing ache in his stomach; letting out an exhale before speaking again.

“You were right earlier.”

“Huh?” You glance towards him only to find that Miguel’s not looking at you, instead staring straight ahead at the window, showcasing the glorious glow of New York.

Skyscrapers of different heights dotted around the landscape, numerous tiny squares glowing with light only emphasized the burn of sonder.

“Y’know you were right earlier, you were right about me having no plans for valentine’s.”

“Oh, I was, was I?” You jump at the chance to lighten up the mood immediately, your tone turning to curiosity.

“Yeah, I had a reservation but uh— I canceled.”

“Oh, why?”

“They uhh – they said they had other plans so…” his voice trails off.

Your teasing grin drops and your voice effortlessly changes effortlessly from playfulness to one of compassion. “Oh, Miguel, I’m so sorry.” Truly, your heart dropped at the thought of him being stood up.

“It’s fine.”

A pause settles between you once again and you muse over what had happened tonight.You let out an exhale before speaking. “If I'd known that the date was going to be shit, and to be fair I should’ve known from the moment that he ignored me at work, and I would’ve stayed with you and–”

“Really?” Miguel interrupts, finally gaining the courage to meet your eyes. “Would you?

“Yes, I would've. You know I would have.”

“Really?” he repeats dumbfoundedly, as if he didn’t believe you the first time.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I just didn’t think–” Miguel cuts himself off, abruptly turning his head away from you. Fear began to build up in his lower abdomen.

He didn’t think that he was worth it.

He didn’t think that you loved him. He didn’t think that you see him in the same way that he sees you.

He sees you in a way which makes him realize that nothing in the world makes sense if you’re not there by his side to explain it all to him.

He sees you in a way that keeps him up at night for hours, staring at the ceiling whilst he conjures up one hundred and one ways to confess to you; working through each scenario before ruling it out because of his fear and apprehension.

If you knew how he felt, how would you react? Would it upset you? Excite you? Do you even feel the same? If you don’t then it could change everything between the two of you. Maybe you’d move out because of his feelings.

No. He doesn’t want that.

Anything but that.

“Your voice is quiet, full of overwhelming empathy. “Miguel, of course I would’ve stayed with you. All you had to do was ask and as a friend, I would’ve done something with you instead.”

“As a friend?”

Your expression turns to confusion, hesitant in your answer. “Yeah, yeah and as a roommate of course.”

You tried to add that on as a joke but he doesn’t laugh, instead taking another deep breath to calm himself.

Fuck, why was he doing this to himself?

“Did I know them?”

“Huh?” Miguel glances at you.

“Did I know your valentine’s date?”

Miguel hesitates. Does he lie about it? He figures that you wouldn’t catch on anyways. He goes with a semi-lie. “I dunno’. Maybe I mentioned them once or twice to you or Peter.”

You nod at his words. He definitely didn’t mention it to you. You remember everything that he tells you.

“Any reason why they canceled?”

Miguel shakes his head. “Not really.” He takes a shaky inhale. “They just said something came up.” It’s still relatively awkward in the room; your fingers digging into the soft fabric of the couch.

“Did you like them?”

Miguel holds back a scoff. To you, it seems like you had asked a stupid question, regret immediately filling your body as soon as the words had left your mouth. Of course, he liked them, why else would he be asking them out?

But to him, he scoffs in frustration. Your use of the word ‘like’ isn’t enough to accurately describe his infatuation with you.

Miguel swallows thickly before giving his answer, it’s breathy and it comes out more strangled that he had expected. “Ye-yeah.”

You glance down, your fingertips still painfully digging into the couch.

You can feel the disappointment emerge within you; jealousy begins to eat away at you but you suppress it just like you have with your other emotions – a consistent coping mechanism.

But this wasn’t about you right now. This was about Miguel and right now you have to be there for him. Whether it be as a friend or roommate, you want to let him know that you care.

The week leading up to valentine’s you spotted his excitement from a mile away: a cheesy grin at his phone on the couch or his feigned confusion that one afternoon when you had come home earlier than he had expected and caught a glimpse of a pack of red balloons in his hands. Of course, your interrogation came to nothing but you estimated that it had something to do with valentine’s.

For him to go through all that effort to be stood up on made your heart ache.

You’re not really sure where to start with your consolation.

“Miguel—”

“Let me repay you for last night.”

His words seem to leave his mouth in a rush. His tongue spilling out the words in a haste.

Your mouth is slightly agape, unsure of what he means.

“If uh– only if you wanted to...uh but you don't-” A hand rubs at his forehead, frustrated with himself for being so blunt. “fuck! I wasn’t–”

“You want to do what we did last night?” you interrupt, suddenly catching on. You’re still unable to make eye contact with him.

“Yes but–” Miguel hesitates, as if his words are lodged in his throat.

“But what?”

“ But you don’t have to feel the same way, I just—” he pauses, taking a breath to consider his words. His eyes flutter shut as he finally explains, finding it easier to not look at you. He can't bear to see your expression as he says this.

“Just...uh, fuck, how do I say this? Just... let me have you for tonight...please. Just this once and we can forget that it ever happened but I– I just want –”

His sentence is cut off once he feels your hands cup his face. For once, you forced yourself to look at him. You could tell how much he refused to look at you, his expression was painted with a deep yearning that you’ve never seen before, painted with a starvation for love.

“Miguel.” You don’t even know where to start with your own words.

“Can I show you?” He mumbles softly. “Can I show you how bad I’ve wanted you? Please?"

There’s a pause in the room before you give an answer.

“Yes.” The word leaves your lips so softly you weren’t sure that he heard it the first time.

“Yes.” you repeat a little louder this time.

For him, it was always a yes.

reblogs are much appreciated!!

(😮‍💨 I know this took me ages to upload but tysm for hanging in there…maybe I’m done torturing you guys…maybe…)

#angel writes #miguel o hara #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara atsv #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv #atsv headcanons #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x you

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letorip · 2 months ago

Text

casual [iii]

"i hate that i let this drag on so long, now i hate myself, hate that i let this drag on so long, you can go to hell"

===+++===

pairing: natalie scatorccio x reader

summary: you're not just going to let her go, this time. after long enough, you arrive at the very obvious conclusion that you're in love, and there's very little else to be done about that

warnings: mentions of sex, cuss words, a bit of angst but i promise a happy ending :)

word count: 7.2k

A/N: all good things must come to an end. trust, i'll write for nat again. also i stayed in that airport so fucking long it was like purgatory, and i'm so sorry it took longer than i thought, i've had an exhausting past two weeks and just needed to stop and breathe for a minute

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THAT ONE ANON I FEEL BAD I'M LATE

===+++===

"Please tell me you didn't do it on my sheets," Lottie groaned, lip curled in disgust and eyes hidden by her sunglasses.

"Sorry," you said back from behind your own pair, without looking away from the crystal blue of her pool water. You both were splayed out on her sun-bleached deck chairs, with matching hangovers (and bathrobes) that made the bright, beaming sunlight a whole new level of awful.

Her house was in disarray around you both, with crushed beer cans and overturned chairs all across the pool deck. Some cigarette butts floated in the water and you were certain the sprinklers in her garden were misting a pile of vomit and washing it down the front of her lawn, but neither of you made a move to get up and deal with it yet.

At the far end of the Matthews' pool, there was a statue of a mermaid that doubled as a fountain, spitting water in a gentle stream. Someone had put a snapback that said 'I <3 BOOBIES' on her and a bit of lipstick around the area that water shot out, and though usually you would have laughed, you instead were a bit annoyed by how it was taking you out of what would've been a nice scene.

There was just something about waking up and seeing Nat had gone without any sort of indication, that sparked the sudden urge within you to reconnect with nature. So you were reconnecting— more like brooding— on Lottie's pool deck in a peaceful silence.

After what felt like thirty minutes but was probably more like five, she turned to you. "Do you wanna—”

“—Talk about it?” you finished, raising your eyebrows. You shook your head. “No.”

She pouted. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to make pancakes.”

“Oh… then yes.”

You both lazily trudged into her equally wrecked kitchen, with even more cans and spilled liquids thrown over her marble counters. There was a burnt bag of popcorn sitting in the sink and the garbage can underneath it was overflowing with paper towels, but Lottie's kitchen was big enough where you could ignore it entirely, jumping up to sit on the clean countertop near her massive range cooker.

When Lottie said 'make pancakes,' she really meant she would be the one cooking and you would be there for moral support, if anything. You were gifted in many things but cooking or anything of the sort had never been one of them. Instead you leaned your head against the massive stone hood, and watched her from the pair of sunglasses you still wore.

Nat had laughed at you, when you said you didn't know how to cook. Not an omelette, not mac and cheese, and barely a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Of course, you assumed the last one wouldn't be hard to figure out, but you hadn't ever made one before, and it made her laugh into your chest, where her head had been resting. It hurt a bit now, but you had the sunglasses to shield your eyes while you stared off into space.

"Chocolate chips?" Lottie asked, running a hand through her dark hair and combing out a few knots with her fingers. You nodded, and she turned back to the pan in front of her, grabbing a fancy looking bag from a stack of supplies nearby. "My dad brought fresh chocolate back with him from when he was in the Caribbean a few weeks ago," she said to you, sprinkling it into the pan and flipping it over.

"Is he going to be pissed you're using it for pancakes?" you mumbled, feeling your headache return.

"No more pissed than he'll be when he sees that Jeff and his friends cut off the leg on one of his horse-shaped hedges." You winced, hopping down from the counter and feeling your back still scraped raw from, well, Nat. Lottie shot you a look. "That heated, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, heading towards the kitchen island and grabbing some of the beer cans to toss in the rubbish. "She's made her decision clear. I'm honestly done with it. I don't care anymore."

Lottie didn't say anything, turning back to the pancakes and sliding them on a plate as you slid into the barstool at the other end of her island and rested your head on your elbows. "I mean, she called me selfish, Lottie, and then said she loved me multiple times, minutes later. Who the hell does that?"

"Mhm," she hummed, sticking her spatula and the pan in the sink and then moving to the walk in pantry to grab syrup and powdered sugar.

You watched her go, calling after her. "She disappears for days after she gets mad about me talking to people, and then I see her immediately with Bobby Farleigh of all people, and they're cuddling up! I'm done with it all."

"Okay," Lottie said, reappearing with her arms full and tossing them down on the kitchen island. She clambered up into the seat next to you and stole some of the plain ones for herself, before covering them in syrup.

"And," you continued, remembering something else as you began cutting up the pancakes and smothering them in powdered sugar, "she egged my fucking house! How could I even forget about that? I mean, what was I thinking? I don't want to talk about her."

"Oh yeah," Lottie snorted. "You really don't want to talk about her."

You shot her a glare, stuffing your mouth with an angry fork. "I'm serious, Lottie."

"You wish," she scoffed. "If you were serious— and I'm not trying to be mean— but if you were serious, you wouldn't be ranting all about her. I know you keep saying it's impossible and it can't happen with her, but you sure as hell seem like you want it to happen with her."

You frowned, taking a forkful and stuffing it into your mouth. Right as you did, a couple sheepishly walked down the hall and towards the front door, clothes obviously messed up. They sent you an awkward wave and Lottie gave a quick nod in their direction, turning back to her plate. "Then why'd she leave?" you asked, when the door was shut behind them.

She shrugged. "Why the hell would I know? If anyone here would be the Natalie-whisperer, it would be you."

"Yeah well, apparently not," you huffed, shoving more pancakes into your mouth.

"I mean, it's not like you guys were on glowing terms before you... y'know. Wasn't gonna magically all be fixed, after." You groaned, leaning your forehead down onto the cool marble countertops. It actually felt nice, against your raging headache, but you still felt like crap.

"Would've at least been nice for her to wait until I woke up to go. No 'goodbye,' no 'we should talk,' nothing. When we were just hooking up and stuff, I at least always waited to say goodbye."

"So it's not just hooking up, anymore?"

"I don’t know what it is, Lottie. You tell me, because apparently everyone knows but me." She shrugged, finishing her plate and pushing it away from herself.

"I have an answer, but you're not gonna like it."

"...No, I'm not in love with her."

"You absolutely are."

"I'm done with this!"

"You keep saying that."

"'Cause I am."

"Okay."

"I'm done," you frowned, attempting finality in your tone and coming far short.

"Right," she snorted, and then she stood to grab your now-finished plate too. "Can you help me?”

It took around three hours, to get the Matthews house back to its usual formality. You sprayed burnt and disturbed bushes with the hose, threw out bag upon bag of party rubbish, and vacuumed cigarette butts off the carpet of her living room, silently working while Lottie played some records on her grandfather's old gramophone.

Her dad usually put jazz records on it or snooty classical music, whenever you were over, but Lottie had Dancing Queen blasting throughout her house and was hopping around as she snatched stuff off the mantle and shoved it into bags, turning to you and yelling a lyric from time to time, along to the music.

This wasn't your idea of fun by a long shot, but you could appreciate Lottie trying to make it fun.

"So, how much convincing did you have to do, to get Laura Lee here at a party? I mean, with the alcohol," you asked with a snort, grabbing an almost empty bag of crisps and tossing yourself down in her father's leather armchair to finish them off.

Lottie flushed. "A really embarrassing amount," she admitted. "I kind of glazed over that part."

"I'll bet she was surprised?" you asked with an amused crunch.

"It wasn't even that— this guy from my third period started going at it with this girl right in front her. I had to literally stop her from going over there to talk to them about waiting until marriage."

You shrugged. "I mean, she seems to like you a whole lot."

"She does," Lottie nodded. "She's so sweet to me, and she has the best hand to hold, like, ever."

"Honestly, I'm surprised, but happy for you. You're in a big ol' throuple with Jesus Christ."

"Ha ha," Lottie rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at you. "At least whatever we have is holy. I don't even want to think about you and—"

But whatever dig she would've said was cut off by her doorbell ringing. You sighed, letting your feet down from where you had propped them up on the side table and wiping the crumbs on your bathrobe.

"I'll get it," you grumbled, leaving Lottie to clean. When you opened the door there was absolutely no way you could've prepared to see her so soon.

Nat stood awkwardly in the entryway, looking just as surprised to see you as you were to see her. She wore a pair of blue shorts she practiced and slept in, and staring right back at you was the shirt you thought had gone missing weeks ago, barely hidden behind the ratty zip up hoodie she had over it.

