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roosterforme · 20 days

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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 22 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It's terrifying to realize you don't know if Bradley is safe. As the lonely days stretch on and on, you try to savor the notes from him. Once the final two envelopes have been opened, you know you need the real thing.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, romantic as hell Bradley, 18+

Length: 2600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Other than your car, everything you owned was inside Bradley's house. Over the last few weeks, Natasha helped you load up his Bronco and make a few trips down, but she looked at you like you were crazy when you told her you were going to leave most things packed up for now.

"Why?" she asked, leaning on a stack of boxes in the living room. "Even if he gets stationed in Norfolk, you'll finish out your school year here before he sells the house."

But you didn't want him to sell his house. You loved it here. Being in his living space was the closest thing to being with him when he was deployed, and you didn't think it was fair that he might have to give this up. What would Edith do without Bradley to help her? What would Bradley do in a different state without his best friend? No, you simply couldn't unpack, just in case, but you also couldn't accept Virginia with any finality until you were explicitly told it was happening.

"I just wish I could talk to him," you whispered.

"Soon," Nat replied, and you jumped, surprised to find you weren't alone in your thoughts. "I just moved a million boxes. I deserve a trip to the wine bar, and so do you. Bradley will be back soon enough."

"Nine days. Not soon enough."

It was nine days until he was supposed to get back to Norfolk. On Valentine's Day. Then right after that, it was Career Day at your school. You had been holding onto a few of the envelopes and gift cards from him, trying to make them last, but you were almost out. You needed the real thing again.

Natasha groaned. "You are so in love with him, it's kind of gross. Let's go drink wine, and I'll tell you more tales from before the mustache."

You took one more look at the few unopened letters lined up on the coffee table before grabbing the gift card for the wine bar. But even southern California looked gloomy on the drive up. The wine was good, but you were just tired. Natasha told you all about how she tried to give Bradley the call sign Chicken Man, and you laughed at the idea of that emblazoned along the side of his jet. She also seemed to be able to tell just how melancholy you were.

"You're doing great," she told you, setting down her wine glass. "You're counting down the hours until you can talk to Bradley again. Vanessa would have probably been too busy with her water bottles to remember to pick him up from the airport. There's a reason why it's hard, and it's because he loves you as much as you love him."

You did your best to keep it together after that, but there was a lump in your throat, holding back your emotions, and when you got back home, you started crying on the couch. Big, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, blurring your vision, but you knew which envelope you were reaching for.

Open me when you've had a bad day

As you tore into the envelope, you realized there was another envelope inside it. The second envelope said Take me to The Bayside Florist and give me to someone who works there.

"What is this, Bradley?" you whispered out loud, reaching for your phone to see if the shop was still open this late on a Saturday. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized they closed in an hour, and you grabbed the envelope along with your phone and keys and ran out to your car.

In a matter of minutes, you parked in front of an adorable flower shop with The Bayside Florist in pink lettering on the awning. You felt a little silly taking the envelope inside, but when you were greeted by an older woman with a warm smile, you started to hand it to her.

"This might sound odd, but my boyfriend is deployed, and he left me this envelope," you said with a laugh. "Apparently I was supposed to bring it here?"

The woman adjusted her glasses as a smile found her lips. "Oh, yes. I remember him. Tall? With a mustache? Handsome?"

You bit your lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. "Yeah, that sounds just like him."

She nodded and opened the envelope, humming in agreement with whatever she read inside. "I have something for you. Wait right here."

Then she disappeared through a doorway, and you walked around the inside of the shop, examining the arrangements and enjoying the scent of so many types of flowers mingling together. You weren't quite sure what Bradley had up his sleeve from thousands of miles away, but you were almost positive it was about to make your day so much better.

"Special delivery from your boyfriend."

Startled, you spun around to see a stunning bouquet of flowers in every color on the counter, complete with an envelope tucked in amidst the blooms. "That's for me?" you whispered.

"From your boyfriend," she confirmed.

You stifled a whimper as you reached for the flowers. "Am I supposed to pay for this?"

"He already did."

Tears stung your eyes as you pulled the envelope that said Gorgeous from between two roses. It was written in his handwriting. You thought you should read it in the privacy of your own car, so you thanked the woman and then headed back outside. Once you were sitting behind the steering wheel, you set the flowers aside in favor of the note.

Gorgeous,

I never want you to have a bad day, but I really hate that you're having one when I'm not with you. If I could be anywhere in the world right now, I'd choose to be next to you. Will you write about your day in your journal so we can talk about it later? I can't wait to talk about everything with you. I love you.

Bradley

Now that the tears started, you just let yourself cry.

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

Constantly wondering if your boyfriend was even okay was taking a toll on you. Your classroom was supposed to be your safe haven right now. Your place of comfort. Your refuge. But a few days before Bradley was supposed to get back into Norfolk, you were short and snippy with your class. You didn't mean to be, but it was happening anyway.

"Just sit down," you told Oliver, voice taking on a sharp, scolding edge that was usually never there. All eighteen of your kids sat with their backs straight in their seats and their hands folded on their desks like they were worried you were going to start yelling. This was never how you wanted to conduct your class. These kids were really well behaved for the most part, and you wanted them to have a lot of fun mixed in with their school lessons.

You turned away from them to try to catch your breath. The past few nights had been filled with restless sleep and a pain in your heart that wouldn't go away until you knew Bradley was safe. You cleared your throat, trying so hard to figure out what you wanted to say for your social studies lesson, but you couldn't shake your mind free from the anxiety you were feeling.

Picturing the flowers that you put in a Miller High Life pitcher you found in the kitchen after Bradley didn't appear to own a vase made you smile enough that you were able to turn around again.

"I need everyone to open their textbook to page eighty-seven." The only sound was pages rustling as you added, "And I promise I'll make this a fun unit for us."

When you finally left work that afternoon, you decided to let yourself open the last envelope from Bradley. It had been in your tote bag for a few days, just waiting for the right moment. Open me when you really want some coffee. You could clearly use the extra caffeine today, so you tore into the envelope as you walked across the parking lot. Just like before, there was an envelope inside the first envelope.

Take me to Starbucks and give me to someone who works there.

Now you were smiling. You got to go to another place of business with an envelope like an absolute lunatic, and you were really looking forward to it. You stopped at the Starbucks closest to your school, and when you handed the envelope to the girl who tried to take your order, she raised one eyebrow.

"Your guess is as good as mine. I think it's kind of a treasure hunt of sorts from my boyfriend who is deployed," you told her with a shrug.

Then you watched her open the envelope and remove a note along with a gift card. Her eyes skimmed the text, and her face transformed into the sappiest smile. "Oh my god," she said, looking back up at you. "I wish someone loved me this much," she muttered and then turned away from you, reaching for the biggest cup and a Sharpie.

You waited awkwardly for a few minutes while she made your drink. You could tell it was your favorite drink. Bradley somehow ordered your favorite drink for you to enjoy. Warmth filled your body, and you accepted the cup from her. "Thanks," you murmured as she paid using the gift card, and that's when you realized she had written something on the cup.

Gorgeous, I love you. I can't wait to come home. Bradley

"Does he have a brother?"

You looked up at the girl who made your coffee. "What?" you asked, taking the note and the gift card from her.

"Does your boyfriend have a brother? Because that note is the sweetest thing I've ever seen."

You shook your head, but you were smiling. "No. No brother. Sorry. Thanks for making my coffee."

As you walked outside you read the note, already feeling calmer at the sight of his hand writing.

Dear Starbucks Employee,

The beautiful woman who handed you this envelope is my girlfriend. I am desperately in love with her, and I would be there with her if I could, but I'm fucking deployed, if you can believe it. Please make her favorite drink for her, and if you wouldn't mind, please write 'Gorgeous, I love you. I can't wait to come home. Bradley' on the cup? Thank you so much.

He had scrawled your favorite drink to your exact specifications below that, and it even tasted perfect. You spent the ride back to Coronado planning out your upcoming Monday. If Bradley arrived back to Virginia on time, you'd be hearing from him by then. Every fiber of your being was hoping he'd call and tell you to pick him up in San Diego, but if he had to stay in Norfolk, you'd take a day off from work to fly out and see him. You had to. You wouldn't be able to go an extra minute without him now. You wanted to hug him and kiss him and give him a blowjob. You needed to feel his hands on your body and listen to his voice while you ran your fingers along his scars.

Monday couldn't get here fast enough.

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

The only thing Bradley wanted to do right now was get his phone in his fucking hands, but he thought that if he brought it up again, someone would tell him the thing had been mysteriously misplaced. He already asked for it three times. He'd been dropped back in Norfolk by air transport, and after a short debrief with a national security team, he would hopefully be allowed to be on his way.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw. This way."

He was led into a medical facility first where his bruises and strained neck were examined and the findings were documented. When he realized he got caught up in a dog fighting scenario with the other aviators, he had been more angry than anything else. Didn't these people know he had a perfect girlfriend to get back home to? Did they even care? He made it out mostly unscathed and back to the carrier deck safely, if not a little sore. The one thing that made him almost laugh was the fact that Cyclone would undoubtedly see his medical report, and there was a good chance Admiral Walker would hear from him again.

After the medical consultation, he was led into a debriefing room where he really didn't have much to say about the mission. It had been successful, sure, but he wasn't going to be allowed to discuss it with anyone after this, so he just stuck to answering the questions he was asked.

Then finally, he was given his phone and left on his own. Of course it was nearly dead when he turned it on, but it should be good enough to reach you. Talking to you would come as his top priority before figuring out how he was getting home, but that was a close second. His heart pounded in anticipation of hearing your voice after so many weeks.

It was barely six in the morning in San Diego. Maybe you were up and getting ready for work, but maybe you were still sleeping. It didn't matter. He needed you to know he was coming home. He tapped on your photo, pulling up your contact information as the warm sun and cold Virginia air hit his skin at the same time, and he shivered as soon as the phone stopped ringing. Your voice in his ear was his reward.

"Bradley!"

"Gorgeous," he sighed, suddenly so exhausted, he could barely stand. One word from you, and all he wanted to do was curl up on his couch with his head on your lap and let you take care of everything.

"Bradley!" You shrieked this time, and he smiled.

"Baby, I'm coming home."

"For good?" you asked, voice soft with an edge of concern that he wanted nothing more than to ease away. "Or just long enough to pack some things and head back to Norfolk?"

He hoisted his duffle onto his shoulder and started walking. "I'm coming home for good. Coming home to you."

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

He's safe and he's coming home! I'm working on mapping out the remaining chapters of this story, so if there's something you want to read about, hit me up. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 23

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594 notes · View notes

heohyunjuns · 2 years

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oh my fucking actual lord i haven’t used tumblr desktop in like 6 years Hwat in the sam hell

#now hold awn a minute #what in the actual fuck am i looking at #dis isn't the tumblr EYE know and hate

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inkbybambi · 11 months

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best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —

words: 2.2k rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni. warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.

One thing you love about Simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. Strong, steadfast, there when you need him. Even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.

Not that you’ll tell him that.