Her eyeliner was still smudged from the night before in places, and you stared at her blankly, waiting for her to say something— anything, really.

"I forgot my damn lighter," she said, casting her eyes to the floor after a moment.

"Oh," you replied, feeling a bit stupid suddenly, in your bathrobe and sunglasses, with your flip flops for shoes. You looked like you were mid-spa day, or like someone's drunk uncle on a cruise. Then, before you could stop yourself, you felt an annoyance twinge in your gut, and said "Is that all you've got to say?"

Her eyes shot up, looking challengingly at you, in what was a clear frustration. "What do you want me to say?" But the answer went unsaid, even as much as you didn't like it. That you came back for me.

"I don't know..."

"Great," Nat scoffed. She looked over your shoulder into Lottie's house, as if her lighter would appear behind you and jump right into her hand, and she would just be able to leave. "Can I just have my—"

"—Why did you egg my house?" you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to block the door a bit more. She raised her eyebrows at you, confused.

"What?"

"You egged my house, after our argument," you repeated, slower, feeling the tips of your ears burning.

"No the hell I didn't."

"Yes the hell you did," you argued back, leaning forward with your hands on your hips. "You're the only one with the gate code. I get it, you were mad, but—"

"—Fucking Christ, I didn't!"

"You wrote a giant 'fuck you' on my house. No one else would."

Nat glared. "I didn't invent it. Is it such an impossible thing for you to consider that maybe not everyone is Team (Y/n)? I don't mean to break your brain, but for once somebody might actually dislike you."

You rolled your eyes. "You're the only one with a history of breaking rules and doing shit."

"So, what, you think I would do that to you?"

"Maybe you would. Maybe you don't care about me at all. That's why you ran off, wasn't it?"

She narrowed her eyes at you. "I had to go, before my dad caught me out."

You shook your head. "Bullshit. You've stayed out, before."

"Oh, so now you're mad that I'm not cuddling up to you?"

"That's not cuddling, that's having me stick my fingers in you and then you run off. You were pissed at me a few days before, Nat, for literally the same thing."

"It's almost like it's confusing, (Y/n), when you get mixed signals. And no, I got pissed at you because you went shopping for girlfriends— which, I'm assuming because you're being an oblivious, self-righteous asshole, you're still doing."

"Yep, still looking," you glared at her. She glared right back, just as steely.

"Great."

"Great," you replied. It was annoying, how good she looked when she was frustrated. She was great at looking mad, and even better at looking good when she was mad. The furrowing of her eyebrows, wrinkling of her nose in anger; she had the face you wanted to kiss away. It was impossible not to wonder, if doing so would uncurl her fists and smooth out the lines on her forehead.

Then you stopped. Holy shit. Everything seemed awful, like a massive case of vertigo had just washed over you. You had had hangovers before, but this somehow seemed infinitely worse. See, a thought had finally self-realised itself within your little peanut brain.

I'm in love with Nat.

It made the ceiling feel like the floor, and Nat sent you a concerned glance and seemed about to question your change in expression, when Lottie came from behind you.

"Hey, Nat," she said with an awkward smile, brushing past you with a look and then handing her the lighter quickly. "Excited for nationals?”

"Yeah," Nat nodded, but her eyes were still glaring at you. She cleared her throat, finally looking off. "Thanks, Lot. Great party."

"Mhm," Lottie nodded, trying her best to seem at ease and not at all like she was walking in on a code-red situation. "Have a great weekend! Bye now! Get home safe! See you!" She rushed, tugging you from beyond the doorway and giving a wave, before shutting the door.

The moment the door was closed, she gave you an unappreciative stare, but your eyes were wide and your cheeks flushed.

"What?" asked Lottie, her eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"I...I think I'm in love with her."

===+++===

Your home was just as empty as it was when you had left the night before. Reginald wasn't even due to come in, since your mother and father weren't home and it was a Saturday. Even the groundskeeper and maid had the day off, and the groan you let out at finally returning home and falling onto the warm rug on your living room floor echoed against the walls of your empty house.

In your hand was the letter you found in your mailbox. A cool black and Princeton-orange colour. You already knew what it said, without even looking into it. Your father and mother went there. His father and mother, too. For years and years and years. And now, if you followed the rules set out in front of you, you too.

It was impossible not to wonder, when the fog of privilege would slowly cloud your brain. Would it be the law degree from a private school, or legacy admissions? The more frightening thing was that maybe Nat was right: it had already set in, and you unaware. You at least felt different than the rest of them. That made you different, right? You and Lottie?

The image of Nat seemed ever-prevalent. Glowering at you, like she had been in the doorway. In your shirt. With that frown. The frown that you wanted to kiss away, but would never be able to. A Scatorccio, of all people. Of all people, you had to be in love with the one person you couldn't have.

It felt simultaneously like life had resolved into something more clear and understandable, and something more depressing and doomed. You wanted to forget the realisation, and the acceptance as well. Maybe it was truly better when you were promising your friends that you felt nothing of the sort.

Your eyes flitted from where they stared at the ceiling over to the giant brown bookcase in the corner, stacked high with thick volumes of what your dad had once said were family records, but you had never grabbed one off yourself. The one that stuck out against the brown leather-bound books was a more sleek, grey memoir with your grandfather’s name printed onto the hard cover casing.

That one you had read— your father had made you read it, when you were fourteen, and your parents gave up on trying for another kid. It wasn’t as dreadfully boring as you thought it would be, but it was still a memoir about a stuffy stockbroker from the 80s, with all the parts involving cocaine conveniently edited out, but not your grandfather’s insane escapades with women.

Your father was in the process of writing his own edition, and had thereby implied that he expected you to write one for yourself. You didn't know what you could possibly write about, but then again there was the expectation you write about it anyway. You weren't a guy on Wall Street, you weren't an international businessperson. You didn't even know what you were going to school for, yet.

Next to the bookshelf in equal intimidation was a painting of your family that your father had commissioned years ago. It was back when you still had braces and acne, but thankfully the artist had removed both. You hadn't been allowed to smile for it, though that's what child-you thought you did for pictures. Instead, you and your parents' mouths were drawn into disapproving lines and hardened expressions, and the golden plaque at the bottom wore your surname in proud, powerful letters.

You sighed, sitting up onto the palms of your hands and then standing slowly, still a bit uncoordinated. You sent the painting a final glance before you wandered to the phone, grabbing the thing and checking your watch while you did it. You slumped down into the seat at the end of your dining room table, where your father usually sat, and pulled the antenna from the top, punching in the numbers absentmindedly as you stared out the window onto the garden and the pool.

The number was for your father's Monaco residence, and you waited with a jumping knee and wry expression while it rang. Eventually, though, your mother picked up. "Hello?"

"Hello, mother."

(Y/n), darling, is something wrong? You know to call Reginald first, in case of emer—"

"—No, nothing is wrong, mother. Look, I actually wanted to ask you a question."

"Well, go on then. We're about to go out to dinner."

"...Mother, do you have Julie Roosevelt's number?"

Silence on the end of the line. "Absolutely!" You didn't need to be there with her to hear the smile in her voice. "What for?"

You swallowed. "I think I'll try to take her out tonight."

"Well! Darling, that's just wonderful!" You nodded into the receiver, not like she could see it. "Make sure to wear your nice shirt, we don't want to upset the Roosevelts! I hope you know, I'm proud of you for this, really." You almost mentioned getting accepted into Princeton. Almost. But you decided not to mention it. It wasn't like you wanted to think about it anyways.

From the far wall, you could see the painting of the woman with the blue eyes staring at you.

===+++===

The local mini golf was always busy, but Saturdays were absolutely the busiest. There were couples upon couples who had the exact same idea, and were wandering around with their hands together and beaming at one another like they were living in a rom-com in the real life.

And yet you stood there with your hand in Julie Roosevelt's, and a massive frown on your face. It wasn't one that you'd let Julie see— every time she glanced in your direction, you'd quickly replace it with your best smile, showing her your teeth— but it was one that you knew you wore when she turned away.

"Sorry about the late notice," you said. You dropped her hand and went to grab a putter from the front, handing it to her and then grabbing one for yourself.

"It's okay, I was wondering if you were ever going to talk to me again," Julie laughed, a bit awkward. You winced. It's not like you could be honest, and say that you didn't intend to. The truth was, that while Julie was a bit shallow, she was also a bit too nice to deserve this one-sided thing.

Of course, there was the hope that you grew the love your mother spoke of. Maybe it would hit you, and alleviate you from Nat, who seemed to haunt your thoughts even more now, that you were aware she had captured your heart.

"I was just busy, this past week," you shrugged. "It's kind of a big deal for the Yellowjackets, and both of the teams are practicing and stuff...so."

"Wow. I guess you really like the Yellowjackets then, huh?"

"Uh...something like that, yeah. It's a big deal." She hummed, then took her things out onto the first green.

You let her go, standing behind her and watching with a grin and the scorecard in your pocket. Mini golf was something you took pride in being good at. But, then, of course, Julie let the ball drop, took a second, and gently hit the ball around the bend with a near perfect curve, and right into the hole.

"Yay!" she cheered, jumping up and down in celebration.

"Wha—"

Julie put her hands on her hips with a teasing grin. "Captain of the golf team, remember?" You hadn't.

"Right..."

You played a terrible game, for the most part. You stood at the end of the second-to-last hole with the scorecard in your hand and a whole bunch of big numbers on your side of the table. Julie was beaming from ear to ear, though you weren't exactly sure why.

It had been pretty much silent, with the two of you failing over and over again to find an interesting thing to talk about. It wasn't the calm, pleasant silence like it was with... well, it didn't matter now. You filled in a four, two shots over the par, and made your way over to where Julie was crouching down, to get a better view of the final hole.

"Actually wait, there's a special way you have to play this one," you called out to her, and she turned to you with a puzzled expression.

"What do you mean?"

"It's kind of local tradition here," you shrugged. You weren't even sure if that was true, you just knew that it was what Nat had called it, when she taught you. "You have to swing really, really hard, and to win, you've gotta get it over the fence," you pointed, "and right into the back of that neighbourhood."

She blinked at you for a moment, and then Julie frowned, looking down to the ground. "That's mean, though. What if you hit someone's house? Or a window?"

"Bonus points," you shrugged. "I don't know, you can't really see where they go, once they're over the fence. It's fun."

Julie raised her eyebrows. "Don't you think it's a little immature? Why would I do that if I'm going to win for real?"

You opened your mouth to reply, then firmly closed it. "I guess you're right," you mumbled. It hadn't felt stupid when you suggested it, but Julie's disdain at the suggestion made you feel improper.

She did win, by a massive landslide, and you let her keep the scorecard with little protest. She was still beaming though, brightly at you like she had just had the best date of her life. Your stomach felt like it was tied up in a bunch of knots, but you smiled back at her nonetheless.

If love was something to be worked towards, you really hoped it would start working soon.

===+++===

You had only been home for about twenty minutes, when your phone started ringing. Off the hook. Over and over again. You knew who it was just from the ring, but that didn't mean you wanted to pick up.

After the disaster that was dropping Julie off at her house, you wanted to continue to staring at the ceiling. But after the sixth call back, it seemed Jackie wasn't giving up.

You picked the phone up with a frown, rolling over and smushing your chin into the bed. "Hello—"

"—OH MY GOD, YOU AND JULIE?!"

You groaned. "Jackie I dropped her off like thirty minutes ago, how do you already know about this?"

"So it's true?! You're dating?"

You sat up. "What? No, we just went on one date."

"Really? Cause Julie told Margie who told Randy who told Jeff, who told me that you kissed her and you're going out!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I didn't kiss her, she kissed me. And it wasn't even like an actual kiss, she like, pecked me, and then scrambled out of my car and up her driveway."

"Well, she's saying you're going steady."

"'Going steady?' The 40s called, they wanted their slang back."

"Ha ha," Jackie said back, and you could hear the eye roll. She went silent. "...I bet your mom is happy."

"Probably..."

"Are you happy? You're probably a shoe-in for prom court, especially since I'll be out of town. Your mom won't let you go to nationals, will she?"

"No. She'll want me and Julie to go to prom together."

"Well, I mean, at least you'll win, right? That's gotta be exciting?"

You looked over to your nightstand, where you had a polaroid of you and Nat that sat taped to the side. "Thrilled."

"(Y/n)? You okay, hubby?"

You took a sharp swallow. "Yeah, I'm fine. Julie's great."

"Right...," she paused again, "does Nat...does she know?"

"I don't think so... It's only been like, thirty minutes."

"She will soon, though. Monday."

"Yeah...I guess she will soon."

===+++===

Monday was terrible. It seemed Julie had taken the awkward attempt at kissing you as the sign that you were together. She was there at your car when you first arrived, grinning again while you and Lottie got your things for school out of the second row. Then, the moment you had locked your car, you were tugged along by a hand grabbing yours.

You didn't exactly have a good reason to be grossed out. Julie was beautiful, and if you had felt the same way for her, you would have been thrilled with the enthusiasm. Hell, if it were... well. So, you mostly let her drag you wherever she wanted.

There was about a week, to run for prom court. Your mother had promptly called you that morning to insist on prom, and insist on shopping for prom, when she returned home on Wednesday, from Monaco. It was all Julie would talk about, and you were starting to wonder how much of this was a political move for her too, rather than one of genuine interest in you.

You first saw Nat coming down one of the halls, and you hesitated a bit the moment you saw that she noticed you. Or, that she noticed you and Julie together. It was the walk of shame, frankly. You didn't belong to her, in any formal sense. But your heart did, and that was enough for it to hurt. Badly.

It seemed to hurt her too. She immediately frowned, tugging on Kevyn's sleeve and walking in the opposite direction. You wanted to run after her, but Julie had an iron grip on your hand and a smile so bright.

It was awkward enough at lunch, with Julie insisting to sit next to you and to bring her golf friends. A few of them were nice, and Jackie managed to chat them up well enough to make even more friends than before, but Lottie had a frown the entire time, and Shauna looked less than happy.

Nat wasn't staring at you at lunch anymore. It was a startling realisation, that you wanted her to be looking at you. If anything, you were looking more at her. You kept turning around, trying to seem like you were just scanning the cafeteria, but Nat was firmly looking down at her food, at the same table as always.

You felt like a runaway dog that had temporarily shrugged off its collar, trying to find home with a tail between its legs. Julie was nice, and smart, and talented. But she wasn't the one. Your one.