You hate asking him for favors — asking anyone for favors, really, but him especially. Whenever you ask someone for help, it's always accompanied by a long-suffering sigh or a roll of the eyes or some very clear indication that they'd rather do anything else.

Except for Simon.

Which is why you're hesitant to ask him more than you absolutely need to. You don't want to push your luck too far, less he eventually tires of you as well.

Losing people hurts, always assuming it's you that caused the problem. You've come to accept this, even if the dark feelings of being too much or a burden claw at the edges of your mind.

But losing Simon? You don't think you'd ever get over that.

It's just after 9pm, the sky dark and clouds threatening, with thunder rumbling steadily in the sky. Your hand shakes as you fumble your phone from your pocket, trying to hold tears at bay as you scroll through your contacts.

Your call log is all Simon.

Some appointments here and there, but Simon everywhere else.

Fuck.

You hiccup, the tears spilling from your eyes as the sky finally opens up, joining you in your mourning.

You don't have any other choice, really, so you click his number before you can talk yourself out of it and walk home instead, bringing it up to your ear as it rings.

He answers before the third ring.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," you sniffle into the phone, before he has a chance to say anything. You take in a sharp breath, blood turning to ice. "Am i bothering you?" you sound so meek and small and tired. “No, dove, you’re not,” comes his calm, reassuring voice. You’re only half-convinced.

"I'm sorry," you begin again. Your heart falls to your stomach, convincing yourself that this is his final straw. You're overtaken by a wave of nausea, despite not having eaten anything since lunch. "I didn't know who else to call, and I lost my tram pass, and I don't have an umbrella, and — "

“Dove,” he says, his accent soothing to your ears — he's so endlessly patient and kind. You ache.

"I can just walk home, I-I'm sorry," you whimper out, unable to stop the tears blurring your vision, feeling pathetic and weak and so, so alone. “Darling,” he says, a little stern. Not angry, never angry. Trying to focus you. “What’s wrong?”

“U-um, my date stood me up,” you sniff, swallowing hard. "I waited an hour," you mumble, looking to your shoes. "Messaged him too, y'know. He just. Didn't show."

You think you hear Simon curse over the line and your heart lurches, feeling like you're about to be sick. “Where are you?”

There's a rustle of fabric, the clink of keys, the heel of his boot walking across his floor. You manage to tell him the name of the restaurant, voice cracking. “Twenty minutes,” he says, and you’re about to protest but he beats you to it. “Sit there and be good and patient and I’ll pick you up, yeah?”

"Okay," you whisper in agreement, before the line clicks dead and you allow yourself to cry, huddling under the awning as some protection from the rain, now coming down in thick, sharp waves.

Thirteen minutes later, the headlights of his truck shine through the dark, pulling up to the curb. You make a mad dash for the passenger door, still getting drenched in the process.

You can't even look at him, hands shaking as you buckle the belt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

He says your name gently. You take in a shuddering breath and let it out just as shaky, looking over towards him. He's wearing his balaclava, but his eyes — even in the dark, you can make out his beautiful eyes. Assessing you, worrying.

"I'm sorry," you croak out. You can't help it. It's burned into your tongue, driven into your mind to make him understand you didn't want to bother him. He doesn't have to forgive you, but as long as he knows, that's enough.

"Love," he says, and there's... something in his voice, as he reaches over for your hand, holding it gently in his own. His eyes never leave yours. "'m never gonna be mad about you askin' for help." Your eyes flit away, but he squeezes your hand and you reluctantly look back. "You know me better than that," he says, as if he can read the treacherous thoughts swirling in your head, drowning you and making it hard to breathe.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. He hums, bringing the back of your hand up to graze his covered lips over the back, pulling out to drive you back.

"This is your flat," you say, fifteen minutes later as he shuts the car off. You were too busy looking at the window, watching the rain drops race down the glass, to notice that he wasn't driving the familiar route to your place.

"Yes," he replies, as if it's obvious he'd bring you here. "You really think I'd let you stay home alone?"

His eyes are so fucking bright. It startles you, and you hate how your heart twists and thumps at how intently he's looking.

"I..." you start, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. His eyes flicker to your lips, snapping away just as quick. "I was gonna eat ice cream and drink shitty, cheap wine," you say.

"As if I don't have either of those things here," he replies, opening the door and effectively ending the conversation. You scramble after him, eager to be inside in the warmth and burrow yourself into his couch.

"Go get changed," he says, voice clear as he removes the balaclava and bends to untie his shoes.

You hesitate for a second, until he looks up to you and there's that something lingering in his gaze — the same something that was in his voice.

"Go on now," he repeats, softer, and you ditch your shoes and your uncomfortably wet jacket by his.

His flat is as familiar as your own — you could walk through it blindfolded at night and you wouldn't knock into a single thing.

Well.

You might knock into a corner or two, but that's not a vision thing. It's a you're a bit clumsy thing. Simon finds it endlessly amusing, poking at the bruises that blossom on your skin while you bat his hand away.

His bedroom is familiar as well. Which is why you don't think twice before you're shimmying out of your clothes — undergarments as well — and rifling through his drawers, finding your favorite shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.

You take a moment to smell the collar, taking comfort in the scent that lingers. You’ve been dressed in his clothes many times before this but it feels different this time.

As you pad back out to the living room, Simon’s already on the couch. Your favorite blanket is draped across his lap, two bowls of ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine sitting open, glasses filled far more than you would’ve. You’ll indulge him, mostly because you have the sneaking suspicion that he’ll have you sleep here anyways.

His balaclava is off. The last dregs of tension drain from you as he looks over to you, face soft in the lowlight of the lamp, tv ready with a show you’ve watched a thousand times that he watches with you without complaint.

“Knew you’d choose that one,” he says with a bit of a smirk as you crawl on the couch, burrowing yourself into his side, his arm slinging across the back of the cushion.

“Am I that predictable?” you mumble, a small thank you as he hands you a bowl.

He doesn’t answer, but you feel the burn of his stare before he snorts, flicking the tv to start playing, the familiar theme relaxing you further.

The silence with him is comfortable, lingering in a hazy in-between of awake and sleep, empty bowls and mostly empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.

“Were you going to fuck him?” he asks, three episodes in, bottle empty.

You blink, not sure if you heard him properly as you pull back to look at him. You can’t read his eyes. Something hot twists in your gut.

“I-I don’t know, Simon,” you start, the weight of his stare heavy. “Maybe?”

He doesn’t say anything and you chew your lip for a moment, fingers curling to play with the blanket. “Depends how the date went, I suppose. Doesn’t matter much now,” you snort. His gaze hasn’t changed. “Why?”

His jaw clicks, taking a deep breath. “You deserve better ‘n that.”

A confused frown pulls at your mouth, unsure how to reply. “I know how to be safe,” you tell him, voice soft.

He seems to be weighing his words in his head, lowering the volume of the show. You feel sick.

Dark eyes rove over your face, taking in every minute detail. You bite at your nail, just for something to do.

“Don’t think there’s a bloke in the world that’s worthy of ya.”

Your frown deepens, breaking your eyes from his, twisting your fingers in your lap. Relationships aren’t easy. Being that vulnerable with someone isn’t easy.

You never want someone to pay for you, and even the smallest gestures like opening the car door or pulling out your chair feel like it’s too much. You don’t deserve that kind of attention. After a while, they’ll get tired. You’ll become a burden to them like everything else in your life.

It’s easier to be by yourself. The only person you have to worry about bothering is you.

“Love.” He tilts his head, eyes trying to catch yours. How hasn’t he gotten tired of you yet?

A hand under your chin forces your gaze up, and you try to shrink yourself against the back of the couch. Your voice catches in your throat, words stuck there.

“What’s goin’ on in tha’ pretty head f’yours?”

You swallow thickly, finding it damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his.

“‘s not like it matters,” you start. his brows furrow, but he stays silent. “No one would want me anyways.”

“‘n why would you say that?”

Frustration burns the back of your throat. Isn’t it obvious? You can barely call him in a dire situation without thinking the worst of yourself. How can he think of you as anything but a nuisance? How could he think anyone else would put up with it?

“You wouldn’t understand,” you say, defeated. You crumble back into the couch.

“Make me understand.”

Heat flashes at the nape of your neck. He takes your hands in his, cradling them in his warmth. Your name sounds so soft in his voice.

“How aren’t you tired of me?” comes your whispered question, nose tingling and eyes threatening to water. You look at him. Hesitant. Scared.

The silence is loud. His own frown deepens. It takes a few painful minutes, but you see the moment something clicks in place.

“You know I’d do anything for you, yeah?”

Your lip quivers, sniffling as you beg yourself not to cry.

“Because you do the same for me,” he continues. You doubt it, mind going blank of every time he’s come to you for something.

His touch moves to your elbow, tugging you forward gently until he can arrange you in his lap. He slips his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, thumbs rubbing on your hips just above the waistband of his boxers.

You slowly brace your hands on his shoulders. Firm and broad and safe.

“You apologize so much. You worry so much.” the tears slip down your cheeks, throat aching, but now you can’t look away from him. One hand moves to cup the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently at the skin behind your ear.

“You’re allowed to ask for help.”

You shake your head, a no caught in your throat, tears blurring your vision.

“Oh, love.” He cradles you into the curve of his neck, arm wrapping around your waist and keeping a gentle hold at the base of your skull. “You have me wrapped around your finger ‘n you don’t even know it.”

He lets you cry into his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt. His cologne is soothing and you eventually slump against him. You’re so tired.

His lips graze your temple, his soft touch lulling you to sleep. You’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now you want to stay wrapped up in his arms, held by someone who genuinely loves you.

#ink by bambi #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley/reader #simon riley/you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley hurt/comfort #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #ghost imagine #modern warfare imagine

1K notes · View notes

pinkrelish · 2 years

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶It's a dreary start to the week, but as the days go by, the dynamic between you and Eddie shifts. You both ask questions with hidden motives, and after a significant morning, he tells you about Adrie's mom. Then, Steve shows up unannounced with a proposition Eddie can't refuse. Literally.✶

NSFW — slow burn, mutual pining, flirting, light angst, depictions of poverty, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 2/20 [wc: 5.3k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 2: Whimsy as the Wind

Monday was a storm.

There was no better stimulant than the rush of a morning against the rain. Hitting like bullets on the skin when Eddie clutched Adrie to his chest to shield her on the way to the car. Spelling disaster for the braids she asked for, then complained about when he pulled her hair too tight. Dripping into his eyes as he fumbled with the buckle of her car seat in the jet black hours. Drenching the bottom of her favorite pants despite his efforts to protect her.

“Daddy’s sorry,” he mumbled on her wet forehead shining under the dim overhead light.

On the way to preschool she was quiet. The rhythm of the fat drops pounding on the window soothed her, and he was grateful, despite the rising sensation of lateness grating on his nerves.

Everything moved slower on stormy days. Yet he moved faster. It didn’t matter if he skipped eating his breakfast at home to get out the door quicker, the red stop lights took longer, he swore it.