===+++===

"Hey, you ready?" you asked Lottie, finding her out in the hallway in front of the locker rooms. it was Friday, and you both had your soccer bags slung over your shoulder, and were about to head out to practice, but Lottie seemed transfixed on a poster on the wall. "Hey now, you've got nationals tomorrow, no distractions," you tried.

"Is she seriously trying to make it seem like you two are soulmates?" Lottie said with a grimace. It was one of the ones Julie had made in two days, and was now putting all over the school to really earn you both the win. There was a drawing of you and her on it, with a heart in the middle, and 'VOTE JULIE & (Y/N) FOR PROM COURT 1996.' It was an objectively good design, but Lottie didn't like Julie very much— or at least had started to hate her, the longer you and her were together.

"I think it's because she has a crush on you," Julie said once with a pout, after Lottie had been less than welcoming to her on a ride home.

"No she doesn't," you shook your head.

"She definitely does. You shouldn't hang out with her as much, or people will think you and her are a thing. I mean, I did at first."

The whole conversation had only made Lottie more and more annoyed with her, and that was saying a lot, with how Lottie was usually nice to most people.

"Come on," you said, gesturing with your head out towards the pitch. "Last practice before nationals."

Lottie still had a frown on her face, but she followed you out there with her arms crossed. It was still relatively early, only a few people were out. Coach Martinez's son Travis was up in the bleachers, watching, while you could see Trevor and Misty talking next to the water cooler and Jeremy and Mari passing a ball back and forth to each other.

"Hey (Y/n)," a voice called from behind you, and you could feel a similar annoyance to Lottie's washing over you. You turned to see Carter Avery, back from his suspension, with a cheeky smirk on his face. "Miss me?"

"Not even close," you scowled. He brushed past you and Lottie, pausing for a moment when he was directly in front of you staring down in an attempt at intimidation. He kept walking though, until he paused, right at the edge of the pitch.

"Oh, and (Y/n)?"

"What."

"I think I need to borrow some eggs. You got any for me?" Your eyes widened. "What about toilet paper, then?"

It was intended to create anger in you. You knew he wanted you to charge at him or something, or to scowl, but all you did was stand there, in a stunned silence. You had thought that Nat would do that. That Nat could do that to you. Of course it wasn't Nat. You felt stupid and you felt guilty, and you felt even worse that you couldn't do much about either of those things. You could try, though. And maybe that would be enough.

Lottie sent you a knowing look, but all you wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die. Maybe you could try to talk to her, after practice? It was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

The Yellowjackets' moods were infectious, and it was impossible to not have a great time, at that practice. Their emotions were high, along with their excitement, and you started to feel a little bit better, the more you ran and the more you felt the wind in your hair.

Of course, that's when everything decided to go wrong. A single slide tackle from Taissa, right into Allie's leg, and everyone was panicking and yelling. You could see the bone sticking out from it, and Misty was bolting in your direction, hovering over her and attempting to right it.

"Can I get two people to carry her?" She shouted at both teams, and you immediately raised your hand, stepping forwards while Allie began to cry. You didn't even see who was grabbing her other arm until you had made it into the locker room, and Allie was still crying with Misty following behind and a very clueless looking Coach Ben behind her.

You should've known, it was her. She was selfless like that, even though she'd rather die than admit it herself. And yet, there Nat was, on the other side of Allie, laying her down on one of the locker room benches and raising her leg up. Misty ushered you both out into the hall, and suddenly both you and Nat were regretting volunteering.

You had to wait until she came out, so you would be able to carry her to the front, where the ambulance could arrive to take her to hospital, but until then it just meant you and Nat were forced to stand there in awkward silence.

It stayed that way, until you tried to speak. "So...nationals, hu—"

"Don't even," Nat snapped, shutting you up. She was twitching a little bit, in discomfort, and you knew right now that if it were outside, or if she were to have her bag, she would be pulling out a cigarette.

"...I know it wasn't you who egged my house. It was Carter... I'm...sorry."

"Real genius, aren't you."

"Allegedly. Not in practice, apparently," you admitted, sliding to the tiled floor in wait. She eyed you cautiously, but did the same, sliding down.

"Man, if I had a nickel, for every time we've been in this hallway with a serious injury... I'd have, what, two nickels?" You hummed, leaning your head back against the wall.

"That's not a lot," Nat said, rolling her eyes.

"No," you nodded in agreement, "but it's weird that it happened twice."

She thought for a minute, then shrugged. "I guess." You both could hear the whistle being blown outside, to end the final scrimmage and indicate that it was time to circle up.

"Don't you want to go hear that? Y'know, for tomorrow?"

Nat shook her head. "I'd rather be here for Allie. Though she's kind of an asshole."

You snorted. "She's a total fucking bitch."

"...Just so you know, I really did have to leave, after Lottie's party... I, uh, kissed your forehead, before I left... I guess you couldn't feel it though. You were asleep."

You shook your head. "I didn't know that..."

"...Yeah... my dad was being an asshole... it was a whole thing." You knew it hurt more than she was saying, right now, and you so desperately wanted to scoot closer, like you would've before things had gotten so messed up. Back when you were on the cusp of happiness.

"I'm sorry, Nat."

She shrugged again, like it didn't hurt, but you knew all too well. "For what?"

You would've said for being scared. For being weak. For not realising sooner. Anything. But instead you were interrupted by the sound of shoes on the tile.

Of course, there Julie had to be. She took a single look at Nat who was covered in sweat and a bit red from practice, and grimaced, before coming up to you and standing right over you, expectantly.

"Is practice over?" she asked, checking her watch. "I finished my club meeting. We have to go dress shopping— I want you there to colour match— and I need you to drop Margie off at her house, cause I said you would yesterday."

You blinked. "I mean... It kind of is? I should probably stay a bit—" you looked to Nat to see what she would say, but she was already standing up and walking off, taking the not so secret hint that Julie was telling her to get lost.

Julie watched her go, scowling behind her back and then spinning to you the moment the door clicked shut behind her. "What did she want with you?" she asked.

"We were just talking, Allie needed help."

"Well she's no good. She's one of those kids, y'know." You narrowed your eyes, getting up to your feet and wiping your hands on your shorts.

"What are you talking about?"

Julie tilted her head to the side, like she was confused by your confusion. "You must not have a lot of them, around here, but we had them all OVER, in Massachusetts. The town bicycles. Everyone wants a ride, if you know what I mean."

It was your turn to cross your arms. "No the hell I do not, Julie."

"Oh come on," she said, throwing up her hands. "She's trailer trash, at best. The delusional kind who thinks we'd look at her, like, ever. I mean, what's her body count, like over a hundred?"

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," you snapped at her, glowering.

"Okay, I know she's on the Yellowjackets, and she's clearly trying to get in your pants, but cmon. I'm your girlfriend, we can laugh about this kind of—"

"No, the hell you aren't. You're not my girlfriend, Julie, and you barely ever fucking were. That girl you just insulted is the best fucking person I know. She's selfless, she's kind, she makes me laugh—"

"Well then go sleep with her then!" Julie yelled, stomping her foot.

"Y'know what, I already have! And I fucking love her. So there!" And you turned right around and stomped back out onto the pitch.

===+++===

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you rolled your eyes, trudging down the stairs and calling out into the foyer. It wasn’t like whoever it was would actually be able to hear you, through the thickness of your door, if anything it was more to air your grievance with having to get up so fucking late. Your mom was once more distraught, now that you had kept the "perfect" girl for a single week and then promptly dumped her. Another vacation was in order.

Rain was still pounding on the roof from above, and it filled the emptiness of your house with a faint white noise, that was immediately shattered by the person pressing the button again. You rolled your eyes, deciding to walk even slower to the door out of nothing but spite.

When you actually opened the door, though, you had to blink a couple times, seeing a figure retreating already, down your drive. However long you had took had made them rethink why they were here, and you would've been all too happy to let the door close. That was, until you narrowed your eyes into the rain, just barely making out the shape of a familiar leather jacket.

"Nat?" You called into the storm, loud enough that there was no way she couldn't have heard you. You crossed your arms, thinking about how she had been earlier that day. "I know it's you, Natalie. Why the fuck are you here? You have nationals tomorrow."

She stopped in her tracks, just standing in it. She gently turned, shoulders rising and falling and it was clear she was breathing heavily. Her mascara was running in massive streaks down her face and dripping in small, grey droplets, and her eyes were sensitive and red, as if she had been crying and rubbed them raw. You swallowed what felt like a lump in your throat.

"This— all of this, with you— I— I can't," she stumbled, looking like a sad, wet dog in the rain.

"What?" you furrowed your eyebrows at her, walking out further onto your large, covered doorstep.

"I can't see you with her, (Y/n), I— I just can't."

"With Julie?"

Natalie threw up her arms in frustration. "Yes, Julie. I know she's perfect, or whatever, but— I— you can't be with her—"

"—Nat," you tried, stepping forward again.

"—Because I love you," she continued. You stopped in your tracks. It felt as if the air had been sucked right out of your lungs, even in the freshness brought by the storm. "I know we argue," her voice shook, "and I know we fight, and I know I smoke, and I curse, and I get bad grades, and my dad's a shithead, and I'm kind of an asshole sometimes— but I fucking love you, (Y/n). You.... I—"

"—Shut up," you said, shaking your head and rushing forward, out into the pouring storm. You collided with her, cupping her face in your cheeks and kissing her like the world would end in ten minutes. It would have, if you hadn't done it, and you had no idea how you had survived so long without doing it.

You kissed her once, and then you kissed her again, and then, when she was crying harder, and you were crying too, and she was holding onto your arms like you would fall away, you kissed her forehead, and held her tight in a hug.

"I'm selfish, and I'm a mess, and I'm never good enough for my stupid fucking parents," you said, over the rain and just for Nat, "and I don't realise that I hurt people 'cause that's not what my family does, and for that, I'm really, really fucking sorry."

She nodded in her tears, looking up at you as you both got rained on together. "But, I agree," you said, voice shaking, "we're not casual. I'm really, really fucking sorry, but I also really, really fucking love you, Nat. And I'm sorry I was too scared and too stupid, and," you raised your voice, as if to the sky, "I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING GO TO PRINCETON—" this time it was Nat who shut you up.

It was another kiss, but it was far more gentle than the first. It was a gentle press, and it took your breath away. When you pulled apart, you let your forehead fall against Natalie's. Even though the droplets were cold, you felt so warm.

After what felt like forever, but still wasn't long enough, Nat murmured to you, "should we go inside?" She still smelled like cigarettes and her perfume, just as she had in her trailer, and you intended to let the scent linger.

You shook your head. "Just stay out here a little longer with me. Please? Just let time pass."

She nodded, then smirked as she looked past you at the car on your driveway. "Fuckin' rich people."

===+++===

AAAAAND THAT'S CASUAL BABYYYYY! Finished at like 2 am. anyways, i'm tired and a little bit sleepy

#nat scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x y/n #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #yellowjackets

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httpsghostie · 1 year ago

Text

Beneath the Surface

Part one

Part two

A/N: First post! English isn't my first language so I'm sorry in advance if there's anything wrong with the writing.

Can't stop thinking about this man, it's unhealthy at this point

Brought you something filthy, hope you enjoy

Requests are open and appreciated!

Summary: Simon, your father's best friend, shows up in the middle of the night to give you a shoulder to put your legs head on.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: smut, Simon 'Ghost' Riley x female!reader, unprotected sex (don't b silly wrap your weenie), p in v, implied age gap, choking, breeding kink (?

masterlist

NSFW below the cut

It had been an exhausting day and you felt like everything just decided to go wrong, all in one day. It started small, your sleeve getting caught in the door handle when you were cleaning the house, then it became a snowball. Accidentally hitting your foot on the corner of the bed, stumbling on the bucket and falling over it, spilling the dirty water all over the floor. At the end of the day you were overwhelmed, even the shower decided not to work properly, and you couldn't stand being near anything that could breathe.

But there you were, endlessly trying to achieve the perfect eyeliner look because your college friends wanted to party. Failed attempts and sore eyelids lead you to a breakdown, and your attempts were soon washed away by your tears. Everything was too much and you just wanted a good night of sleep on a simple friday night. You sobbed in the bathroom as you tried to calm down, but your eyes were puffy and your face was swollen. The makeup was left on the bathroom sink and you went straight to your room to put on something more comfortable.

Your parents weren't home, somehow when your dad was around he'd take your mom on late night dates. Simon, on the other hand, didn't have a wife or kids to come home to, and being your father's best friend, you probably saw the man even more than you saw your dad. He was almost always around when he was deployed, he had the keys to your parents house and he'd just show up.

That wasn't exactly the best moment for him to appear in your living room when he realized the scream you let out. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare 'ya" he said. The room was lit by the TV screen and hopefully he wouldn't see your crying face. You sigh and walk to the kitchen, looking for something to eat, you end up making some popcorn and when you sneakily try to go straight back to your room, a cold hand grabs your arm.

"Spit it out" he said. He knew you, usually you were happy and outgoing around him, and now you were just irritated and, of course, he couldn't comprehend. Your father didn't know but you were really close to Simon, he was kinda the cool uncle while your actual dad was strict and kind of annoying sometimes, Simon really made your high school years better just by being around when he could.

"Not your business" you said, storming out. He followed your steps to your room, where you sat down on the bed and pulled a blanket over your legs, the bag of popcorn on your lap. He stood by the door frame, leaning against it, arms crossed as he eyed you.

"Someone's grumpy" he tsked. "Come on, love, tell me what's wrong" he said as he came into the room and closed the door behind him. Something about him calling you love always caught you off guard, but now that you were in fact an adult with full knowledge of your feelings and needs, it made your stomach flip.

"Nothing, Simon" you rolled your eyes at him as he sat in front of you on the bed. He made you a confused frown and laid a gentle hand on your knee. You could never keep things from him, his gaze burned you inside whenever he felt you were lying. "Just.. bad day, ok?" You sigh.

"Bad day, huh?" You felt him mocking, but you couldn't care. "Elaborate." It felt so stupid to be angry because all the small things went wrong during the day, when you knew he had bigger problems to deal with in whatever army life he signed up for.

"Everything went wrong today," you start, "I don't know, everything was either irritating me or hurting me, I even spilled the dirty water on me and the clean floor-" he cuts you off, laughing, you give him a killing stare. He holds the bridge of his nose and makes a disgusted face.

"Have you showered?" His mood lightens you up and you chuckle, pushing him playfully.

"Yes, I've showered." You say. "Cold shower, by the way."

"What's wrong with the shower?" He asks and you shrug. "Aye I'll take a look at it later, 'k?" You nod. "Anything else that's bothering you?" God, it's like he could see through you.

"I was going out with my friends," you explain shyly, "I couldn't finish my makeup and got frustrated, so I texted them saying I was sick."

"And are you?" He tilts his head at you, you shake your head. "Why did you lie then, huh?"

"Look I don't need a lecture on what to do, alright, Si? I just need to rest." The bag of popcorn on your lap became cold when you first took a handful to eat.

"Want a massage?" He smirked. Of course you wanted a massage from those big, calloused hands of his that would fit perfectly around your neck. You stared at his hand and bit your lower lip, nodding.

He gently pulled the blanket down from your legs and adjusted himself. You turned the TV on and he started to massage your feet. You let out a soft whimper as he ran his fingers against your skin, just now noticing how he shifted uncomfortably under your calves.

Of course there was one more thing your dad didn't know: how touchy his best friend was with his daughter. You could say it was because he was a skirt chaser, or probably just touch starved, but the explanation didn't matter when his hand was traveling up your thigh under a blanket when you and your family were trying to watch a movie together. It was never more than this though, occasional touches that left you aching for him, hot and bothered.

A movie played on the screen as he continued to massage your feet. There was something so sexual about him, the flexing muscles on his arm, his chest going up and down with his breathing, the growing bulge on his pants you could feel with your ankle and made a pool of arousal on your panties.

Your shorts were... well, short, and he couldn't help but stare at you while you closed your eyes and imagined that monster of a man pinning you down and fucking you rough. More hums and soft whimpers escaped from your throat and they were going straight to Simon's dick. A malicious hand caressed your inner thigh and you opened your eyes with a confused, but hopeful look. He wasn't looking at you, and your stomach dropped when you saw a sex scene playing on the screen. You close your legs unsubconsciously and he looks at you.

"'M sorry, love" he takes his hand off your thigh and chuckles. The nickname sent you over the edge, something snapping inside of you. He feels the way you shiver and how tense you seem, so he takes that bag of barely touched popcorn and places it by the bedside table and then land a warm hand on your waist. "What's on your mind, princess?"

Well, nothing besides him naked, wasn't it obvious? But you couldn't say that, your mind was racing back and forth, and when you were unable to form a believable sentence, he caught you staring for too long.

"Cat got your tongue?" He chuckled as his fingers traced circles on your waist. You can't remember the last time he tried doing this to you, but you know damn right you should've taken the chance to get laid, but God was it hard to understand this man. He'd tease you and pretend it was nothing, he'd leave you begging for him and say he couldn't touch you. Sometimes you just wanted to punch him for that.

And yes, you found other ways to get satisfied. Got yourself a boyfriend during recess when neither Simon or your dad were around to pester the poor guy. But eventually they came home from wherever they were, and your father wasn't exactly happy about it, nor Simon, in fact, Simon was even more pissed than your dad.

You couldn't say how many minutes you spent eyeing the man in front of you, but he grew impatient. The hand on your waist was gone and now spreading your legs to his liking, his body now towering over you.

"If you don't tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours I'm gonna have to find out for myself." He said in a low, seductive voice.

You gave in. Your hands grabbed the back of his neck and you kissed him feverly, a sloppy, wet kiss, he pressed his body onto yours and you could feel how hard he was on your lower body. But Simon was eager, he couldn't wait for it anymore, he needed to be inside of you.

He yanked your shorts off, throwing it somewhere across the room, you also took his shirt off, revealing his perfect toned muscles and the scars that adorned it. He unbuckled his belt with one hand as the other one successfully removed your shirt. He didn't even bother taking his pants off, he just pushed them and his boxers down enough to let his dick free. He aligned it with your wet cunt, smearing your arousal all around your folds.

"'S fucking wet already, huh?" He rubbed two fingers on your clit as he jerked himself off with his spare hand. "Can't imagine what you were thinking 'bout" he smirked.

He put his tip on your entrance, looking at you for a sign of approval. You nod. He slowly pushed his length inside of you until it bottomed out. You clenched around him as you moaned. His body started moving faster as you adjusted to his size. He was big, you've felt it before with your hands, but you've never actually seen it.

"Fuck, Si," you moan, "faster." You sounded like a desperate whore and he enjoyed it. You weren't exactly used to him not teasing you until you were on the verge of tears, so when he started to pound into you, you couldn't hold your moans.

"Needy little slut." He grabbed your hips in place, almost using you like a fleshlight. He groaned, his chest rising with the heavy breathing. Fuck, that man was hot.

His hands let go of your hips and held the back of your knees, so you were spreading even more. He watched as his dick abused your swollen and wet cunt, and he could cum just at the sight of his pretty princess getting ruined by his fat cock. You felt the cold metal on his belt hit the back of your thighs as he gave you deep thrusts.

One of his hands traveled to your folds, his thumb drawing circles on your sensitive clit. As he was fucking your brains out, you dig your nails on his shoulders and earned a few moans along with a smirk.

You were both really close when you heard a car park in the driveway, your eyes widened at Simon as he didn't seem to have listened to the sound of your parents getting home.

"Fuck, Simon, my parents" you tried to push him away but his grip on you got stronger. He placed both of his hands on your neck and squeezed it.

"Shut up" he whispered, not altering his pace. "Cum f' me, love" he demanded. Your hand rubbed your clit as he fucked you even harder. It was impossible to hold it back anymore and you reached your climax under him, your legs shaking from the overstimulation of his non-stopping thrusts. You heard the front door getting open. "'M gonna fill this pretty cunt of yours, huh? 'S that what you want?" He whispered in your ear. You could only slightly nod. "Good girl." He gave you a few more deep, shaky thrusts as he spilled his load into you and pulled out.

"Y/n? We're home" you heard your mom shout from downstairs. Simon quickly pulled his pants up and put his shirt back on, throwing you your shorts that were across the room, tossed on the ground. He quickly got out and went to the bathroom, pretending he was fixing the shower.

"Simon?" Your dad shouted in a worried and anxious tone, he obviously saw his friend's car in the driveway, and what was his friend doing here in the night when his daughter was alone?

"Here" he shouted back from the bathroom, your dad ran upstairs to check if everything was alright and found Simon trying to fix the shower.

"Everything alright? Heard noises" your dad asked.

"Y/n gave me a call, she wanted to shower but apparently the shower wasn't working" you overheard Simon explain. He stepped out, turned it on and let the water run for a bit. "It's working now."

You have absolutely no clue what the fuck he did with the shower in such a short period of time, but the effort was well appreciated. He tried to excuse himself out, but your dad insisted for him to stay the night. You waited in your room until your parents went to bed to get out, the back of your thighs were marked from his belt and your neck was red from his grip, not to mention the oozing cum on your thighs that your panties and shorts weren't able to hold.

Simon was in the guest room when he heard you walk to the bathroom to get yourself cleaned, and of fucking course he wouldn't let you do it alone, he's finally got a taste of you after all these years holding back and he won't stop until he's fucking his cum inside you again as the running water muffles the sounds of how good he makes you feel.

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghost cod #simon ghost #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost smut #mw2 fanfic

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1d1195 · 6 months ago

Text

Ding - Round 6

Read Ding here | ~6.3k words

Warnings: some smut 18+ only, oral, fingering, cockwarming if you squint; angst, car accident, trauma dumping, sucky parental figure. Please read with caution. You might also see one of my cliffhangers.

From me: I feel like the beginning is messy to read--almost like it's out of nowhere? But it's pretty intentional, tbh. I hope it doesn't detract from the story. Hope you like it 💕

Summary: Cupcake and Harry are busy. Harry has his big fight. Cupcake was right about throwing her life out of balance by adding in a boyfriend. They miss each other. They don't know how to deal with that either. At least not while they're apart.

It was not Harry’s fault. Even though he thought it was.

But to be fair, it wasn’t her fault either. Even if she felt it was.

Harry grew into adulthood knowing he was stubborn. Everyone in his life told him so. It was obvious. He didn’t get to be an undefeated champion without grit. His entire gym was named as a near synonym of the word. But she continued to surprise him, and it was clear that he had very much met his match—she was competing for his crown of stubbornness. If Harry wasn’t so mad about his current state, he might even acknowledge that she was winning.

At first everything was new and completely fine. He was enamored with her. Finally she was all his. He took her on a real date—several real, authentic dates. He danced around with her in the bakery kitchen. Brought her food for movie nights in her apartment. (He also licked her when the movie lost his attention, and she looked too good to be sitting there without his head between her legs.) He even brought her bouquets of flowers simply because it was Monday.

She stayed at his place, wrapped close to him. It was as if they had done it for years. When he woke up early for a run, she joined him, assuring him to go ahead and circle back for her since he ran way better and faster than she did. But he enjoyed the way she massaged his muscles in the shower most. (The way she wrapped her hand around his dick most of all.) She made him breakfast before they left for work and Harry thought if the bakery wasn’t to her liking she could open a breakfast place as a second choice.

She chatted with Sarah while he worked out and trained. Without any kind of asking, she helped clean equipment when he needed to focus more on training. She organized his desk in his office because it was a disaster and it stressed her out. Whenever she cleaned, she hummed and didn’t notice. It made Harry fall deeper in love with her. Every moment he was with her was magical.

Until she was exhausted.

He missed her. For the first time in his life, he had felt completely in love with someone. The way he wanted to be in love. He finally had that. They were inseparable. Nights spent cocooned under Harry’s covers. His finger tracing her features in the dark. “So pretty,” he murmured.

“You can’t even see me,” she whispered.

“S’how I know you’re so pretty. Can feel it.”

So not having that for two weeks was like trying to swim through cement.

She had what could only be called a complete meltdown. Frosting and cupcakes everywhere. She was overwhelmed—said yes to too many functions in a row and spread herself too thin. She was frustrated with Harry and his time training and just missed him.

But she didn’t say it.

Because Harry was frustrated too. He tried to help her, but she didn’t let him in. There was the whole not knowing her family—even though she had effectively wormed her way into Mum and Gemma’s heart. Though he wasn’t surprised in the slightest; honestly, he thought his niece liked her more than Harry and she had only met her twice.

So, when she exploded, for lack of a better word, it was magnificent. It was nothing he had ever seen before. The exhaustion in her eyes, the worry on her face, the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Harry was sick with worry and frustration just to hear her cry but was nearly impressed. The cupcakes overturned on the floor were nothing in comparison to the way she cried.

“Cupcake, you are overreact—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” she hissed at him. That was entirely on him. Gem had taught him better than to tell a woman she was overreacting.

“Lemme take something off your plate, kitten,” he tried instead. He was ignoring her frustrated tears even though he wanted to brush them away. “Tell me what’s going on,” he figured it had something to do with her dad because she kept checking her phone and she hadn’t mentioned going to see him in over a week. But her car was overdue for an oil change, and she didn’t want to drive it that far but hadn’t a moment to deal with it. She also complained about something regarding her eyebrows, but Harry didn’t fully understand it because quite honestly, he had never thought about her eyebrows.

But if it meant caring for herself, he wished he pushed further.

Their schedules hadn’t lined up in two weeks. No more than an hour or two alone. She saw him plenty while she chatted with Sarah at the gym while he trained or worked. He and Maeve had started a competition of who could sprinkle the most cupcakes in fifteen minutes (Harry was willing to admit defeat once in his life—he would never beat Maeve) even though she didn’t like that they were having fun when she was stressed.

They hadn’t practiced her self-defense moves in nearly a month.

So, it felt like her fault.

But what she hadn’t anticipated was Harry’s sour attitude reflecting right back at her. Harry didn’t take her frustration lying down. He snapped back at her which felt so heinous to do but he was grumpy.

But he was tired of arguing with her. Tired of feeling frustrated, begging her to let him in when it was obvious she didn’t want to. So, for the first time in his life, he stopped fighting.

It pained him to no end. He could see in her eyes that she was exhausted. It hurt him so badly. Each time he said, “Whatever, Cupcake,” he felt like the worst boyfriend in the world for not taking her frustration away. But she wouldn’t let him in. She wouldn’t let him take away her frustration. It was like she wanted to argue with him. It was entirely unfair, but she was mad about his indifference. It didn’t make any sense for her to be mad when she had just as much blame to take for his sour mood.

“Why don’t you just go home?” She suggested. Bitterness coated every word.

“Yeah?” Harry looked up at her from his phone, his eyes narrowed. She could see his muscles tense like they were in the ring, and she was aiming for his head. “Jus’ leave?” He repeated.

“Obviously you don’t want to be here,” she muttered.

He slid back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor with a screech that made her teeth hurt. “No, cupcake,” he shook his head and made his way for the door. She hated itwhen he said the sweet name like that. She knew it wasn’t her nickname when he said it. It wasn’t filled with the love he liked. It was sarcastic. Mean. It hurt her more than an actual punch would have, she was sure. “You don’t want me here,” his voice was low. She closed her eyes, trying to keep as calm as possible. It was hard because she was anything but calm. But she said nothing. “You don’t want me in your life,” he snapped finally letting all the emotion out that had been building over the last week. “You keep things from me. You build up walls that I can’t break down. Every time I get to the top y’add another layer of bricks.”

She stayed silent.

“Go on, cupcake. Say m’wrong,” he challenged. “Say y’let me in.”

But both knew she couldn’t say it.

It was eerily quiet in the kitchen. The pinch of Harry’s brow made her sad. She wanted to smooth it out with a kiss. “Tell me to stay,” he whispered quietly.

But she couldn’t say that either.

“Yeah,” he sighed and turned. “S’what I thought.”

Maeve wondered if her best friend was going to have a heart attack a lot during her time at A Pinch of Sprinkles. The opening in town nearly sent her to the ER. She was running on fumes at the time. Christmas always made her anxious. Anytime they were chosen for a wedding also had Maeve worrying about her medical history. But in comparison, those were nothing. If Maeve had known what not talking to Harry would do to her, she would have told her that Christmas was a tropical vacation.

Harry stopped coming to see her.

“Did...” she swallowed, nervous to infuriate her best friend further but out of care for her, she had to know. “Is... Harry still...”