Life was against him. But Adrie was quiet, and Mrs. Teresa was in charge of helping the little ones out of their cars. She was an out-of-towner, meaning, she wasn’t aware of Eddie’s reputation, and therefore was nicer to him than the other teachers, taking care to go beyond superficial greetings.

“Good morning, my dear,” she said to him, voice rough with age. She held an umbrella above his head as he got Adrie out, and followed him to the awning. His coveralls were already darkened by rain, but the gesture was kind, as was him offering his arm for her to hold onto as she stepped over the whirlpool circling the sewer drain.

Eddie sank into a crouch to ease his daughter’s vice grip from his neck. “Give Daddy a kiss goodbye, ‘kay?” Begrudgingly, she stood on her own two feet, and gave him a quick, annoyed peck on his cheek. “You gonna be good today?”

The attitude radiating off her was not promising.

“Your friends are waiting for you inside,” Mrs. Teresa said. “I think they’re playing dress up.”

An offer which proved enticing, as demonstrated by Adrie bolting from him for the front doors.

“No running,” he sighed to himself. The older woman chortled along, and wished him to have a good day as well. He should’ve taken the heart-palpitating lightning strike and simultaneous adrenaline-inducing clap of thunder as an omen when she uttered those words.

If not those things, then certainly his breakfast was a harbinger of the day he was about to have: instead of making two grape jelly biscuits, and two with egg, he ended up making two with both jelly and his daughter’s cold leftover scrambled eggs, and the others were left plain.

He ate the plain ones first before venturing into uncharted territory.

“Fuck no,” he said, mouth full of grape flavored egg-mulch. At least no one had to witness him spit it back into the container.

David’s Auto Repair didn’t have much in the way of shelter to keep him dry during his smoke break, so he sat in his car in the alleyway to pass the time until it was acceptable to arrive early.

‘Early’ being the time when you usually arrived, and an hour before Carl.

Til then, he cranked the heat and reclined his seat back, hugging himself to relieve the constant shiver his damp coveralls caused sticking to his skin.

Now, the heavy rain patter became a lullaby. Pelting the roof, easy on his falling eyelids. Precious seconds, minutes under the guided meditation of tap, tap. Tap, tap. Responsibilities drifting to the recesses of his mind. Thinking back on the days he spent doing this in the high school parking lot, promising Wayne he’d work hard to graduate only to end up napping in his van for most of the morning.

Eddie willed his eyes open. His watch told him he’d been asleep for fourteen minutes. Still early for work, but he felt a jolt of anxiety anyway.

He couldn’t blow things off like he used to. Not with people relying on him. Adrie and Wayne both depended on him to not be a fuck up. And if they weren’t motivation enough, he had another..

You should be sitting at your desk right now. If he timed it right, he’d pass by while the scent of dried coffee still clung to you before it had started brewing, which was an odd association he didn’t know he craved at the moment until it was at the forefront of his mind.

“Already following her around like a lost puppy, Munson,” he chided himself, turning off the car and bracing himself for the sprint to the employee’s entrance at the back of the garage.

And when he entered, the employee’s entrance at the front of the garage slammed open on a flashing cue of lightning, and there stood what he could only assume was a Creature from the Deep.

You huffed in two breaths, “Holy. Shit.”

Eddie tactlessly stared from across the room. You were beyond soaked. Your primary colored all-weather jacket appeared to not be waterproof in a monsoon, sagging on your frame like a melting street light of red, yellow, and green. Much like his coveralls, your once light-wash jeans were now dark blue. Somewhat adorably, though, was your pissed-off face being scrunched in a glare due to your hoodie drawstrings cinched tight in a circle, framing from your brows to your lips.

Your shoes gushed out puddles of rain on the concrete as you shoved your bike forward and let it fall in a clatter.

“I fucking hate this town.”

“Why are you riding a bike?” he asked, thinking you’d gone insane.

“Because I don’t have a car?”

“Why don’t you have a car?”

You sputtered sarcastically, gesturing at your bike. “Because I’m from the city! We have things like public transportation. Trains, taxis, buses.. walking! I've never needed a car to reach my mailbox before.”

Thinking himself helpful, he suggested, “I know a place where we can get you one for cheap.”

“Dude, I don’t even have a license.”

“Why don’t you–?”

“Trains!”

Eddie’s face collapsed into his own glare right back at you, and he waved his hands about the auto repair garage for automobiles where he fixed cars for people in need of transportation in which you answered their calls regarding said transportation and ordered parts to repair said personal automobiles at the garage intended for cars where he worked. You got the irony.

“None of this matters,” you said, dismissing him. True, it didn't matter, and he knew from your exaggerations your anger at him was in jest, but he appreciated the banter regardless. It was a nice break from reality. “It took me so long to get here because my whole street was flooded, and I’m guessing it’s flooding outside of Hawkins where the storm is coming from. We were supposed to get a delivery yesterday, but it never showed up.”

There was a pause where both of you accepted the arduous day ahead.

You said, “I’ll start calling around to see where our delivery might be stuck.”

“And I’ll do what I can without it,” he agreed.

Inhaling a breath of fortitude knowing you’d be informing a few upset individuals today that their cars wouldn’t be ready, you unzipped your jacket and loosened the drawstrings, dropping your hood back. You froze.

“Oh God, don’t look at my hair,” you begged, scuttling through the lobby and into the bathroom.

There were no more exchanges after you ran away. There was no time to entertain the lingering gazes, or small conversations where he thrived on your smile. He had to process what he could to earn money before sundown, and you played phone tag until you yawned, and stared blank-faced at the wall while customers bitched at you.

By normal closing hours, you were both too beaten down to do more than walk past each other on your way out without a goodbye.

A part of him wanted to do the chivalrous thing and offer you a ride, but that seemed too forward, too intimate, too invasive in his small car where his backseat was partially taken up by his daughter’s car seat, and he couldn’t come to a conclusion about your surprise when seeing her, nor unpack the loaded question of why he cared.

Whatever.

At least the rain stopped.

————

Tuesday was overcast.

You looked at Eddie leaning on the countertop to your desk and spun your hand while rolling your eyes, wishing the person on the other end of the phone line would hurry up. Eventually, you hung up, and interrupted him from picking at his nails. “They said it’ll be thirty minutes before they get here.”

“Guess I’ll wait then.”

He didn’t make to leave, and you didn’t have anything else to do, so you laced your fingers and leaned onto your forearms towards him, hoping through giving him your attention, he’d willingly talk to you for once.

“Um,” he drew out, searching the expanse between your hands, where he encroached on your space if only to the wrist. He tapped his knuckles on the vinyl. Swallowed visibly “About your policy thing.. Did you really move here just because your roommate asked you to?”

You drew your gaze up from his descending Adam’s apple, over the soft edge of his jawline, and grainy stubble on his chin. “I mean, kinda, yeah. Obviously, she’s been my best friend for years and needed help moving anyway, so I was up to make the trip, but when she asked if I wanted to stay, I said yes. Seemed intriguing enough; discovering what else was out there after living in cities for so long. See what sorta trouble I could get into when not surrounded by the usual nightlife options.”

“And how’s that going so far?”

“Bobbie’s mom and I are real good at solving the Wheel of Fortune before the contestants.”

Eddie snorted.

He dropped his focus to the looping circles he was drawing with his fingertip. Breathing deeper than necessary, and holding the air in his lungs for a few taut seconds. He rambled, “Sounds like Hawkins isn’t the place for you. Just somewhere to blow through, waiting for someone to ask you to, like, go to Chicago and be a bartender or somethin’.” He ended with a laugh aimed at his hands. Hollow. Empty of the humor he was pretending. “No responsibilities. Ready to get up and go whenever you want. That’s cool.”

“Been there, done that,” you mitigated the tension with a joke. “Bartending in Chicago, I mean.” He wasn’t being purposefully cruel, but the bitterness creeping into his words stung.

You glanced at his ringless fingers. Was he envious of your lifestyle because he was tied down? Your gut instinct told you he wasn’t the type to hold that sort of resentment towards his wife or daughter, so it had to be something else.

“Or,” you countered, “Someone could ask me to stay in Hawkins, and then I’d be obligated to, if we’re abiding by the policy. Who knows, maybe Kevin needs someone to walk his dogs, and then I can lead a nice, quiet, boring life here, absent of any fun or risks, hanging out with dogs for the next eternity. Is that what you want? Me bothering you until you’re in the grave?”

He squinted. “Fair point.” The laugh lines bracketing his mouth enhanced his appeal, joining the crow’s feet, and the harsh crease between his brows as he raised one in smug curiosity.

Perhaps you were staring at him for longer than you realized.

By chance, a chime signaled you both to a customer walking in the door in need of an oil change, and you reaped any opportunity to tease him. “Sorry, but some of us have work to do and can’t chit chat all day,” you cooed with the absolute cockiest head tilt to taunt him.

Shooing him away with a manila folder was extra, you had to admit, but upon recognizing the manner in which he rolled his lips inward to disguise the fact he was smiling, you figured smacking his hands was well worth the weird look from the woman waiting to speak to you.

————

Wednesday was a gale-force.

You went for it.

Arriving at dawn, you prioritized catching Eddie at the beginning of his morning cigarette.

He was leaning against the wall, upper body hunched with his hand cupped around his mouth, flicking his lighter until more than sparks stood against the gusts whipping the collar of his coveralls against his neck. His hair was blown back from his face, granting you the full picture of his raised eyebrows.

“Good morning, Eddie!”

“Hey? You’re early. I thought you’d get swept away on your bike like Dorothy, and I’d have to seek the courage to find you.”

“So in this scenario you’re the Cowardly Lion?” you asked, sidling up next to him to be heard above the wind.

He considered the implication and shrugged. “Guess even in my wildest dreams I’m still a coward.” Like any nice person, you sprung to assure him that despite your very short month of knowing each other, he (probably) wasn’t a coward, and he caught you. He caught you with your mouth wide open, ready to defend his honor.

Smoke slipped from his coy lips.

You tutted, “I think you’re the Scarecrow.” No brains.

“Anyway,” you went on, back to the reason your calves ached from pedaling like a mad man to get here at the same time as him. “It’s not like I bike that far. Bobbie’s parents live on that street next to the big open field, like, fifteen minutes away. Maybe twenty. Or ten?” You pointed vaguely north.

There’s a reason you never navigated on road trips.

“I thought they sold that empty lot forever ago,” he said.

“Well, unless they sold it to a bunch of tiny white mice who scurry every time I open the back door, I think it’s still abandoned.” You took your hands out of your jacket pockets and displayed them. “Not just mice, either. The other day I swear there was a spider the size of my palm in the bathroom.”

Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he tipped his head back to blow the smoke above him before leaning over to study your hands up close. Contemplating them with keenness under the gray wash sky. Mumbling numbers to himself as if he were taking measurements.

He straightened up, and concluded, “Eh, not that impressive with how small your hands are.”

“Are they small?”

You faced him and presented your right hand.

Take the bait. Take the bait. Take the bait.

Eddie rolled onto his shoulder, body still at an angle from his legs crossed at the ankles. With a blank face, he understood what you wanted and decided to indulge your silliness, even if it meant sacrificing his warmth.

Uncrossing his arms, he wiped his hands on his clothes first out of habit.

Come on, Eddie.

None the wiser, he matched your thumbs. Pressed his left hand to yours.

Holy shit. He fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Mm,” you hummed. You leaned in for a better look.

His hand was warm and damp from sweat. Concentrated heat emanated from his palm sealed to yours, securing the soft cups together, aligning the stretch of your fingers. Where yours were soft, his were rough. Lines of thick calluses. Hardened exteriors acting as a barrier from your tender self discovering what his skin truly felt like brushing over your own.

He wore three rings. All gaudy and themed. Costume-y. Definitely not of the wedding variety.

That didn’t mean he was single, but you doubted he was taken when you turned to him, and found his large nose to be inches from yours, and his gaze to be fond of your cheeks before meeting your eyes.

He bent the top joint of his fingers over yours, and slid his thumb to the outside, crowding your bones in a tight squeeze, establishing his advantage. “Still small,” he said, toothy and boyish; mouth crooked, and hand rolled cigarette bouncing on the syllables. “Let me know when you see a spider as big as my palm.”

Hypnotized, you agreed with whatever he said. “Duly noted. I’ll keep an eye out.”

His Cupid’s bow had no business being that sharp, nor his bottom lip that plump.

————

Thursday was raw.

Nighttime was a purple haze chasing the orange glow behind the trees. You walked around the garage with a small trash can in your arms, tidying up the place. Eddie was staying late again. He said it was to make up for Monday’s mess, but those jobs were completed days ago.

You nudged his boots to get his attention on your way to clean up the work bench. Though you wouldn’t consider yourselves close, you collected the few details you knew of his life, and held them dear to your heart, feeling privileged to know them. “Is your uncle not working today?”

His thighs flexed under the strained fabric of his uniform as he cranked a wrench. “He is,” he grunted from beneath the car, “I’m just trying to get in some hours before he leaves for the night shift.”

Fuck it, you’ll just ask. “How come you work late so often?”

The grinding stopped. For a moment, Eddie laid there, stomach rising and falling as he debated with himself. Seconds went by until he set down the tool and rolled out, sitting up on the creeper board.

Your question struck pink across his pale cheeks. Rather, the way you avoided it brought shame to his face. Why don’t you want to spend more time with your family?

The societal judgment of what he was about to admit weighed on him. He curled in on himself. Drew his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them loosely, latching at the wrist. He braced the words on his tongue–raw and vulnerable–and slipped a finger under his bandana to scratch at his temple.

“Sometimes I’d rather just be here,” he began slowly. “As soon as I get home, I’m the problem solver, you know? Whatever needs to be done, I have to do it while Adrie’s talking a mile a minute, screaming every question under the sun at me, and climbing all over me. I’m doing shit like trying to not burn her dinner while switching over the laundry and picking up the living room and telling her not to touch the stove and fighting with her to take a bath and making sure she has clothes picked out for the morning because if she doesn’t, then I have to spend twenty minutes calming her down before we leave for school so she can decide which shirt she wants to wear, and God.” He screwed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers on either side of his nose, muffling his voice. “I know I’m a shit dad, but sometimes I just want to turn my brain off, and stay here instead.”

“You’re not a shit dad,” you said with soft conviction.

He disregarded you with a mean scoff. “I sound like I hate my kid.”

“You sound overwhelmed, and tired, Eddie.”

“Maybe..”

Remembering you were holding the trash can, you set it down and leaned your hip on the workbench, settling into a comfortable position with a gentle ease of kindness to your expression, showing him it was okay to vent. You’d listen. It was safe. It was safe to show you the ugly parts of him. It would be okay.

You approached the next topic with care, though you could infer the answer for yourself now, “Is there no one else you can rely on besides your uncle to help alleviate some of the stress?”

“No. It’s just us. My parents have been out of the picture for a long time, and Adrie’s mom, uh..” He surrendered to the need for eye contact, wanting to see you, and stated evenly, “Adrie’s mom and I were never together. She was a customer of mine–”

Darting your gaze around the room, you pointed at the garage in an expression of ‘Really, dude?’

He turned puckish. He pinched his index and thumb together and tapped them to his smirk, indicating a much different line of work. You ‘ahh’d.

“Yeah, not a frequent flier either, just someone I saw here and there at parties or whatever. All it took was one night of stupidity. One fucking night of mistake after mistake, man.. N-Not that I think of Adrienne as a mistake! God, no. Just–y’know–the events leading up to her weren’t ideal.”

You held your hand up to stop him. “I’m not judging you. My parents never bothered to correct themselves.”

Mutual pain converged in your matching shrugs. Both of you were the undesireables. Though, he couldn’t imagine you being called a mistake when his failures were glaring.

Sinking into the solace of your presence, he explained further, “Adrie’s mom said–at most–three sentences to me after giving birth, and that was it. Everything else was handled by the court. She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with us, so sole custody should’ve been easy, but the system fucking sucks. Not once did I say anything contradictory; I made it clear from the beginning I wanted my daughter, but I know how I look on paper.. Trailer trash through and through. Busted for drugs more than once. Living with my uncle in a single bedroom piece of shit. Taking three attempts to pass high school. No real job at the time, and beyond broke. They kept trying to convince her to split custody, at least for the first year, but no.” There was a cynical dejection about him. One of haunting acceptance, thinking lowly of himself with his head hung, and glazed over eyes staring faraway. “She found someone better. Some guy with money who lived in Indianapolis, and she wanted to start a life with him. Move on from Adrienne. And me.”

“Eddie?” you called out to him.

“Hm?”

“You may not view my opinion highly, but I think you’re a great dad, and person. Money, reputation, criminal record or whatever else can go fuck itself.” You folded your legs under you, and sat opposite him with your back resting against the table leg. He scooted closer on his board, narrowing the swath of concrete between you to a few feet. “Beat yourself up all you want, but your love for your daughter is apparent. She’s happy. She’s safe. She’s fed. You take care of her just fine, and you’re allowed to feel frustrated, and you’re allowed to feel like you need a break.”

When he remained unconvinced, you insisted, “Adrie adores you, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah,” he snorted. “I know. That’s why Wayne never has these problems with her. It’s only me she’s ultra clingy with. Like if she’s not attached to me twenty-four-seven I cease to exist and she’ll never see me again.”

Something beautiful occurred in his shy glance. In his bashful smile. In the clumsy removal of his bandana, pulling his hair free from the ponytail and shaking it out. Wild.

His big brown eyes regarded you, and you beheld him in a similar light.

Something changed.

No longer casual acquaintances; you two looked at each other like you were friends.

“Sorry for rambling so much,” Eddie said.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Good. Because I’m not done.” He crept forward a few more inches, and aired his grievances in a lighthearted tone, bitching for the sake of getting it off his chest, “This time of year is really rough on us. Gotta buy her all new school supplies with whatever franchise or animal she’s obsessed with now. Which is unicorns, by the way. And, y’know kids grow like crazy. If it’s not an entire new wardrobe, then it’s the shoes. I swear this kid goes through shoes like she’s ruining them on purpose. I’m almost certain I buy new ones every time I blink.”

A car passed on the street outside; the only break in the suffocating silence of a brick building echoing Eddie’s dramatic hand gestures as he sought sanity.

“She starts kindergarten next September and I’m already dreading it. She’s made lots of friends, which I’m grateful for.. Seriously, I’m really grateful that she’s made friends so easily, but she always wants to dress like them, do the things they do, go the places they go, and I try to figure out ways to afford it, but sometimes it’s too much, and I fucking despise telling her ‘no.’ Then there’s also the birthday parties basically every other weekend, and you can’t attend those empty-handed either, can you?”

You nodded patiently. “I suppose you are correct.”

“Kids are expensive, and it’s only worse at Christmas,” he concluded. Your stomach growled. “You want to leave, don’t you?”

Remaining in your slumped over position with your elbow propped on your thigh, and your cheek to your fist with your eyes closed, you asked, “What gave you that idea?”

He could mock you to his heart’s content, but you were right.

“Shit,” he exhaled, reading the wall clock. “We should go. Wayne leaves for work soon.”

“And Bobbie’s probably waiting for me to get home to gush about her girlfriend.” You stood up and stretched. “It’s cute, like a long-lost lovers situation, but yeah, she can go on for hours.”

————

Friday was cloudy with a chance of sun.

Tires screeched to a stop in the driveway of the garage, and someone honked their horn incessantly.

Startled, Eddie hit his head on the hood of the car he was bent over, and hissed between his teeth. He rubbed at the sore spot and glared behind him, ready to tell the nuisance off.

Except, if he did that, he’d be telling off his best friend.

“Of course it’s you,” he projected in a clipped voice, making his annoyance known.

Steve slammed his car door shut, and leaned against it, lighting a cigarette while Eddie made his way over. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, “I’m here on my lunch break, so if you wouldn’t mind gettin’ a little pep in your step, Munson.”

Passing by your inquisitive face smashed to the window beside your desk, Eddie raised his hand to show you everything was okay, and that there was no need to chew someone out for causing a disturbance.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Eddie asked, shuffling up to him. The sun was warm on his skin; a nice change from the shadowy cold warehouse, and Steve basked in it as well, golden hair flopping in the gentle breeze.

There was a moment where they both displayed their nervous habits. Eddie with his tongue prodding the inner corner of his lips, and Steve taking inventory of his surroundings during the drag of his cigarette.

“Look,” Steve stressed. Eddie sighed. “We haven’t seen much of you lately, and Nancy had the idea to go to the theater to see that horror movie that came out a few weeks ago. We’ll probably have the whole place to ourselves, and she, ah, invited someone else. Someone who is also single, if you catch my very obvious drift.”

Eddie’s hand immediately climbed its way to his throat, stroking the column and making a sound of disinterest. “I dunno, man.”

“Well, we’ve already paid the babysitter to watch a third kid, and we don’t mind Adrie sleeping over for the night. You can drop her off at 4 and, uh–” He nodded at his coveralls. “Get cleaned up, or whatever and meet us at 6. Make a good first impression.” At Eddie’s apathetic grunt, he sighed, “I know what you’re gonna say, but your date’s already agreed to go, and it’d be a shame if you left them hanging.”

Rolling his shoulders, Eddie forced himself to stop fidgeting by stuffing his hands in his pockets, and focused on the clouds crawling across the sky. “Fine. What’re they like?”

“Your date?”

“Yes, my fucking date you moron.”

Steve shrugged with a mischievous grin. “Dunno. I said Nancy’s the one who invited her, not me.”

Eddie faltered, “So, you don’t even know if she’s into someone like me?” When Steve quirked his eyebrow, it just increased Eddie’s agitation. He made sweeping motions down his body. Steve continued to smoke with a dumb pout. “Jesus, dude.” He stamped in a circle, making a big show with his arms, imploring with an exhausted bite to his tone, “You know what I’m asking.”

“No, I don’t know if she’s into metalhead freaks who are dads, sorry.”

“You’re the bane of my existence.”