She glared at the cupcakes she was frosting, squeezing the icing bag a little too tightly. “I don’t know,” she grumbled. She hadn’t gotten a text from him nor seen him in a week after she told him to leave.

Maeve’s heart cracked. “Babe,” Maeve murmured softly. “He... he adores you... what happened?”

She shook her head unwilling to go over it again. The nights were filled with tear-soaked pillowcases, and she was exhausted from stress and crying. “I just can’t be in a relationship. It’s too much.”

Of course.

Maeve was sick of her best friend’s loneliness. “That is bullshit,” Maeve rolled her eyes. “Did you push him away?”

“Maeve, shut the fuck—”

“Oh, good luck pushing me away, babe. No,” she shook her head and grabbed the bag of frosting from her hands and threw it at the sink to gain her attention.

“I was wor—”

Maeve ignored her words and continued on with her own. “I might not be a boxer, but I can take a punch or two all the same. You pushed him away. Now you’re sulking. You’ve been punishing yourself for so long because you think you don’t deserve to be happy. Harry did nothing but love you and try to help you and you wouldn’t let him—”

“I am going to fire you,” she muttered bitterly. Harry never said he loved her anyway. How could he love her after all that? How could he love her if he didn’t even know the truth?

Maeve continued anyway, immune to her threat because she knew that wasn’t true at all. “You deserve to be happy, and Harry made you happy. That scares you,” she finished.

Angry tears filled her eyes and she ground her teeth together.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

Maeve was her best friend and knew more about her and her family than anyone. “I don’t get happy things.”

“But you do. You have me, number one,” she snorted, fortunately. The tension eased just the slightest bit. “You have this bakery. And more importantly, you have a guy that is so crazy about you, he has been calling me every night to make sure you’re home safe and sound.” Her heart fluttered. She didn’t know that.

“Every time I love someone, they go away,” she whispered.

Maeve felt nothing but sympathy for her sweet friend. “You have to give Harry a chance. You have to tell him why you’re doing this. I have a good feeling about him,” Maeve reminded her. For the first time in a week, she felt her body untense.

“He calls you?” She asked.

“Every night.”

She bit the inside of her lip. “That’s nice,” she whispered.

Maeve nodded. “Really nice,” she agreed. “Plus, he’s like super hot. Did you even sleep with him yet?” She blushed at her words and reached for a new frosting bag out of the fridge. “You bitch! You didn’t tell me?!” Maeve screeched. She smacked her arm repeatedly. “Tell me everything! When did you do it? Where did you do it? Harry must have a massive dick, right? I feel like he’s—”

“Maeve,” she laughed. The first time in a week. It felt good to laugh. “I...”

“No, you have to spill. Something.”

Her cheeks were flaming. “I think I’m addicted to it,” she whispered.

“Thank. God.”

Harry refused to go back to the bakery for the rest of the week uninvited. His workout sessions were horrific. Louis yelled at him for missing his marks and he felt everything about his footwork was sloppy. The way she ignored him made him feel terrible. But naturally, he didn’t help either. He hadn’t texted her in over a week.

But it didn’t stop Harry from waking up to a call at eleven thirty at night.

“What?” He grumbled. He didn’t want to fight. He was tired of arguing with her and was tired of being frustrated. She would have to do the work if she was going to try and fix this when he needed sleep.

The sound of her shaky breath snapped his eyes open. “Can you come get me?” She croaked.

That did him in within seconds. The vulnerability in her voice. “Cupcake, s’matter?” He was awake instantly. It wasn’t sarcastic. It was her name. The one he used that made her feel adored. It was sweet and made her feel better almost as if he was already at the bakery. He quickly slid into trainers that he didn’t even untie; the back of the heel was smushed down and uncomfortable against his foot, but it didn’t matter. Her sniffling made him insane with worry. It was like the last few weeks hadn’t happened. “Kitten, talk to me,” he ordered. His heart racing and his fear taking over. He wasn’t sure he locked his door, and he was lucky he even remembered to grab his car keys before he descended the stairs to the parking lot.

“I’m alright,” she promised, tears filling most of her voice.

“Y’don’t sound alright.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

“Cupcake, I swear t’God,” he threw his car into drive before it was fully turned on.

“I just miss you. I’m sad and scared. Okay? I’m physically fine, but I’m a mess. I want you here,” her voice wobbled, and Harry felt like he was breaking. “Please,” she sniffled.

Harry felt crushing relief and he watched the needle on Clay’s speedometer lower from a felony charge to a healthy speeding ticket. “M’five minutes away, kitten. Stay put.”

“Okay,” her voice was quiet, sad but Harry didn’t mind.

“You’re okay?” He repeated. She nodded. He couldn’t see that though. “Cupcake?”

“I’m okay,” she promised, it was punctuated by a sniffle.

His heart felt so broken feeling the anguish in her voice. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered to the phone. “I wasn’t nice,” he mumbled.

“It’s hard,” she whispered. The remainder of his drive was silent. Just her sniffles and the hum of his tires on the road to accompany the small miles between them. Harry sprinted to her bakery door. She was there pacing the front and unlocked it as he approached. Harry dropped his phone right inside the entryway, the bell signaling his arrival, finally.

Within one second of crossing the threshold, she was in his arms. The door only clicked shut once he was around her. His face buried in her hair, his arms tightening around her like he was trying to keep her afloat in the middle of the ocean. “M’here,” he hummed. “M’here, Cupcake,” he promised. She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart finally slowing after so much anxiety had plagued her over the last couple of weeks.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he assured her. “S’okay.”

“It’s so hard,” she repeated, herself from the phone call. Harry wished they were home. Even though it was late and private Harry wanted the comfort of her bed or his sofa to let her fall apart. The bakery was warm, but he wanted pillows for her head and blankets for her body to comfort her while she whispered secrets to him.

“I know, kitten. I know s’hard. But I... I adore you, Cupcake. Don’t y’know that? What do y’think all this is between us? I want t’meet your dad. He’s obviously a huge part of your life... and keeping secrets from me? S’not fair.”

“I know it’s not fair.”

“You know everything ‘bout me. S’like I don’t get t’know anything ‘bout you. Do y’think I’m suddenly not going to like you? I assure you that’s never going t’happen.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what I did.”

“What could you possibly have done? You’re made of sugar, Cupcake. You have to let me in. I told you everything. You know my family. You know my friends. You know why I bought Driven and why I have been fighting since I was ten years old. You have kept me out of everything. I don’t even know why you opened A Pinch of Sprinkles. I know you have a dad. You never talk about your mom. I don’t know about your childhood best friend or your favorite pet. There are these walls you keep up and I don’t know why, and I don’t know how to break them down.”

“You don’t eat cupcakes when you’re sad,” her jaw shakes as she pulls from him. The space between them feels worse than the last few weeks without her combined. It’s cold and lonely. More so than not speaking to her. More so than not sleeping beside her. His heart hurt instantly. But not as much as it hurt to watch her lower lip move almost independently of the rest of her face.

“Cupcake, what does that have t’do—”

But before he could finish his thought Harry could see it did have to do with what he just asked about. The way her eyes were shining with tears. It felt like someone clipped his vocal cords. All words escaped him, and he just stared at her as she continued. “You eat them at baby showers, weddings, and at birthday parties,” she listed. Harry stayed quiet. “You don’t eat them when your mom leaves when you’re six years old because it’s too much to be a mom,” her voice was so broken as she spoke. Harry felt her pain in the air. Like needles stabbing every inch of his exposed skin. It seemed impossible that someone wouldn’t want her. To willingly choose to leave her. Her mum no less. She was looking at her hands like they were going to give her the answer to a test she forgot to study for. “You don’t eat them at funerals or when you break your arm,” she continued. Harry wondered who had died and which arm she had broken and how. “You eat them when you get a good grade on your math test or on an anniversary.” Harry’s heart was breaking. He always wondered about the things she kept hidden in her personal life and she laid it out right there for him. In the one place that she probably loved more than anywhere else on earth. “You don’t eat them when you’re sick or sad. They’re for when you’re happy. You can’t be sad while eating sprinkles.”

It clicked effortlessly. Obviously. “A pinch of sprinkles,” he murmured softly. He crossed the space that separated them. Immediately, he cupped her cheeks in his hands, they felt cool compared to the warmth that emanated from her skin. Hot, frustrated tears started to spill over. He swiped at them with his thumbs below her eyes in tandem. He caught as many as he could but there was an overwhelming number of teardrops. It was impossible for him to keep them all from falling in rivers down her face.

She nodded. Her tears continued to spill over, rolling down her cheeks and sliding down his thumbs as he tried to stop them. “A pinch of sprinkles,” she repeated softly. She inhaled sharply. Turning against his hands holding her in place. A new wave of anguish crossed her face that Harry didn’t know could exist on someone’s face—especially not her perfect features. All the art museums he went to in university for his art history requirement made sense. The distortion of features on someone so beautiful was right before him. He understood. “You don’t eat cupcakes when your dad is in a car accident and becomes paralyzed from the neck down because you were too tired to drive even though you were the one that wanted to go to the drive-in and the only thing you can do is bring him to an entirely new town with a place to help him the way he deserves because it’s never going to be enough to thank him or repay him or—” the words were cut off by sobs that she could no longer control. Her heart was breaking right in front of him.

Harry knew how to fight. He knew how to stand with poise and grace that no one would expect a boxer to have. He knew how to throw punches that could knock a grown man out in one hit. The correct form to kick was ingrained in his mind from when he was ten years old.

Harry didn’t know how to begin to fight her sadness.

“Cupcake,” he whispered. She covered her mouth and the noise that came out of her body was so sad, so broken. Harry wondered how she could still be standing. Harry always thought he was pretty tough. That stubborn nature of his thought he was one of the toughest people in a room.

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

The pretty, sweet girl who was constantly covered in sugar and frosting—she was the strongest person he knew.

He couldn’t begin to imagine what she went through—how she still coped with it. It was a miracle she got in a car ever again. She was braver than he ever was or could be. “And he doesn’t hate me,” she whispered through her sobs. “My mom left him because of me. He is in a wheelchair and unable to live a normal life because of me.”

“Kitten,” he warned worried she would work herself up too much beyond his ability to help her. Harry was an idiot for making her feel this. He couldn’t leave well enough alone. If he only knew...

“Why doesn’t he just hate me?” She whimpered and Harry finally pulled her into his embrace. Her tears immediately soaked his shirt. She got snot all over him and Harry just kept her close to him he let her cry for longer than he ever wanted her to, but it felt good to hold her again. Regardless of the pain.

“How could anyone hate you, Cupcake?" he asked after a minute.

“I hate me,” she whispered. The question was rhetorical, but she responded anyway.

He kissed the top of her head. “If I had a kid like you... S’not anything I wouldn’t do for them. Your dad doesn’t regret that.”

“Of course he does,” she sniffled. “I couldn’t even take care of him.”

“It wasn’t your job, Cupcake.”

“But it was my faul—”

“Take me t’meet him,” he interrupted.

She blinked, confused. “What?”

“Take me to meet him. Y’go every week, yeah? Take me,” he asked. She felt so vulnerable. Her heart felt heavy.

“Meet him?” She whispered. Harry didn’t even comment that she repeated him again.

He nodded. “He saved your life for me, Cupcake. M’sure of it. S’least I could do t’meet him.”

Her heart felt something dangerously close to hope enveloping it. It was too good to be true. Her dream job, a cute apartment, a best friend, and the perfect guy. “You don’t hate me?”

He scoffed and buried his face in her neck. He missed her smell—vanilla and sugar (although he wasn’t sure that was truly her natural scent but merely from spending so much time in the kitchen). He missed her voice and the warmth he felt just holding her in his arms. “Christ, Kitten. Course not.”

“But I was so... awful. And I... I ruined his life. I'm cursed or something. I'll... I'll ruin your life too.”

"Sweetheart," he cooed. "Y'don't really believe that, do you?"

"I'm not a good luck charm, Harry."

"You are, Cupcake. You are the luckiest thing s'ever happened to me."

She looked at him miserably. "I've done nothing but made your life confusing and hell."

He pulled back a little so he could get a clearer look at her face. He smiled. The first genuine smile he felt in a week. “I can take a punch every now and again,” he promised. “Think Louis would say I could be knocked down a peg or two every once in a while,” he winked.

It wasn’t fixed. But she looked slightly less broken. She felt a little more whole. Harry’s smile did wonders for her.

The next day, Harry stood in the hall outside of the dining room. Other residents were in various activities, but her dad sat in his chair, slumped slightly, and he smiled at her entrance.

“Dad,” she said softly sitting across from him.

“Busy week you had it seems,” he smiled.

She blushed. “I know. I’m so sorry. I should have called. It was one thing after another—it’s no excuse I should have been here, and I was—”

“Honey,” he shook his head slightly, one of the few movements he retained from the crash. “You’re living a life. It’s okay.”

Her heart broke to see him in his chair. Unable to live the same kind of life.

“I... brought... something.”

“Something or someone?”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t see a cupcake box, so this must trouble,” he joked, smiling brightly.

“Harry is here. He wanted to meet you,” she explained.

“He wanted to? What about you?” He asked. She looked at him nervously. Her eyes said everything she didn’t say out loud. Her dad continued to smile. “Well, it’s about time, honey.”

She rolled her eyes and waved him over. Harry hurried, stepping right beside his wheelchair. Without hesitating, he grabbed her dad’s limp hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you sir,” he said shaking it firmly with both hands. When the handshake was through, Harry ever so gently placed his hand back on the arm rest of his chair.

Her dad smirked and winked at the sweet girl. “I’d offer you my seat, Harry, but I’m afraid I’m stuck in it.”

“Jesus Christ,” she covered her hand over her eyes.

Harry chuckled, taking the seat on the side of the table between them. “No problem, sir,” he assured him, taking the joke in stride. Adoration for them both squeezed around her heart. “Cupcake, do y’mind getting us some water?” She blinked in surprise. Normally, Harry wouldn’t let her lift a finger.

“Oh... um... sure,” she said and hurried off to find a nurse to help.

“Cupcake?” Her dad repeated.

“Yes, sir. She’s quite sweet like one,” he smiled gently. Her dad stared Harry down for a moment. Not maliciously. Just watching. Waiting. If they were in the ring, they would have been eyeing one another waiting for someone to make a move.

Her dad made the first one. “She said you wanted to meet me.”

Harry nodded. “I adore your daughter. With everything in me. M’going t’protect her every moment of every day. I wanted you t’hear that from me. I wanted you t’know that.”

“She can be a little feisty sometimes,” he warned, but the smile didn’t leave his face.

“M’aware,” he didn’t want to tell him about their stalemate over the last few weeks. That didn’t matter anymore and it wouldn't paint either of them in a good light.

“She said you have a big match coming up.”

He nodded. “Yes, sir. Biggest one of m’career.”

“Think you’ll win?” He asked.

Harry was confident. But he didn’t like to let his confidence overinflate his chances or make himself sound presumptuous. Anything could happen. But he was going to try his hardest and best. That would be good enough for him. “I believe so. I’ve worked hard for this. I want it more than most anything,” he promised.

“Most?” Just like his daughter, he caught the key word.

“Most,” he repeated. There was a significant pause as Harry considered his next thoughts. The words he didn’t want to explain but what he wanted her dad to know anyway. “Did she tell you about Jack?” Harry asked quietly.

The name didn’t ring a bell. He shook his head. “No. She doesn’t always tell me everything.”

Harry smiled sadly. “At least she’s consistent,” he murmured. “My manager Louis and I teach self-defense classes... she joined one several months ago,” he let another pause tell her dad the words he didn’t want to say. The story he probably shouldn’t be telling him in the first place. “M’confident she could protect herself. But m’hoping she won’t ever have to. M’going t’keep her safe,” he assured him. “I promise.”

He could only imagine the wave of emotions that took over his brain. Harry obviously wasn’t a father, but he didn’t need to be one to know he would murder someone for his daughter. Paralysis or not. “And you?” He asked quietly. Digesting the bit of information Harry alluded to.

“Me?” Harry repeated.

“Are you going to hurt her?”

“Never,” he assured him. “I’d... I’d take a bullet for her,” he promised.

“Speaking from experience, that might hurt her more than just letting her take the bullet,” he chuckled and winked. Harry snorted but nodded.

“Understood.”

She returned with three glasses of water and an extra long straw for her father. “You guys sharing war stories about me?”

“I was jus’ ‘bout t’tell him how you’re trying t’fatten me up with raspberry lemon filling,” Harry stood and held her chair out for her to sit.

“You are more than capable of saying no to cupcakes, Harry.”

“I beg to differ, honey. It’s a sin to say no to them,” her dad smiled. “A sin to say no to you,” he winked again.

Their reunion in Harry’s home was carnal to say the least. Harry missed being inside her. He wanted to fall asleep with her wrapped around his dick. Harry had spent many years of his teens taking care of his own sexual needs and yet somehow the weeks apart from her were worse than all those years combined.

Perhaps it was the noises she made. Begging Harry for a release. Her body craved his. It felt like a part of her had been missing for the duration of their silly stalemate. It may have only been a few weeks, but it was a few weeks without orgasms made possible by Harry’s mouth, fingers, and dick.

“I wanna stay inside you the rest of m’life,” he moaned into her ear in the middle of the night. They would both be tired in the morning. Louis would probably hate her (even though Harry assured her that was impossible) but it was worth it.

They started going over her self-defense moves again in between dinner and TV shows. Harry was encouraging. Making sure she followed the right move and not her instinct. Correcting her form and making sure she knew he would always be there for her. She told him more secrets that made Harry feel so whole.

She watched him train. Harry walked her to her car after falling asleep on the table in the bakery kitchen. They hadn’t spent a night apart since Harry met her dad. They fell asleep watching a movie or show nearly every night. Harry would simply lift her in his arms and carry her to the bedroom. She would coax him out of his slumber and snuggle up to him as they made it to a more comfortable position in bed.

That was the case one week prior to Harry’s big fight.

He had fallen asleep in her lap (after he had lazily brought her to orgasm with nothing more than stroking his finger messily around her clit. Simply because he could and thought her sleep shorts looked lonely without his hand inside them). Now he had an arm wrapped around her waist, face nuzzled against her T-shirt. “I love you, Cupcake,” he mumbled sleepily. She ignored it. Thought that maybe he was asleep because surely someone so big and strong—someone so scary yet boyish—couldn’t love her after all she put him through. No matter how good her mouth was on his dick. “Hear me, kitten?” He asked rolling to look up at her.

She smiled, blushing. “I heard you, thought you were sleeping.”

“Well, I love you in m’sleep, too,” he turned again, rubbing his nose against her shirt. She giggled, rubbing her fingers through his hair and massaging scalp. She was so enamored and so surprised she felt speechless. “So you’re supposed t’say it back,” he turned and looked up at her. “Unless...y’don’t feel the same way...or I said it too soon or something and it’s—”

“Oh no way,” she assured him. “I love you very much,” she laughed and brought her face down to his and kissed him.

The morning of his fight, they woke up early. Harry headed into the shower, and she followed right behind him. With a sleepy smile he enjoyed the feel of her mouth on him as he always did, gripping her hair in his hands while he thought about how a $100,000 would change his life and allow him to spoil her.

But after a healthy breakfast (and another blowjob from beneath the table while he ate because she simply thought he deserved a relaxed morning) there was no use denying it.

Harry was grumpy.

By the time they got to Driven, he snapped at her a few times (more than a few times) and she took it like a champ. In fact, she was planning on ignoring it entirely. It wasn’t his fault. Stress was natural on a day like today. His warmup wasn’t supposed to be heavy the day of a massive fight like this even though he tested Louis’ patience to no end.

“Again,” he snarled at Louis. Louis looked at her for support.

“Baby, you need—”

“I said, again. I know what m’doing,” he growled ignoring her.

Louis let him have one more round of practice. But it was Louis’ comments on his attitude that he found her around lunch time in his office setting up a light lunch from one of his favorite restaurants nearby. Tail between his legs. “M’sorry I snapped, kitten. S’jus’ the nerves.”

She smiled. “I know, baby. It’s okay.”

“S’not okay, though.”

She shook her head grinning at him. “I’ll yet at you later when you eat the frosting off my cupcakes.”

He nodded. “M’gonna hold you to that,” he promised.

“I know it’s silly to say. But don’t be nervous. You’re going to win, I can feel it,” she assured him and draped herself in his lap while he ate his carrot sticks.

“Course. M’good luck charm will be there,” he brushed his finger on her cheek.

“You know, I hate when you get hit. It's been my least favorite part of this whole experience.”

He shrugged. “So, I won’t get hit,” he smiled knowingly.

She laughed. “I don’t think I’m much of a good luck charm when you were already undefeated when I met you,” she reminded him.

He felt everything soften in him. The tenseness, the anger, and the frustration all disappeared. “Oh, kitten,” he shook his head. “You have been m’good luck charm for so much more than boxing matches.”

Louis was ready to explode with anger. Part of her wondered if he had ever followed through on his threats of getting in the ring to throw punches at Harry. She thought it might be cathartic for him. Before she can blink, the introductions are over. The sound of the bell chimes through the arena room.

Ding

Round one was over and she was holding her breath so she seriously considered the idea that she had blacked out and missed it. But Niall had murmured to her that he didn’t get hit once and she felt so proud, so excited. The kind of money Harry was going to win would do incredible things for his life. Maybe in addition to holding her breath, she had squeezed her eyes shut and turned to Niall.

His opponent was big, strong. He wasn't facing Harry because he wasn't good. It terrified to think the kind of damage an opponent like him could do to him.

“Looks like he forgot extra towels,” Niall murmured to her bringing her back to reality. She could see the irritation in Louis’ eyes and Harry holding his hands up with the gloves. How did y’expect me t’grab them? She could imagine him grumbling back only further irritating Harry. There was enough for the time being but she knew they would go through a stack of them in no time at all.

“I’ll get them,” she offered standing waving at him in some silent sign language neither discussed but Louis knew what it meant. He looked the slightest bit more relaxed by her standing. Part of her thought for the first time in their relationship he didn’t hate her. Even though Harry assured her repeatedly that he didn't. (He was utterly kind to her throughout the self-defense classes and when Harry reminded her of such, she alluded to the fact that she paid for that kindness.)

“Cupcake, you’re the best,” Niall squeezed the back of her arm as he stayed put. “Want me to come with you?” He asked.

“No, I got it,” she smiled. “I’m going to use the bathroom and hit the concession stand too. So, if I’m not back at the end of the next round I didn’t fall in the laundry basket,” she promised. Niall chuckled and waved her off.

After going to the bathroom and making her way back to the locker room, flashing her badge around her neck, she found the extra towels laid out. The noise was deafening—even from inside the locker room. She grabbed an armful's worth and made her way toward the entrance to the arena.

When she turned around, the last person she ever thought she’d see was waiting just inside the door. The volume behind him hadn’t changed. But she swore in that moment, the crowd, the bell, the thudding of her heart, everything got louder.

She knew he was trying to intimidate her just by standing there. There wasn’t a single person around. Everyone was in that arena. Her legs felt like lead, but she walked forward anyway. The towels in her arms provided extra space between them as she started to walk right past him. “Excuse me,” she muttered.

He’s just trying to intimidate me. She repeated to herself.

“Round two is about to begin!” She heard announced from behind the door followed by a delighted cheer.

It was nothing.

Jack was just trying to scare her. She hadn't done anything wrong.

All she needed to do was walk by him confidently. Then she would watch Harry win life-changing money. She was home free. Leaning into the door, the metal bar squeaking as it released the hold on the frame to let her through to the main room.

But at the last second, the towels fell from her arm in a heap as he grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the door. “I don’t think so.”

Round two was starting.

Ding.

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notlhecxzsa · 4 months ago

Text

Sorry - Scarlett Johansson

Warnings: Angsty, slightly mean Scarlett (she's a literal baby at the end!), sad reader

Sum: Aftermath of the fight between Y/n and Scarlett

Scarlett JohanssonXFem!Reader

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No one's POV:

You didn't remember the reason why the two of you started to fight anymore. Hours and hours of shouting here and there with so many different topics coming up in every seconds. You just confronted her on being so busy this days, i mean, you know and understand her line with work, but this past few weeks you felt as if you're just a chore for her.

Why is it so hard for her to understand where you are coming from? Because as the shouting gone by, she's flipping the table, and she's coming at you, saying things that's not true, which really hurt you. While Scarlett, is just too tired and exhausted from work, that her anger got triggered when you confronted her, and became too blinded on where you are coming from.

They said that these things, the fightings, is normal in a relationship, but it gets really tiring, so after the last sentence she shouted at you which is "Fuck, why can't you just shut the fuck up?! Can't you understand it? I'm working, and i've been busy!". You just shut your mouth, and made your way to the kitchen.

She made you felt as if you're in the wrong, as if you're the wrong one here, while all you just wanted is a free time from her, it may just be an hour or two, you didn't really care, because all you wanted was her, but now, she took the confrontation the other way.

So, currently, you're here at the kitchen, cooking dinner, while she went upstairs to take a very much needed shower. Even though you're very upset at her, the care you have for her still didn't go away, and the fact that she's tired and exhausted from work, makes you feel like you should still make her feel all better and cared for, that's how you love her.

Now, back to Scarlett, as she take a shower, her mind went back on earlier moments, analyzing and calculating your words, and her words, trying to make out on who's truly wrong. A fight that started from a small conversation. As her mind became wider and more clearer, she realized that she's the one who's in fault.

Because, as much as she don't want to believe it, she been so busy, so busy that her busyness makes her almost forgot about you. Her heart swell in guiltiness, and regrets because of the things she said to you. It almost made her angry with herself, on how dumb she is for not seeing through you, and for not understanding you well.

So, after she's done and all clean up, she quickly turned the shower off, then drying off and putting a much more comfortable clothes on. Then going down the stairs to look for her girl, only to be met by the smell of her favorite food. All she wants to do is to hug you, say sorry, and to whisper comforting words. Her wandering stopped until she found you in the kitchen, and only now did she notice that you're wearing her clothes, from head to toe, it's all of her clothes, it only made her realized more of how much you have really missed her.

And god, don't you look so cute and adorable wearing her clothes that are bigger than you.

Calmly making her way over to you, stoping when she's just behind you, peaking over on what you are cooking, as her arms found its way to your waist, pulling you closer to her until your back touches her front. Even though you don't really want to be near her at the moment, you just let her.

"That smells amazing, my love." She whispered lovingly in your ear, but you made no move and just continued cooking.

Hmp, she deserves this.

"I'm sorry, baby..." Once again, she was met by silence. "I'm really really really sorry, i should've known, im just really tired and exhausted that's why i snapped out, i don't even know where the words i said came from. I'm really sorry, please forgive me." She begged, hiding her face on the crook of your neck, as her hands snaked inside the shirt you are wearing, her fingertips dancing around you tummy soothingly.

She kept begging and apologizing, showering you with kisses, attention, and sweet words. But, you made no action on paying any mind to her.

Now, it's time to eat, but you're still ignoring her, you just eat, while she stared at you. You're halfway, and her stare is really bothering you, plus, the food is getting cold, and ofcourse, you being the caring girlfriend, and with the looks she's giving you, you know she won't eat until you talk to her.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Your voice is calm, it's not as warm as it used to be, but it's not that cold either.

"I am." She squeaked out, she sounds like she's fighting her tears, making you look up.

"Then what are you waiting for? The food will get cold." You said, pointing at the food.

"Talk to me, then I'll eat." She said, her voice is now breaking, her heart cannot contain the pain of you, ignoring her as if she's not there.

"Am i not talking to you right now?" You ask with a raise of an eyebrow, as if it's the most obvious thing. She shook her head, and you see tears started to brim out of her eyes, making you feel bad for the way you're treating her.

Damn, she's so sorry already, why can't you just accept it then move on. But, you want her to feel how you felt, you have valid reasons.

"I'm saying sorry to you, and you won't even acknowledge me." She said, which came out as a whisper as tears fell out of her eyes, which she quickly wipe, then lean back on her chair, looking forward at the plate, avoiding your gaze.

And now, if you would look at your peripheral vision, Scarlett looks like a kid who is being scolded by her mother for not wanting to eat.

You almost felt bad just by looking at her, but it's making you laugh at the same time for how she is acting. Such a baby.

"Okay, sorry, i just- i just thought you would understand what i felt and realized what you did, which i think you do. I wil accept your apology, only if you promise me that you won't do that again." You said now more softly and warm, just how she loves.