“So it’s an official ‘yes?’” he asked without the sarcasm. “I mean, you might as well show up. Wayne’s got his poker tournament with his friends today, doesn’t he? That means you’ll have the place to yourself. Hey, play your cards right and you’ll get some action tonight. I imagine you haven’t gotten lucky since Adrie’s conception, yeah?”

Steve’s laugh was explosive and loud, but it petered out to a pitying noise the longer Eddie squinted into the distance.

“Really? I was just trying to joke with you. Sorry, man.”

Eddie lifted one side of his mouth in a dull grin. “S’kay.”

“Well,” Steve said, flicking the rest of his cigarette. “Just be yourself. Maybe keep the nerdy talk to a minimum, and you’re golden.” He turned to leave, and stopped. “Oh! And Robin’s back in town, if you didn’t hear. She’ll be there tonight too, serving as the fifth wheel, so at least you won’t be the most awkward one there. Come to think of it, I think it’s her friend who’ll be your date.”

“Sounds promising.”

“See ya at 6!” Steve said as he opened the door and fell into place behind the wheel, beaming pure sunshine up at Eddie.

“Yeah, bye.”

Going back inside the garage, it took a second for Eddie’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, and his first inclination was to look over at you behind your desk, totally filling out the paperwork in front of you, regardless if you were holding a pen or not.

Many thoughts crossed his mind upon watching you open random drawers, and shuffle papers to appear busy. Rationally, he should’ve jumped at the chance for Steve’s offer. A night out with someone without the looming responsibility of adulthood sounded like heaven.. But there was a knot in his stomach telling him to reject the date–not because he couldn’t be bothered, like Steve assumed, but because he pictured someone specific the instant he spoke the arrangement into existence.

The jaded, pessimistic part of him argued it shouldn’t matter what you thought about his love life. You two were hardly friends, and you were a drifter in search of your next big adventure. This small town wasn’t your home. You’d move on. And he should too.

He opened the glass door, and you feigned like you hadn’t been staring at him and Steve attempting to read their lips for the past few minutes. “Hey, I’ve got somewhere to be later, so I’ll actually be leaving on time today.”

“Oh, good!” you said. “Me too.”

Eyeing your thumbs up, he snorted and shook his head.

Yeah, he should move on before this feeling in his chest evolved into something bigger.

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

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f1daydreamers · 11 months

Text

𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐑𝐮𝐧 [𝐌𝐕𝟏]

gif credits: @overtake

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Summary: Being caught in the rain without an umbrella isn't fun, but when you're with Max? Fuck it.

Warnings: literally fluff and a tad bit of argumentative banter?

Word Count: 1.1k words (4 mins reading time avg)

…

As you set your glass down, Max straightened in his chair. There was a restless energy radiating from him, a clear sign that he was ready to leave.

"Finished?" He inquired with a subtle hum, and you responded with a silent nod.

With grace, you retrieved your bag from the ground, rising from your seat and tucking the chair neatly back in place. The waiter, ever vigilant, collected your empty plates, and you extended your gratitude with a smile.

As you both made your way toward the exit, you acknowledged the doorman with a gracious thank you, and he obligingly held the door open for you.

However, the moment you stepped out but still shaded by the awning above, the heavens burst open, drenching the world with an unrelenting downpour.

Goosebumps instantly formed on your arms, and you shivered, the chill creeping down your body.

Max shoved his wallet back into his jacket pocket, his gaze shifting to meet your eyes as your head turned in his direction.

"M, the umbrella," you mentioned casually, expectant in your tone.

Max quirked an eyebrow. "What umbrella?" Your head swiveled entirely to face him, a glimmer of hope that his apparent confusion was part of a playful ruse.

"Very funny," you muttered, attempting a strained grin.

"What's funny?" Max inquired, genuinely perplexed by your reaction.

With an audible sigh of exasperation, you pointed skyward for emphasis. "Max, you do know what an umbrella is right?"

"Babe, I don't know what umbrella you're talking about." Max's bewilderment was written all over his furrowed brows and the slight tilt of his head, as if an invisible umbrella had eluded his understanding.

You replied as calmly as you could, "what do you mean? The umbrella, our umbrella." Unfortunately, the perplexed expression on your boyfriend's face remained unchanged, and another gust of harsh wind ruffled your body.

"I didn't bring our umbrella," Max confessed, his brows furrowing as he patted down his jacket pockets, searching for the missing item.

You crossed your arms, a mix of irritation and disappointment etched across your face. "I told you to bring the umbrella."

Max's shoulders slumped, and he withdrew his hand from his pocket, his expression reflecting regret. "No, you said you were bringing the umbrella."

Your frustration gave way to a puzzled expression as you uncrossed your arms, "I said to bring the umbrella, not that I was bringing the umbrella."

There was a brief pause, during which Max's regretful expression slowly transformed into one of realisation. He replayed the conversation in his mind and finally spoke up.

"Oh, you did say that, didn't you?" He admitted with a sheepish grin, his hand absentmindedly rubbing his neck.

"Yeah," you replied with a sigh, deciding that there was no use in getting mad now.

Max took a step closer, draping his arm around your shoulder, and you couldn't help but smile at the small gesture of warmth it gave.

"We could get a taxi," you looked up at his suggestion and scoffed. "The apartment's literally down the road."

Looking around, you pursed your lips. "We can wait here for a bit, maybe the rain will let up."

Max nodded, and you leaned your head on his shoulder as he sqeezed his arm tighter around your body. But after a few minutes of waiting, the rain showed no signs of stopping, so you both exchanged a resigned look.

Max's lips curled into a grin as his hold on you loosened, pulling his jacket off of his arms and resting it on your shoulders.

"You know what, babe? Fuck it. Let's make a run for it."

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his sudden enthusiasm. "Are you insane?" Max wasn't one to refrain from sharing his weird and wonderful thoughts but this one kinda had you thinking a few screws had loosened.

His expression remained determined. "Come on. We can't stay here forever."

His proposal filled you with a mix of excitement and trepidation, but you'd be lying if you said he didn't have a point.

"Fine, but if I go down, I'm taking you with me." He smiled and extended his hand out to you.

"Deal." You chuckled, shaking his hand before he intertwined them together. As you both left the relative shelter of the awning, the relentless downpour immediately drenched you to the bone.

Your footsteps echoed through the empty, rain-slicked streets, a symphony of splashing and laughter in the otherwise silent night.

Max held your hand firmly, not letting go for a second, as if the strength of his grip could keep you both upright on the slippery pavement. His shirt stuck to his frame, and water streamed from the ends of his tousled hair.

Your clothes were heavy and clinging to your skin. Your laughter, mingling with Max's along with some curse words, echoed through the empty streets as you both raced toward your apartment complex.

By the time you reached the entrance of your apartment complex, Max pulled open the door and shut it quickly behind you.

Your hearts were racing, and you were both completely soaked. Water dripped from your hair, and you could feel it running down your skin.

Max let go of your hand, standing in the lobby of the building, panting and dripping wet. "Well, that was fun," Max said with a grin, his eyes light as he messed with his hair.

You couldn't help but smile back, your heart still pounding with exhilaration. “Yeah, fun."

With a shared chuckle, you both headed for the elevator, leaving a trail of raindrops behind you which the cleaner would probably resent you for in the morning.

He pressed the button for your floor, and the doors shut. The confined space felt cosy and intimate, and you couldn't help but meet Max's gaze with a knowing smile.

He brushed a strand of wet hair from your face, his touch gentle and tender, despite the fact that both of you were absolutely soaking.

His grin widened as you shivered, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, lingering kiss. The taste of rainwater on your lips was sweet and refreshing, you smiled as he pulled away.

He didn't move far though, "you know," his whispering voice a little husky, "we should probably get out of these wet clothes."

You met his suggestion with a glint in your eyes. "You think? And whose idea was it to go running in the rain, hmm?"

Max laughed, a deep and hearty sound that filled the elevator. "Alright, alright, it was a team decision."

You hummed and he leaned in again, kissing you a couple more times as the elevator made its ascent.

When it finally reached your floor, you reluctantly pulled away from your boyfriend, knowing that you needed to get out and change into dry clothes.

"Next time, bring the umbrella please," you said, your smile lingering.

Max's eyes sparkled with mischief as he responded, "After that? I'm never bringing it again."

...

Masterlist

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revasserium · 2 months

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hurricane

sakura haruka; 1,189 words; fluffy fluff fluff, first love, sakura learns the meaning of friendship, no "y/n", lapslock, mindless fluff tbh

summary: after all, the rain is still just... the rain.

a/n: inspired by clementine von radics poem mouthful of forevers, and also wow sakura is adorable

when he tells you that anger is a language that he’s never needed to learn to know, that loneliness and rejection are dialects as near to him as his hometown used to be, you do not run away.

maybe it’s this place — maybe the blue of the sky from the rooftop garden. maybe, he thinks, there’s something in the water here that makes people kinder, makes them so damn comfortable with splitting open their skins to show him their insides, while asking for nothing in return.

“the summers are hot here,” you say, pressing a cool, dripping bottle of water to his cheek, laughing as he jumps and jerks back, holding it out as he looks from you to the bottle and back again, “make sure to hydrate.”

“why do you care?” he asks, because sometimes, it’s the only way he remembers how to say thank you.

“here, take it,” you say, offering him your handkerchief when he comes back from yet another fight, blood still trickling down the corner of his forehead, “it even matches your hair.”

“don’t need it,” he says, glancing down at the black and white checked piece of cloth, but he doesn’t push you away when you reach out to dab at the drying blood, your hands soft and careful. he never knew hands could be such things, but he supposes there’s always time to learn.

“isn’t that what schools are for?” you say, giggling when he plucks up the courage to tell you one day, when the nights slowly grow longer and the days are clipping own tails, tucking in earlier and earlier. the wind is just on the other side of biting and he’d stared down at his own hands for a solid half minute before reaching out to offer you his scarf — a present from the old lady from the musubi store for putting up her brand new awning.

“y-yeah. guess so,” he says, pulling back to admire his handiwork, the thick knit of the scarf now wrapped snuggly around your shoulders. his blush is more than enough to keep him warm the rest of the way home.

when he lashes out — because its the only way his body remembers how to react to the act of kindness — he sees the hurt flicker like fireflies behind your eyes. but still, you don’t turn away. instead, you sit back, you sigh, and you tell him you’ll wait.

“why?” he asks, because it’s the one question that keeps on echoing through him, like the tolling of a hundred thousand bells, reverberating through him till it’s all he can hear — why?

“because,” you tell him, “sometimes people just need time — and lucky for you, we’ve got a lot of that here. so…” you shrug, sitting back with a sweet, knowing smile, “take your time. that’s what friends do for each other — sometimes, we’re there, but sometimes… we give each other space and we give each other… time.”

time, he thinks, turning the words over his head. how long has it been since he’d had to sleep with one eye open, to always look over his shoulder, to wake up knowing that he’s gotta hit the ground running. how long? what was it that he was running away from?

and sure, he still doesn’t quite have a setting between off and a hundred, but he thinks… maybe with enough time, he can learn. and you teach him.

slowly, he learns the weight of laughter, pure and sweet and joyous, the power that tenderness can bring, the way that sometimes a smile is more potent in a fistfight than as well-aimed punch, that somehow, your hits always land harder when you have a thing worth fighting for. and it should’ve been obvious, but maybe it’s not — that love is a thing of viciousness and vengeance, but also a thing of delicacy and light.

when he holds your hand for the first time, he thinks his entire body might burst at the seams, shattering into a million and one pieces if ever you tried to pull away, but still, there comes a time for letting go.

“i’ll see you tomorrow?” you say, the pair of your teetering on the front steps of your house. behind you, the warm glow of your living room lights paints your outlines in gold. sakura swallows, your fingers still laced in his. he reaches for a reason — any reason — not to let go.

“unless… you wanna come in for dinner?”

he whips around so fast he almost cricks his neck, but he nods before he can psyche himself out, and the next second, you’re tugging him into the house behind you. it’s not the first time he’s met your family, but it is the first time you introduce him as your boyfriend. the word has a strange ring to it, a one-two punch that knocks the breath from his lungs every time you say it.

and it’s only really been a week.

later, in the dim halo of your bedroom lamp, your legs dangling over his as the pair of you read manga on the floor of your room, he reaches out to pull you into his arms.

“i — i’m not a — hm,” he clears his throat and tries again, fighting the urge to bury his face in your shoulder from behind, “i’m not good at… this kind of stuff…” he admits, though your tinkling laughter tells him that yes, you know. still, he forces himself to go on —

“so… uh — if i like… blow up over something random just… like slap me or… or something.”

for a second, you’re quiet, your steady breathing and his much less steady ones the only sounds in the room.

then, you twist slightly to face him, peering up at the profile of his face in the burgeoning dark.

“do you remember that one day — when it rained this summer? and it was so, so nice because it was so freaking hot that whole week?”

“uh… yeah?”

“and then… like three weeks later, there was a hurricane warning, and everyone had to stay home?”

“sure. umemiya made everyone run to put away his stupid planter boxes —”

“but… if you think about it, the rain is still just… rain, right?”

sakura frowns, pausing, “i… guess so.”

“yeah. so… it’s kind of like that with you, i think.” you smile, settling with your back against his chest, his arms around your middle, “the rain is still the rain, whether is light or it’s heavy. and… i’ve always loved the rain.”

sakura makes a soft noise, letting his head fall back against your bedframe.

“it doesn’t matter to me… cause, i think i’d still feel the same about you either way,” you say, turning around once more to fix him with a smile —

“i’d love you if you were summer rain… i’d love you, still, if you were a hurricane.”

#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker x you #wind breaker fluff #wind breaker fanfic #wind breaker x y/n #x reader #sakura haruka #haruka sakura #sakura haruka x reader #sakura haruka x you #sakura haruka x y/n #sakura haruka fluff #wind breaker scenarios #wind breaker imagines #floofy floof floof #nothin better than a boi learning to be gentle for the very first time u__u

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purple-obsidian · 4 months

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miscommunication; option 2 (18+, dick grayson x fem titan reader)

⭓ !PLEASE READ! this is part of a choose-your-ending story. it will not make sense unless you start from here.

"No! Dick, please!" You stand from your chair, cloth napkin falling to the floor, watching him stalk past you towards the exit of the restaurant, anxiety filling your stomach with dread. "You're not even going to let me explain?" You call after him, ignoring the weird looks you're getting from the other guests enjoying their food.

Not about to let him leave things like this, you rush after him, finding him waiting at the valet stand outside. "Dick! You're seriously going to just walk away like that? What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" He sounds taken aback, crossing his arms and glaring at you. "What about you? What's your problem, huh? You really think I would take you somewhere as nice as this, if all I wanted to do was get into your pants? You really think that low of me?"

A loud crash of thunder echoes against the tall buildings surrounding you, but neither of you pay any mind to it, even as a light drizzle of rain begins to fall. The valet, obviously uncomfortable with the exchange that's happening, slips away to retrieve Dick's car.

"No! That's not what I- I didn't even-"

"This was a mistake. I never should have asked you-"

"DICK GRAYSON!" You shout, unable to hold back your own anger now. "You are going to shut the fuck up and let me speak, or I swear I'll-"

"You'll what?" His tone is low, and he uncrosses his arms, hands clenched into fists at his side.

You close your mouth, seething in anger at being interrupted yet again. You feel the tears coming. You can't help it. You cry when you're angry. It's something you hate about yourself, and the last thing you want to do is cry in front of him. Luckily, the rain that's slowly starting to fall helps mask it just a little.

"I didn't realize this was a date!" You finally shout, hands shaking with how worked up he has you.

Dick scoffs, looking you up and down. "What the hell is wrong with you? Are trying to backpedal now, or something? I very clearly asked you out, we have the texts to prove it."

You take a deep breathe before speaking. "I thought you were asking me to work. You've done it before, haven't you? Just last month, you texted me, last minute, asking me to help you tail that arms dealer. I thought this was something like that."

Dick's angry expression morphs to one of confusion, now second-guessing himself. "Are you being for real?"

"Yes!"

More thunder. A loud clash, and the rainfall grows heavier, slowly soaking both of you as you glower angrily at one another.

Dick finally pulls you aside so you're both standing under the awning of the Italian restaurant, safe from the oncoming downpour. He feels something hard strapped to your upper arm when he does so. "What's this?" He asks, feeling the object through the wet fabric of your sweater.

"What do you think it is? A knife." You explain, hoping he's finally starting to believe you. "I told you. I thought this was Titan's business. You didn't tell me what we were getting into, so I came prepared." Shrugging away his hand, you reach down to pull the damp garment off over your head. You're left in just your tank top now, giving Dick full view of the weapons you had concealed, along with the comm wire you two and the other titans will wear on missions.

Any trace of anger left on his face is gone. He opens his mouth to speak, stammering a little. "You mean.. but I thought… my texts…" He looks mortified. Dick isn't a man that finds himself speechless very often, but now is one of those times.

A long exhale escapes your lips, releasing a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You glance around you, and wring out the excess water from your sweater a little before pulling it back over your head, not wanting your knives to draw too much attention. "Do you understand now? I fucked up, okay? I should have clarified with you, I misunderstood what you were asking me. That's my fault. But I did not agree to this with the intention of fucking you all night. I promise."

"Fuck." Dick runs his fingers through his shaggy hair, which was styled neatly earlier but is now wet and messy from the rain. He looks at you and says your name in an apologetic tone. "I really just made a fool of myself, didn't I?"

"Yeah, no shit." You cross your arms over your stomach, rubbing your hand up and down your arm to fight off a chill. "Dick, you are one of the most amazing people I've ever met. I care about you. You're a great leader, and an even better friend. I could never just see you as someone to hook up with. Even if…" You lose your confidence at that last sentence, trailing off a little, hesitating to finish the thought.

"Even if what?" He takes a step closer to you, his hand resting on your shoulder. His eyes search yours, looking you over, trying to read you.

You swallow the lump in your throat, and reply, "Even if you're, like, the hottest guy I've ever seen." You look off to the side, avoiding the intensity of his gaze.

Finally, a smirk appears on his lips. "So… you do think I'm hot?" His embarrassment would surely be relieved somewhat, if he could confirm you did reciprocate some of his feelings.

"Objectively, yes. But I promise, that isn't what's most important to me." You see the valet arriving in Dicks car. Looking towards the bright blue vehicle, then to the dazzling eyes in front of you sporting the same hue, you try and find the right words to express what you feel. "The last thing I want to do is to make you feel objectified. Please, Dick, could we just start over? I'd love to continue our date, now that I know it is a date."

Guilt is tugging at his heart. Your sincere words have diffusing any remaining doubt or irritation that may have been lingering in the back of his mind. The hand that is on your shoulder snakes up to tangle in your hair, close to the base of your skull. "I'd like that." His tone is softer now that he's closer to you. "And I'm sorry, too."

"You don't have to apolo-"

Dick cuts you off, yet again. But not with words. This time, it's with a kiss. You freeze for a moment, not expecting the forward affection after how upset he was with the idea of you just wanting him for his body. But it only takes a second before you relax into him, hands snaking around his broad frame, relishing the feeling of his strong arms pulling you tight against him. His body heat is welcoming, but even more so are his lips, eager and assertive against your own.

The valet exits the flashy car once its parked in the loading zone. He retrieves an umbrella, but stops short when he sees the couple that were yelling at each other just a few minutes ago, now making out, soaking wet, zero regard for who's watching. He looks to Dick, then behind him to the running vehicle, unsure of what to do next.

"Sir? Excuse me, sir? Your car is ready!"

Dick ignores him. And so do you. His kisses are quelling the guilt and frustration you feel towards yourself. Its like he's pouring his love and reassurance into you with every movement of his tongue, every brush of his lips against your own. You never imagined that Dick Greyson, son of Batman, leader of the Titans, former Robin, the one and only Nightwing, would be clutching you and kissing you so passionately in a place so public. The valet continues to awkwardly try to get his attention, but Dick doesn't care. His focus is on you, and he doesn't intend on stopping until he's made this right.

⭓ go back ⭓ masterlist ⭓

what ending did you choose first? let me know here, or leave a like/comment.

don’t steal my work. don’t repost it somewhere, upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.

#[purple-obsidian]#choose your ending

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etherealyoungk · 5 months

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love at first sight | joshua hong

✩ seventeen as romantic tropes series ✩ masterlist ✩

PAIRING: joshua x reader

THEMES: love at first sight trope, strangers to lovers

WARNINGS: fluff, rain

WORDCOUNT: 728

A/N: ahh i kinda found this trope hard to write 😭 i tried my best

you weren't much of a romantic. you'd read about love and the infamous love at first sight countless times, thinking it was overrated, until the day it happened to you.

you're walking, the clouds gloomy and grey, heavy with rain that is ready to burst anytime. you could tell that it was going to rain cats and dogs and groan because you should have known better than to not carry an umbrella especially given how unpredictable the weather and rain had been this past week. you just continue walking to your destination - a job interview, praying it doesn't rain.

but the weather obviously had a mind of it's own and a few minutes later you can feel the drops of rain scatter down, falling on you before it gets heavier. you pick up your walking pace and walk faster, the drizzle getting heavier and heavier until it was straight up a heavy downpour and if you didn't seek shelter now you would get drenched, which is not the ideal way to show up to a job interview.

you run the best you can with your shoes and find a small a small awning in front of a store, making a run for it there, putting your handbag over your head to protect your hair your spent hours styling as you make your way to the awning with a desperate determination.

just as you jog into the awning, you feel someone run beside you, overtaking you and taking a place there but you don't have enough time to stop and you end up bumping right into them. they catch you before you fall.

"woah easy there", a sweet voice tells, his hand holding your arm to support you up as you regain your balance. you look up and see a man in front of you, pretty much in the same state as you, all dressed up and almost drenched.

you look at him and can't help but laugh as you look at him and he looks at you with those pretty eyes and lets out a sweet laugh as well.