"I promise, im really sorry, i really promise to have more time with you, and give you more attention that you deserve." She said, looking at you pleadingly and convincingly, then reaching out to hold you hand.

"Look, im not asking for so much, because i know you're a very busy person, i knew that from the first day i met you. But, an hour or two with you is enough, that's all im asking." You said, softly.

It makes her heart clench on how you're very desperate on having her by your side, it's just a very simple thing that she can't give you, a very simple, but a very heart-warming gesture. You just want her, while all she does is work.

"I'm really sorry, baby..." She started, as she reach over to pull you in her embrace. "I promise, i will give you more than just an hour or two, okay? I will take a break from work, and then we'll go on a vacation, just the two of us, how about that? Would you like that, my love?" She ask softly, hooking her index finger on your chin, making you look up at her.

"You don't have to do that, im just asking yo-" You tried to reason, not wanting to be a burden or anything to stop your girlfriend from doing her work, but you were cut off by Scarlett.

"Shhh, i want to, okay? I want to make it up to you, im just giving you what you deserve, plus we would really need that, i've been busy, and work is really hectic, plus, we would have much more time with each other. Work is nearly done anyways. Pleaseeee?" She begged as she gave you a puppy eyes at the end, making you sigh in defeat.

I mean, the idea of going on a vacation, just the two of you, no works, or anything that can interrupt the both of you, is a good thing right? No, it's amazing.

"Okay, okay, fine. We'll go." You said, and smiled softly at her, which she returned with much more big smile. She lean in to kiss you, and you met her halfway.

The kiss is deep, full of love and passion, but before it can lead to something more, you quickly pull away, much to her dismay.

"Okay, okay, stop, let's eat." You said, chuckling when she groaned.

"Why do we even need to eat?! We're just gonna poop it out anyways." She whined, making you slap her playfully.

"Hey, we're infront of the food." You scolded her while laughing, which made her laugh too, and said a small 'sorry'.

Before she started to eat, she softly capture your face with one hand, and gave your pink plump lips a multiple pecks, that you needed to stop her because she doesn't want to stop.

"Okay, big baby, you're being too spoiled with so many kisses already." You teased, and she pouted, but it quickly go away when you gave her a kiss.

"Now, go on, eat up." You said, which she quickly obliged.

"I love you." She said lovingly, before shoving a food in her mouth.

"I love you too."

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#lhecxzsa #natasha marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff angst #scarlett johansson x you #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson imagine #scarlett johansson fanfic #scarlett johansson

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odilelajolie · 3 months ago

Text

Hunted, Ch. 1

Summary:

Several years after escaping FBI custody, Cooper Adams has quietly settled in a remote Vermont town. He's a monster in remission--his violent urges lay dormant.

But when he catches sight of Alice, a traumatized 18-year-old girl, a new form of predatory darkness overtakes his demented mind. Young and achingly vulnerable, she's a lost soul as alone in the world as he is.

Alice needs the care of a proper Daddy, and as soon as she stops resisting, Cooper knows she'll accept the special kind of love he's been saving for a special little girl like her...

Ch. 1: Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

As far as Alice could tell, it would be yet another ordinary night in a long sequence of ordinary nights at the Sugar Maple Diner.

Though it wasn’t as if she entirely minded. There was a strong part of her that actually took comfort in the familiarity of it all, the mundane routine of her small, simple world, regardless of the fact that it was rather dull most days.

Dull meant safe—and safe was a good thing, especially for someone like her.

Alice absently rotated her sore neck and shoulders as she made her way into the cozy, 50s-nostalgic restaurant, offering a friendly wave to the owner, Mr. Andrews, one of the only people in town who still bothered to interact with her. Not only had he given her a job when everyone else had refused to hire her, but he and his wife had even opened their home to Alice on occasion for a glass of lemonade, or tea and cookies, or a holiday meal.

Alice rarely accepted these invitations from the elderly couple, always fearful she’d inadvertently exhaust the goodwill they generously harbored for her. But she appreciated their kindness, an increasing rarity for Alice, so she was always happy to volunteer whenever they needed help with little projects around their house to express her gratitude in return.

Alice idled near the jukebox just beyond the hostess stand to see if Mr. Andrews would return her greeting, but he was busy behind the bar serving beer to a group of chatty truckers, and clearly didn’t have much spare time to say hello.

Shaking off the brief, sharp pang of loneliness, the aching desire for someone—anyone—to talk to her, Alice headed straight for the break room to change into her uniform—an old fashioned pale pink dress with a white apron. She secured her hair in a high ponytail, and exactly five minutes before six p.m., she returned to the main dining room for her shift, forcing a smile on her face.

The hours elapsed in the same, slow fashion they always did. The dinner rush—if merely five parties of no more than four people across three hours could be called that—consisted of the same group of Tuesday night regulars Alice had been waiting on for nearly a year now. Alice no longer bothered with trying to introduce herself, much less engage in small talk with her tables, for the town locals had long made it very clear ever since her return that they had no interest in speaking with her. So instead, Alice remained small and silent as she scribbled orders on her notepad, taking up as little space as possible as she refilled drinks, cleaned up spills, and delivered steaming plates of comfort food from the kitchen.

And she did all of this with her head perpetually lowered, so that no one would have to suffer the unnecessary discomfort of looking at her.

By ten o’clock, the restaurant was deserted, and the only other employee remaining was Ted, the largely wordless cook who kept to himself even more strictly than Alice did. Alice generally took her own meal break around this time when it was just the two of them twiddling their thumbs until closing, silence broken only by the rockabilly and Doo-wop melodies sung by the jukebox. But before she could write down her request for a cup of soup and a half-sandwich, losing herself for a few moments to the croons of Elvis Presley—wring my faithful heart; tear it all apart; but love me—the door chime cheerfully rang, signaling the arrival of a customer.

Alice gulped at the intimidating sight of the new arrival, and he was definitely new—she surely would have noticed him around the tiny town before now if he were a local. He was almost as broad as he was tall—and he was frighteningly tall—with the build of an elite athlete, like a champion MMA fighter, his long limbs hard and big and savage. The charcoal sweater and dark jeans he wore actually seemed to struggle to keep his toned muscles contained.

He had thick, silky hair the color of dark roast coffee, and a closely-shorn mustache and short, angular beard. He was a very handsome man, perhaps in his early-to-mid forties, but when Alice finally met his eyes, she was instantly rendered breathless by a powerful, inexplicable sense of sheer terror that seemed to seize her by the throat, and choke her.

Shadowed by a prominent brow bone, his inky, hooded eyes were disturbingly dark. Chilling. They reminded Alice of the eyes of a shark. Fathomless. Cold.

Predatory.

“Hey there…can I get a table?”

Unlike his frightening eyes, the velvety timber of the man’s deep voice actually inspired an equally strong sense of comfort—relief—causing the paranoid internal alarms within her body to faintly recede.

Alice was rendered profoundly unbalanced, nearly on the verge of collapsing to the floor from the whiplash of such opposing instincts.

Perplexed by her body’s strange reactions to the stranger, Alice quickly nodded and dutifully lowered her head. She reached for a menu and silently beckoned the man to follow her, her shoulders arched nearly all the way to her ears as she timidly guided him to her favorite booth by the windows with the prettiest view of the forest.

He followed her with slow, heavy foot falls, and Alice nearly caved in on herself when she was directly confronted with just how much bigger he was up close as he slid into the booth with athletic, equanimous movements.

Even sitting down, he was huge.

Alice placed the menu on the table once he appeared settled, and reached into her apron pocket for her notepad and pen, waiting expectantly for him to provide his drink order, as all other customers automatically did upon sitting.

But when he didn’t speak after several moments, Alice shyly raised her head, and was surprised to find the man gently smiling at her.

He looked even more handsome when he smiled—

“There you are,” he said warmly, his voice triggering a sudden influx of delightful tingles throughout her weary muscles. “How are you doing tonight?”

Too stunned to speak, Alice felt hot blush rising to her cheeks in embarrassment.

How long had it been since someone had asked her how she was?

Seemingly sensing her unease, the man continued, “Sorry—you probably don’t want to talk with an old man like me,” he said ruefully, and Alice was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. This handsome stranger was being more sociable with her than anyone had in months, and she was messing everything up. “Would it be possible to order—”

“I’m A-Alice,” she interrupted shakily—awkwardly—cheeks boiling at the mousy sound of her own voice.

To her relief, the man’s smile only widened, and there was a flicker of playfulness in his eyes, somewhat tempering the otherwise unnerving quality in his dark gaze.

“That’s a very pretty name,” he replied. “I’m Cooper.”

Cooper. Alice repeated the name in her head. It sounded strong and masculine.

She quite liked it.

“Put us together and we’re rock stars,” he added. Alice frowned in confusion. “I…I don’t follow—”

“Alice Cooper?” Alice shook her head, and Cooper released a slow sigh. “Ahh…don’t mind me—I’m betraying my age here. He’s before your time.”

“Oh. Okay.” Alice swallowed hard. “Umm…w-welcome to the S-Sugar Maple Diner,” she offered, remembering she needed to do her job. It had been so long since she’d been required to introduce herself to a customer that Alice was quickly finding she was woefully out of practice with the basics. “M-may I get you something to drink, sir?”

“Well I was taking a look at what you have on tap, but I notice you don’t have a bartender right now,” Cooper mentioned. “And I suspect you’re not quite old enough to legally go behind the bar.”

“Yeah…the bar closes at nine on weekdays. Mr. Andrews—he’s the owner—he already left for the night, and he usually handles that stuff.” Embarrassed, Alice tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Call me Cooper.”

“I’m sorry, Cooper.”

“So, how old are you?”

“Eighteen—but I’ll be nineteen next month.”

She wasn’t sure why she shared that detail. It certainly wasn’t as if her upcoming birthday made her seem any less young and pathetic.

“Ahh…definitely too young to pour alcohol.” Cooper softly chuckled, his deep-chested rumble pleasantly tickling her ears. “In that case, how about a nice cold glass of Coke?”

“Would you prefer a frosted glass or ice?”

“Ice, please.”

Alice wrote down the order with a nod. “Coke with ice, coming right up.”

She began to turn on her toes to prepare his soda, but then he spoke again.

“So what do you recommend here?” Cooper asked.

“Recommend?” Alice repeated slowly. “You mean…to eat?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Alice realized what a stupid response it truly was.

The townsfolk’s collective avoidance of her was clearly not entirely to blame for her poor conversation skills.

Of course he was asking her what to eat. She was a waitress. It was her job.

Mercifully, Cooper didn’t poke fun at her idiocy. “Yeah, what’s your favorite thing on the menu?” he asked. “If you were to join me for a meal, what would you order?”

Alice squeaked, “You want me to join you?”

Cooper’s eyes widened, and he appeared even more shocked than she was. “Well, I was speaking hypothetically, but…sure! Why not. Care to join me?”

Alice thought she might actually pass out from embarrassment.

Not only had she forgotten how to have a normal conversation, but she’d forgotten all about basic social cues. Sarcasm. Hypotheticals.

Cooper was being friendly. Nothing more. He didn’t actually want to spend time with her—he just had good manners.

“Umm…I’m really not supposed to…” Alice trailed off, nervously biting her lip.

Unperturbed, Cooper shrugged his mountainous shoulders. “Perhaps some other time then.” Leaning forward, he lowered his voice and added in a conspiratorial murmur, “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble on my account.”

There was an undeniably patronizing quality to his warm baritone, but it wasn’t condescending in a negative way. The lilting way Cooper spoke was gentle, daresay caring, the low pitch of his manly deepness perfectly matched with a bright, uplifting enthusiasm.

Cooper spoke to her the way Alice remembered her own father used to speak to her—as if no one else in the world existed. As if she were important.

As if every word she spoke were the most brilliant thing ever to be uttered in history of the world, and he couldn’t get enough.

Cooper had a…Dad voice, the kind of voice that felt like a warm, clean blanket fresh out of the dryer.

He had a voice of absolute safety—a voice that made her feel brave.

Like she could do anything.

“I recommend the deluxe cheeseburger with fries,” Alice said, unable to contain her giddy smile. “Ted makes the best in town.”

Cooper kept a careful gaze on Alice through his peripherals as he chewed and swallowed the mediocre cheeseburger, though he made sure to provide plenty of appreciative grunts and moans throughout his labored consumption for the girl’s benefit.

He’d been patiently watching her for nearly a year now. It wouldn’t do well to worry the skittish thing when he was so close to finally making her his, for little Alice was a painfully insecure, highly sensitive girl. She was pitifully naïve and defenseless, lonely and desperate for affection.

She was perfect—and finally ripe for his taking.

When he’d originally made the decision to settle down in the middle of fucking nowhere, Vermont after several years on the run, he’d simply planned on living quietly for whatever remained of his existence. The monster within lay dormant—at least for now—the compulsion to destroy and dissect no longer eroding what little remained of his sanity. The urge had been a sickness, a magmatic fever, burning so hot in his veins it was boiling him alive. Cooper knew quite well it would have killed him eventually.

But now, his insides were…cooler, warm instead of blisteringly hot, and the dark, animalistic impulses currently thrumming through his body were far less bloodthirsty in nature compared to his prior proclivities.

Perhaps he was in remission.

He’d spent more than forty years keeping the two opposing halves of his psyche strictly separate, diligently compartmentalizing every aspect of his life down to the most minute detail, but when he’d caught sight of this tiny angel of a girl almost ten months ago—so sweet and innocent and frightened and alone—Cooper was leveled, and struck with an epiphanic clarity.

Perhaps the separatist approach to mitigating his dangerous urges no longer served him.

Perhaps the only way for him to survive was by reconciling his infernal hungers, once and for all.

When Cooper had escaped FBI custody—doubling his body count in the process—he’d been forced to accept that the closest thing to real human connection he’d ever been able access, his family, was lost to him forever. He missed being a husband. He missed being a father.

But when he saw Alice, he realized he could still be both.

She was as alone in the world as he was, an isolated little girl shunned by nearly everyone around her. At merely eighteen, she was young and exceedingly vulnerable, in dire need of a loving authority figure to guide her and keep her safe.

And yet, she was also a woman. Barely legal, but a woman nonetheless, and a mouthwatering one at that. Alice was a tiny thing, shorter even than Riley was when he last saw her, her petite body a tight little package of soft, untouched femininity he was growing more and more ravenous to taste.

Cooper had always been partial to blondes, and his little Alice was a natural platinum. A “baby” blonde.

Sweet little baby blonde with her pretty baby blue eyes—

With her milky skin and delicate features—not to mention those pouty pink lips just begging to have something hard shoved between them—Alice could look like a porcelain doll one moment, and a sex kitten the next. She was an undeniably gorgeous girl, not yet aware of her erotic allure, and under different circumstances, he knew she could have had any man on his knees begging to fuck her.

Fortunately for him, the entire town thought she was batshit crazy.

And Cooper was certainly not one to be put off by a little madness—

“How’s your dinner?” Alice asked sweetly from a few tables away. She’d been refilling ketchup bottles and rolling silverware for the last twenty minutes or so, responding beautifully—albeit awkwardly—to his subtle prompts for casual conversation.

Cooper wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin and made an exaggerated show of patting his stomach. “You were right—this is the best burger I’ve ever had,” he lied smoothly. “Excellent recommendation, sweetheart.”

The girl’s cheeks instantly flooded with pretty pink blush—she likes being called sweetheart—and she shyly lowered her head, but couldn’t resist looking back at him mere seconds later with a demure giggle.

Good girl. She found him attractive.

His depraved plans would be much easier for her to adapt to with her sexual attraction already engaged—

“Can I get you anything else, Cooper?” Alice asked. She sounded hopeful.

His left eye twitched at her use of his first name, one of the few…ticks beyond his control, as a small spark of violent rage kindled deep in his gut, leaving a sickly metallic taste in his mouth.

The urge.

Cooper was suddenly overcome with a vision—a lucid hallucination, really—of marching directly to where the girl stood, and shoving her to the floor so quickly the air would be knocked out of her lungs. He saw himself tearing off her clothes and wrapping his big hands around narrow torso, and squeezing, hard enough to crack her ribs, before mounting her like a beast in the wild, ready to take his quivering bitch in heat. He wanted to feel her small, supple body struggling beneath him, his scared, mewling kitten desperate to free herself by any means necessary.

He wanted her to scream. He wanted her to cry.

She was so fucking tiny he’d absolutely crush her with his size. Cooper was already far bigger than most people, but compared to his little girl, his sweet little nymph, he was indestructible, as vast and powerful as a god.

He could do anything he wanted to her. He could violate her beyond recognition.

He could fuck her within an inch of her life—

Realizing he’d zoned out far longer than intended, he released a sharp exhale to snuff out the ember of fury, reminding himself that it was perfectly okay that the girl was calling him Cooper—for now.

She’d be calling him Daddy soon enough.

He forced himself to smile, carefully schooling his features to the affable façade he used specifically for putting people at ease.

Like clockwork, the girl visibly relaxed.

“Just the check please, sweetheart.”

Hunted Ch. 2: Dream A Little Dream Of Me

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58229851/chapters/148279471

#ao3 fanfic #trap 2024 #trap movie #cooper adams smut #cooper adams #the butcher #cooper adams x reader #cooper adams x ofc #cooper adams x original female character #trap film #dark romance

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

Winter's King 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I can't explain why but damn I'm so tiredddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you approach the capital, you can’t help but poke your head up to admire the domes of the great castle and the high towers. The gates stand open as the party advances, in wait of their new liege and lord. You shield your eyes against the sun as you gaze at the silhouette of the mighty architecture.

“May as well get a good gander,” Bryce says, “doubt the kitchens are any more glorious than the ones you know.”

“Mm,” you retract your gaze and sigh, “suppose. But they will still be new to me.”

“Not all that is new is wondrous,” he girds. “For as much as I’ve seen in this world, it is the familiar that keeps me sane.”

You nod and let the cart rock you. Ahead of you, the horses tread over rocks and dirt, wagons bounce and creak, and some servants walk afoot to ease the cramps in their legs. You lean lazily on a chest and fold your hands in your lap. It will at least be nice to stay beneath a proper roof again.

The streets of the city are crowded with faces. They do not holler for you but you can hear the raucous uproar ahead as the king and queen ride between the citizens. There are even more black and grey soldiers stationed along the roads, awaiting your arrival.

As you wind up to the royal castle, the noise grows tantamount. At the walls of the grand structure, clusters of people threaten to crush the party between their writhing bodies. It takes some time after the king’s entrance for the luggage to make way into the courtyard.

The carts depart around the back of the castle as the horses make way for the stables. You climb out as Bryce lurks around, dismounting Daisy with a grunt as he rubs his lower back. You glance over at him as the other servants quickly fall into work.

“Maid,” he calls to you before you can follow suit, “no doubt the queen will need to wash away the road before she faces the hordes.”

He beckons you forth with his gauntlet and you diligently near him. He hands off Daisy to a castle servant and carries on inside. You scurry beside him as he stops and gauges his surroundings. He is not versed with the corridors but he presses on unimpeded.

You turn back a few times before you reach the great hall. It is crowded and chaotic. The soldier strides through without pause. You nearly grab onto him just to keep from being lost in the stirring of soldiers and servants, and the tittering lords and ladies in their colourful garb.

Up the stairs and a few questions grunted to his comrades, Bryce takes you down to a set of chambers with yet another soldier before it. You’re let inside without question. You find Queen Jazlene before a steaming basin as another servant cleans her face.

The queen scrunches up her nose and swats the lady servant, the maid still in the former king’s colours; burnt autumn orange and goldenrod yellow.

“Watch my eyes, you moron,” Jazlene chides and jabs her nail into the maid’s ribs.

“My lady, I didn’t mean--”

“I am a queen, not a lady,” Jazlene hisses, “be gone before I have your teeth knocked out of that stupid mouth of yours.”

The other maid wrings the cloth and steps back on her heel, chewing on an apology before she spins to flee. As she nears the door, she notices you and gives a panicked look. You reach to take the cloth from her before you go to the queen.

“Your highness,” you greet her and dip the cloth back in the steaming water. “Would you like me to put ribbons in your hair?”

“Mm, I suppose,” she tilts her face up and closes her eyes, “once the dirt is gone. By gods, I hate traveling.”

You gently wipe along her hairline and trace the outline of her face. You delicately but intently clean away the errant dust and streaks. You drape the cloth over the brim of the basin and turn to the table.

“And would you like your lips painted?” You intone. “Your highness, I do think your natural tones are beautiful.”

As you peek back at her, her eyes open and she stares at you. Her nostrils compress as she inhales. She puts her head straight and looks at her reflection.

“Do you think so?” She touches her cheeks.

“Yes, I do, if you line your eyes, they might appear bigger but they are so lovely and dark already,” you compliment.

She hums and tilts her head, turning her attention back on you, “it’s you.”

You lower your head, “your highness?”

“You’re always flitting around like some bird,” she sniffs, “suppose you are not so... agitating as the other. Yes, ribbons and some kohl. Then I will have one of the former queen’s gowns. They have delivered her wardrobe to me.”

“Yes, your highness,” you say and go to work.

You settle into your usual lull. The queen sips from her goblet as you twine ribbons with her curls, a halo around the crown of her head as coiling strands hang down to her back. She looks even more immaculate than you’ve seen her before.

She calls for a dress and you bring her several options from those strewn across the large bed. She chooses the lavender and you help her into the light silk. You relace it to account for her lither figure, the former queen having some extra years in her hips.

When she is dressed, she twirls before the mirror. She stops and sets her chin straight and glares at herself. She arches a brow coyly.

“I cannot wait to see Lady Florence,” she scoffs, “she will choke when she realises I am her queen.”

You linger by the wall, blending into the tapestry as she sighs and eyes the glass affectionately. She primps herself and spins again.

“Well then, I must be overdue,” she goes to the door, “I must go to the king and show him I can be his queen.”

You open the door for her and follow her out. The soldiers outside glance at her but do not move or speak. Bryce comes up beside you as you trail after Jazlene. She struts to the end of the corridor and is stopped by another guard at another door.

“Do not think to stop me,” she spits, “I am the queen,” she flicks her fingers in his direction, “don’t be absurd.”

The man lets her through as she tugs on the latch and his dull eyes stare past her. She hardly has the effect she thinks. People do not admire her so much as they tolerate her.

She sweeps into the chamber as you wait outside. Bryce lets out a gritty breath and taps his fingers on his sword pommel. He chews more of the sweet leaves he loves so much. Jazlene emerges with a doe-like look.

“Where is the king?” She exclaims.

“He has gone to address the people,” the guard picks at his teeth. “He tired of waiting--”

“Do not tell me about the king,” Jazlene snaps on the soldier, “ugh, let us find my husband. How can he think to face my people without me at his side?”

She storms onward and you can only follow. She will no doubt need wine sooner than later, though you wish she might take more water or milk instead. Bryce keeps your pace slowed as he makes little haste.

As she descends the steps, you can hear the king’s voice. The crowd is hushed, almost hypnotised as he speaks from atop a chair. Somehow, he is both overwhelming and unassuming. Jazlene shows as she sees him. The crowd does not move out of her way as they are rapt in his words.

“...do not come as conquerer, but as liberator,” he declares, “I am not here to suppress but to unite. Our kingdoms, forged together as one, can attain glory. Peace. Joy. Our people needn’t suffer the droughts or frost rot without relief. By coming together, we will join summer and winter in harmony,” the king holds his sword, the tip on the armrest of the wooden chair, “to you lords who stayed loyal to Waleran, I do not seek retribution. You only did your duty and served the king you put an oath to. You had no part in his violations upon myself. I am aware you could not rein in your greedy master. You will keep what is yours, as by rights, but you will swear fealty to the new crown.”

King Geralt looks around the hall, “I have spoken to the farmers and the peasants, I have seen the beauty of your lands. I wish not to ravage it but to build it. You will not have only from me writs and declarations, you will have fields sown, you will have harvests reaped, you will have coin in flow, and you will have full bellies.”

He raises his great sword over his head. The large weapon could be held only by two-hands in anothers grasp but he lifts it effortlessly.

“I saw how your king tucked tail when he saw me on the field. After you good lords followed him to battle and sacrificed your men and your blood. He could not stand and fight, but many of you did, many of you not here today. I will not let their souls be spent in vain,” he pauses and his golden eyes rove around the room. He points his sword suddenly towards you but not quite, at Jazlene, “I have taken a summer wife.” He curls his fingers to gesture her to him. People swivel to see her and clear the path to the king, “a winter’s king must have a summer’s queen, if our kingdoms our to rise anew.”

Jazlene sways before she gets her footing. She moves forward, chin high as she lets a grin break out over her face. She looks this way and that, gloating as she goes to her husband. He steps down as she approaches and he takes her hand. He helps her up on the chair herself and she seems almost confused by the act.

“Queen Jazlene of Debray,” King Geralt proclaims, “she will return with me to the Hinterlands to see that order is kept across our realm and perhaps, the next time I look upon you all, I will have an heir to present to you. A young prince to lead us into the sun ahead.”

He raises Jazlene’s hand as she fawns. The crowd breaks out in racket, voices swelling to the rooves as you’re jostled against Bryce. The lords and ladies, servants and soldiers, throw up fists and hoot and holler.

The king brings his sword up again, silence falling at the gleam of its silver blade, “but first, a feast!”

The fervour is even louder as the hall explodes in glee. You hear it ripple out the doors into the crowd without and like an ocean, the tides carry through the courtyard and front gates, streaming into the city. Peace has come and old grudges cannot take the shine from the gift of a king’s mercy.

⚔️

“Your highness, we heard of what happened on Stag’s River,” an earl, you think he said his name was Kelvan, “it was a brave stand. Admirable, even standing upon the other ridge.”

“You were there?” King Geralt muses, “mm, how fortunate our paths did not cross.”

“Indeed, your highness,” the earl agrees, “I must admit, I dreaded it.”

“But here we are, alive, together, as allies. It is all I ever wanted.”

“And we knew it. We knew it, my liege, for when you let our men march back at all, we saw your grace,” Kelvan smiles.

“Yes, but I have only ever admired your lands, never had I wanted to ruin them,” the king assures as he looks over at his wife.

“He is a brave and good king,” Queen Jazlene praises as she puts her hand over the king’s.

Lord Kelvan’s lips ripple, “mm, yes, I have not seen your father yet. If I shan’t happen upon the Duke, you will send my regards.”

There’s an edge that makes you uneasy. You see how Jazlene bobs her head, “so I shall.”

She doesn’t seem to notice the tick of resent in the earl’s cheek. How odd it is that they are so fond of the invader and yet their own kith and kin, they cannot help but revile. You’ve heard the whispers swirling already. It was not King Geralt who betrayed these people but this snakish woman and her blood.

“Wine, girl, now,” Jazlene snaps as the early departs back to his seat.

You stand against the wall, just behind the bench she shares with the king. You come forward with the jug reserved only for her, nearing between the shoulders of the royal couple. Before you can put the spout to brim, King Geralt’s hand catches the swollen belly of the ewer.

“Perhaps you might have some more lamb before you indulge further, wife,” he girds.

“It is a feast,” she slurs, “I am only celebrating. With you,” she touches his sleeve, “my king.”

“I see that,” his voice is low but firm, “yet you are a queen and your subjects are watching.”

“I can stomach my wine,” she sneers.

He huffs and wraps his hand around the bottom of the handle, just below your grip. He wiggles it away from you and sets it on the other side of his plate. Jazlene lets out a childish gasp.

“It is just wine,” she snivels.

King Geralt runs his fingers along his collar, “we are having a good night,” he says as he peers out on the crowd, “please, let us not make a scene.”

“I am not making a scene. I am the queen and I want more wine,” she insists.

He faces forward completely. You stay as you are, trapped in their indecision. He blocks the jug with his elbow and she claps her hands on her lap and kicks her feet.

“Perhaps you should have some of that wine,” she mutters, “it might make you kinder.”

The king doesn’t reply and instead greets another lord; one who introduces himself as the Count of Bress. As they speak, Jazlene leans back on the bench and tugs your skirt. You look down at her.

“Find more wine,” she growls, “and don’t be obvious about it.”

“Your highness, but the king--”

“I am your master, not him,” she snarls and nudges you harshly, “be away before I lose my patience.”

You dip your head and notice how the king’s head turns towards his wife. You don’t look back as you critter off quickly into the shadows. You might be better to take your time and tell her you could not abscond any more wine. If you wait long enough, it might even slip her mind, as so often her desires fade into the next.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #medieval au #au #series #the witcher #winter's king

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