"guess we both got caught in the downpour huh", he tells, his voice sweet. "yeah, weather is crazy this week", you fill in, as you catch your breath.

as you continued to look at the man, you couldn't help but feel a attractive to him, and you felt something bloom in your heart, something that made you feel warm and fuzzy. this man was so pretty. you'd never felt something like this before and you feel your heart beat thumping softly.

"i'm joshua", he introduces, giving you a friendly smile. "i'm yn", you tell, still mesmerized by him.

you watch as he ruffles his brown hair's damp and gotten a little wavy from from all the rain, his shirt and shoulders wet but you are in the same boat. but somehow he managed to look so pretty and handsome despite the situation and you find yourself staring at him for a couple of extra seconds before you look away, back at the rain that was pouring down.

"god i hope this rain stops soon, i'm going to be late", you mumble as you look at the rain pour down at a steady pace, with no signs of stopping. you pull your blazer around you closer to shield yourself from the sprinkle of rain that was falling on you because of the harsh wind.

"late for work?", he prompts. "i'm late too", he adds. "i'm actually late for an interview", you tell. "we can't have you being late for a job interview now can we?", he tells and as he scans the area and spots a convenience store on the opposite end of the road. and it's like you can read his mind because you someone knew exactly what he was going to do.

"don't, whatever you're thinking, it's not a good idea", you warn and he only smiles. "i'll be back", he tells before he starts to make a run for it in the downpour, towards the store and your hand reaches out for his in an attempt to stop him but you end up running behind him too and his hand encases yours as you both run across the road in the rain, getting soaked.

as soon as you enter the store, you look at him and burst out laughing because of what you'd just done, and so does he, giving you a sweet smile and laughing along with you, your hand still in his and you could feel the connection you had with this man was instant, something special.

"that was...fun", you tell when you finally catch your breath. "you can feel the spark between you both as you look at him.

"nothing like getting stuck and running in the rain is it?", he asks, with an amused smile. "let's buy you that umbrella so you can get to your interview", he adds, with a small smile, letting go of your hand which now feels empty without his warmth.

you get to your interview just in time, closing the umbrella that the man, joshua had bought. you set aside the umbrella and brush your damp blazer, hoping it would be dry enough but this had to do. that's what you get for running in the rain like a crazy person and you find yourself when you recall back to that moment.

you never got his number but the next week when you get the job, you're surprised, because your team leader was no other than joshua.

taglist: @biboramp3 @naaaaafla @weird-bookworm @icyminghao @blue-jisungs @wootify @n4mj00nvq @itsveronicaxxx @fallingforshua29 @joshuaahong @frankenstein852 @lvlystars @mirxzii @wheeboo @fairyhaos @kikohao @rubywonu @odxrilove @writingmeraki @asasilentreader @kwonshiho @belladaises @graybaeismytae @mykpopficblog @seunghancore @emotionalsupportbrat @moodays @avaaahuang @foxinnie8 @wonvsmile

#skye's 4k event!#k-labels #caratlibrary #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen drabbles #svt fluff #svt fanfic #svt imagines #svt x reader #svt scenarios #joshua imagine #joshua x reader #joshua fluff

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fayes-fics · 8 months

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 5 - Sans Y Penser

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none really... mildly angsty situations, some flirting and interesting proposals.

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. HERE BE PLOT. A lot of things happen in this one afternoon. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Le Havre, September 1939

The port city of Le Havre is bustling with travellers hauling suitcases and steamer trunks, all walks of life converging on this point of exit. You weave through the crowds from the train station as a trio, headed for the bright red awnings of the company sailing to the USA. Benedict and Eloise hang back as you approach the ticket window.

“Name?” the brusque man in the booth opens with a crisp American accent.

“Y/n y/l/n,” you smile politely.

“You are not on the manifest,” he sighs after a pause to scan down the paperwork, impatience colouring his tone.

“But I must be,” you frown, “I was given this here…”

You push your ticket under the window, clearly marked with today’s date.

“Fraudsters,” his economic response.

“But… they were from your company? Outside your offices in Paris? And wearing your company livery? They… They said I could bring forward my sailing date from August to today. They took my original ticket and gave me this! It looks the same!” Panic rises in your voice with each sentence, dread churning behind your ribs as you realise you have likely been duped.

“I'm sorry, ma’am, but that is not a valid ticket,” is his monotone reply.

“Oh god. What can I do? May I buy another ticket now?!?”

His responding laugh is a loud bark, “Hah! Ma’am, we are booked up for weeks in advance. There is a long line every day of people hoping for last-minute availability,” he signals to a line of weary-looking, luggage-laden folks under a makeshift shelter.

“But I….” you feel your eyes watering and dread in the pit of your stomach like you are falling down an endless chasm.

“Ma’am, please step aside; I need to ensure valid passengers can board this ship…” he warns in a tone that is wholly without sympathy.

With a weak nod, you stumble away, back towards Benedict and Eloise. As you draw closer, their faces are a picture of concern, realising something is amiss. As you tearfully recount what happened, Benedict seethes, and Eloise wraps her arm around you, looking pained.

“I’m going up there. This is unacceptable!” Benedict grits out, righteous indignation fizzing from his very being.

You have to hold out a hand to physically stop him. “It's likely no use,” you appease.

His ire deflates a fraction at your hold on his coat sleeve. “At least let me try, y/n,” he modifies after a few beats.

“Alright,” you relent, dropping your hand, “but I do not expect a different answer.”

You and Eloise cling to each other as you watch Benedict remonstrate with the same man and then a different one at the window. All the while, your stomach is in knots, equal parts fear and hope.

It's five or more minutes before Benedict returns to you, his face pinched.

“I was not successful,” he screws his mouth, looking away as if he cannot meet your eye as he says it. “They don't seem to care that criminals are posing as agents for their organisation,” he rubs his eyebrow in irritation. “I would report it to the police, but it's not their jurisdiction here, and it still does not solve our dilemma…”

“Thank you anyway…” you breathe, “for trying at least…”

There is a long silence as the three of you stand there, stupified by the conundrum before you. The chime of a clock on the harbour building breaks your thoughts.

“It's 3pm. Your sailing back to England is in less than an hour. You should go. You two leave without me,” you demure.

“NO!” they both exclaim in almost comic sibling unison.

“I’ll be fine, seriously.”

“I’m not leaving you alone here for god knows how long until there is room on a ship to America. You can’t be alone. This isn’t Paris; this is a port city. It’s definitely not safe,” Eloise rattles off, looking at you imploringly.

“She’s right,” Benedict concurs. “You were safe in Paris together before the war. You are not safe here. A beautiful young woman. You are a target for thieves or even worse. You cannot stay here alone.”

You try your hardest not to let Benedict calling you beautiful derail your whole thought train, but it’s futile. Your mind is scattered like a pile of wooden toy railway coaches.

“I... I could return to Paris?” You finally suggest after what feels like an eternity of buffering. “I could call to check for last-minute availability every morning. It’s only a couple of hours by train. I’ll be always packed and ready to go…” you argue, not as yet realising the naivety behind your own idea.

“Paris will be the first target for Hitler’s invasion,” Benedict says gravely. “It could be much worse to remain there…”

“So what am I to do? I’m damned if I do, and I’m damned if I don’t…”

“There is only one solution, and that is for us to remain here as well until you can secure passage out of the country,” Benedict shrugs.

“Agreed,” Eloise nods emphatically as you go to protest.

“There are many more sailings back to England, and tickets are easier to come by,” Benedict points out. “We can move our tickets up. At least by a few days until we can devise a plan.”

“Wait… if there are no ships to America, why don't you come to England with us?” Eloise pipes up in a lightbulb moment.

“I have nowhere I could stay…”

“Nonsense! You will stay with us at Aubrey Hall. Won’t she, Benedict?”

“Oh yes, of course. There are plenty of spare rooms,” he assures.

“Gosh, umm... Maybe? I…” you hesitate. The whiplash of the last few minutes and the generosity of their offer momentarily overwhelm you. “That's very generous of you. The problem is I don’t know for how long it would be, or even if I should. My parents only agreed to me living in Paris under the watchful eye of Solene. This… this is entirely other…”

You startle as Benedict places his hands on your shoulders, pulling your attention to his sincere expression. “Y/n, you need to worry less about what your family thinks and more about yourself - what you need and your safety. This is escaping impending war; it’s a completely different circumstance from how you arrived here. The decisions you make right now have to be selfish and unburdened by expectations. It’s easy for others to judge from the distance of safety. But look around you. This town is teeming with people clambering to leave the country before an invasion. We do what we have to in unpredictable circumstances to survive.”

“You sound like a soldier,” you murmur.

“It’s what my father was,” he replies, releasing his grip but not moving away. “As a very young man in The Great War. He was lucky to survive, being an officer away from the front lines, but he taught me many things before he died. And one was about always making the smart choice if you can see one, even if it feels uncomfortable. The smart choice here is to escape by any means necessary. We all know Hitler has his sights set on France, especially Paris, as the figurative and cultural capital of Europe. You must get out. You must come with us.” You are captivated by his hazy eyes as he speaks, your heart beating fast as his face and voice grow softer. “Please. I could not live with myself if we left you behind,” he admits in a much quieter tone, but the plea is no less impassioned.

You cannot help it. You stare up at him, transfixed. Stanley has never been so eloquent. Or indeed so invested in your well-being.

“Alright…” your hesitancy soft, “but you must let me pay you for my ticket…”

His face seems to light up at your acquiescence. “One day… maybe,” he smiles.

And so that is what he does - leaves you and Eloise ensconced in a nice bistro overlooking the harbour with a large bottle of white wine as he walks over to the ticket office for the ferry company and swaps their tickets for a few days hence and purchases an additional ticket for you, steadfastly refusing to tell you the cost for it even for many weeks hence.

While you are in the ladies' room, Eloise strikes up a conversation with a young man in uniform at the adjacent table; you fondly roll your eyes as you retake your seat and leave them be. Your gaze, however, is never far from the window, to where Benedict last left your line of sight, somehow anxious for his return. When he reappears, striding purposefully towards the cafe, your chest flutters hard, his coat swishing around his legs, his hat at an attractive slant. If there is one thing you swear you could spend a lifetime doing, it’s watching Benedict Bridgerton just… be.

“Any luck?” you ask as he arrives and doffs his hat, taking a seat on your other side, throwing an exasperated glance at his little sister and the uniformed man.

“We are set to sail Thursday,” he smiles and signals for the waiter, ordering a glass of Beaujolais. “I also stopped in the post office to call Solene. She has said we can stay as long as we need to at her sister’s cottage a few miles from town.”

“Oh, that's wonderful news!” your shoulders relax for the first time in what feels like hours. “But wait, I remember she said there is only one bedroom,” you point out. “You’ve been sleeping on our sofa for days now… you deserve a bed. I’ll take the sofa…”

“No. Also, I’m not sharing a bed with my sister,” he shudders, “she kicks in her sleep!”

“Oh, thanks. So I guess you want me to have bruised shins, then??” You laugh with gusto, the ricochet day making all your emotions heightened, seemingly bouncing from one extreme to another. Right now, a strange bubble of joy at this lighthearted exchange.

“Not at all. In fact, I’d happily share with you instead to save your legs from the abuse!”

You know it’s said in jest, the comedic relief of the moment evident on his face, but still, a shot fires in your chest at the thought of sharing a bed with him. You decide to make light of it, even as your heart quickens.

“How do I know this kicking is not a problem that runs in the family? And you’re way stronger than her!”

“You can tie me down if it would make you feel better!” he chuckles loudly.

You flush all over, the very thought so beguiling yet scandalous. And yet you cannot stop your mouth running away with you, this flirtatious banter too tasty to resist, the wine you’ve been drinking far too quickly for the last half hour loosening your lips.

“I think you would enjoy that far too much, Mr Bridgerton,” you volley back, raising an eyebrow with a giggle.

His cheeks turn the most adorable shade of pink even as his eyes dilate rapidly, a corner of his tongue flicking out to pull his bottom lip under his teeth. It makes you want to sink your teeth right there, this impulse to be so physical with someone discombobulating. You've never had such errant, feral desires for Stanley.

“You're probably right…” he rumbles quietly after a pause.

You dare to hold his gaze even though you know it’s a mistake. This nightmare of a day makes you uncaring of propriety. He looks as wild as you feel inside, a glint in his eye that is at once permission and danger.

“Theo here has been telling me all sorts of helpful information,” Eloise leans in, breaking the spell between you, a slight slur in her voice from her wine.

Theo nods to you and Benedict. On closer inspection, he appears to be in a British soldier uniform.

“I have to get back on duty,” he explains apologetically as he rises from his seat, “but I hope the information I’ve provided to your sister here will help.” He adds with a tiny salute.

You look surprised at Eloise as she just shrugs. You thought her up to her usual flirtatious banter, not researching. Benedict looks impressed too. You both, however, don’t miss the note he slips to Eloise before he takes his leave. Perhaps not purely intelligence gathering, then.

“Theo is helping process entry to Britain for foreign nationals wanting safe harbour. The numbers have spiralled since the war was declared.” She begins to explain when he is out of sight. “There is sadly a waiting list. But there are a few ways to skip the queue…

“Those being?” Benedict prompts before you can.

“Having family relatives residing in Britain already or, top of the pile, being the spouse of a British national.”

You slump your shoulders. “I have no relations there. Uncle Robert was visiting, but he was already at sea returning to America when the war was declared,” you explain, wishing he had stayed a few weeks longer.

“I wonder if we can find any paperwork forgers around?” Eloise ponders aloud.

“Eloise,” Benedict's tone is one of brotherly warning and disapproval, “we will not be taking that route.” his tone striking a chord of finality.

“But… how else can we get her into the country without bending the rules?” she exclaims at him, frustrated, gesticulating.

“I’m thinking…” Benedict grouses back, rubbing his chin and looking deep in thought.

Eloise leans back in her chair and twists her mouth into a pout. She takes a swig of wine before twisting to you and casually making a suggestion that flips your entire being.

“You could marry this one,” she jokes, shrugging and gesturing at Benedict.

Your eyes dart to Benedict and his to you. A tidal wave of a hundred different feelings crashing through you at once.

“I’ll do it…” he offers, quick and quiet.

“El, don't be ridic…” your denial, spoken over his, dies on your tongue as you process what he said.

You can't help it, you gape open-mouthed at him. As does Eloise.

“You would?” you stutter.

He nods, mien sincere, but you could swear there is more, too, a rousing intensity.

“I was joking, brother,” Eloise frowns.

“It's the only solution that guarantees her passage out of France,” he argues, “that's the most important thing here…”

“But marriage? That is such a sacrifice… I could never ask that of you…” you shake your head, even as your stomach feels like a rollercoaster.

“That's why I'm offering, so you don't have to ask,” he shrugs as if this is not a big deal. “It is not me who has to make the sacrifice. It is you who has an intended…”

Stanley.

Your face falls as you think of the consequences. Marrying Benedict, if only for escape, would wound Stanley beyond belief. Your father, both your parents, in fact, would vehemently disapprove.

“We can annul it as soon as we get to England…” he assures.

“French marriages can be annulled, brother, yes, but in France. Not in England,” Eloise pipes up, ever the font of knowledge.

“Then I will grant you an immediate divorce,” he amends.

“I can't believe you are taking me seriously,,,” Eloise mutters, but both of you seem to ignore it.

“I’d still be a divorcee, damaged goods as my father would say…” you wince at the phrase but know it to be accurate in Long Island, as much as you hate it.

“I don't know how else to help you escape, y/n,” Benedict implores, slightly alarmed.

“Keep thinking!” Eloise interjects hotly. “I won't have my poor best friend here shackled to a Bridgerton brother. She has done absolutely nothing to deserve such a sentence, however short.”

“Eloise!” you scold without thought, “don't be so rude about your brother! He's wonderful….”

You immediately flush with embarrassment as she looks at you suspiciously. You dare not even look over to the subject of your praise, but you can feel the weight of his stare.

“But umm yes, let's keep thinking…” you mumble, embarrassed, looking down and picking at your cuticles in your lap.

“I need a bloody cigarette,” Eloise pronounces, suddenly standing up, her chair scraping loudly over the tiled floor.

“Sister, you do not smoke,” Benedict frowns up at her, again with that air of elder sibling forbearance.

“Sometimes I do,” she shrugs, her tone defiant, “and this situation definitely warrants one.” She jabs her finger by her side to emphasise her opinion.

With that, she marches up to the bar and orders one but does not return to the table, shooting you both a look before heading to the wall outside and sitting alone, staring out at the horizon and taking deep draws.

You and Benedict sit in silence, heads bowed in thought for what feels like an age, only interspersed with small sips of wine.

“I honestly can't think of another way out of this mess…” Benedict sighs, breaking the hush. “But I understand it's such an enormous decision; you need time to consider it.”

You are scared by how much your heart and mind are screaming, ‘I really don't, I will marry you,’ even if your gut churns with the idea of how you will explain it to everyone. You look up, and again, those blue eyes bore into yours. Sincerity, concern, empathy, and something that looks dangerously like desire. You could get lost in that look. Forever.

“I’ll do it…” you whisper, knowing you are playing with fire… and yet yearning to be burned.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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towriteloveontheirarms · 5 months

Text

Mi estrella (Valentino x reader)

synopsis: Valentino and you have a fight. Nothing unusual about that. Only this time the resolution is a bit different and definitely more up his alley.

warnings: my 9 year unpracticed spanish lol, Valentino being a teasing son of a b should be a warning on his own, smut, p in v sex, orgasm denial, forced orgasms, dumbification (if you squint), afab reader

word count: 2.2k

taglist:@velvette-creations

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you to my beautiful tumblr friends for encouraging me to write this! This is for y´all. And also thank you @zaldritzosrose for helping me by bouncing ideas. Love you guys!💜

Dividers by @saradika

Mi estrella = my star

Mi amor = my love

Tesoro = (my) treasure

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Val!” You scream, flipping him off as you storm out of the studio.

The large doors fall closed behind you and you are immediately met with a wall of rain. Cursing under your breath, you press yourself against the wall to stay under the little awning and light a cigarette. Your hands are shaking still from the boiling emotions that had been unloading between Valentino and you seconds ago. Of course, the moth demon couldn´t even give you the moment of rest it took to smoke that much needed cigarette.

A few deep drags in, you feel his breath billow over the side of your neck and a hand sneak under your chin to lay on the opposite cheek. Meanwhile, two others lay on your lower back, to pull you closer to him. You can´t help but to stumble closer, but instead of giving in to him like usually, you turn your head away from Valentino even more. He should be the one struggling with having to apologize for once.

“You can hug me as close as you want. I´m still mad at you, Val.” I say in a sharp tone.

There is a small break, the silence filled with a low, confident chuckle from Valentino and the sight of pink smoke wafting around you.

“That´s fine, mi estrella. I know you still love me.” He purrs in that teasing tone, leaning in even closer. “I know you can´t resist my touch.”

You suck on your teeth and bite your tongue in response. He wasn´t wrong. No one´s touch had ever made you feel as good as his did and even though he knew that, giving in now would be equal to letting him win just another fight.

“Come on… You can't possibly pretend to be mad for much longer.” Valentino´s voice is sweet and thick as honey, which makes it hard to not at least turn around any longer. “There we go. I know you can't resist me for long.”

“Oh yeah? Are you sure about that?” You tease back with an equally provoking smile and arched eyebrows.

“Oh yes. In fact, I bet you can't hold out for five minutes after I start kissing you.” Valentino smirks and gently taps your chin to make you look up just a bit more, thus bringing your lips only inches apart.

The challenge certainly catches your interest.

“Hm, let's make this more interesting. I bet I can make it without a single touch from you until we leave the studio.” You raise the stakes.

“Oh oh, you are so confident, lovebug. Alright. I'm up for the challenge.” Valentino lets go of your face, takes a deep breath and smirks. “But if you fail… my hands have free reign to roam wherever they please.”

“You say that as if they don´t already do that day and night.” You shoot back. “Alright, I accept the stakes.” You throw the filter between your fingers onto the streets and with a perhaps too confident sway of the hips the two of you head back inside.

It was easy enough to stay away from him in the beginning, as you were both focused on work, but the hours dragged by more than anything. Hours in which you watched Val´s lips wrapped around the cigarette holder in his hands, giving directions in that deep voice that could melt ice cubes in seconds. And after only that short time your confidence begins to waver, wondering if you could really hold out without his touch under these conditions.

Watching the actors perform, ignited a burn in your body. A longing for Val to treat you like the actors were treating each other in the scene. The way they go at each other in such a primal way, with such intensity, made you yearn to receive the same treatment and hearing Valentino´s voice direct them to act in such a way made it only harder to resist.

However, you are able to take a deep breath and pull through until Valentino begins to play unfair.

He began to accentuate every little thing that made you go wild. And after an especially intense scene, when he blows a heart shaped cloud your way…

You are overcome by your shallow breath and a wildly beating heart.

“Well well well, that didn't take very long now, did it love?” His cerise eyes shine with the knowledge of how easily he had won.

“Only because you were playing unfair…” You grumble under your breath as your nails rake over his chest.

He turns his head and leans close as if to kiss you at that but stops at the last moment. “How needy are you for my touch?”

“So much… Need you more than anything right now.” From behind him you nuzzle your face in his neck to show him your need in the most desperate kisses. “Can we go somewhere else now?”

Valentino laughs at your desperation, purring at the attention you lay on him. One of his hands takes yours to lead you onto his lap. You looked stunning as your lips quivered and chest heaved.

“Only if you ask nicely. Tell me what I want to hear, tesoro.”

You sigh, but can't resist the seductive, low rumble of Valentino’s voice. “You were right. I can't go without your touch. Please, Big V. Please take me upstairs and fucking help me put out the fire you ignited in my veins.”

“Such a good girl.” He leaned forward and put the tips of two fingers to your lips and immediately you know what to do.

With an accelerating heartbeat and burning cheeks, your tongue begins to swirl around the long digits. A muffled whimper escapes your lips, when you feel Val rub the fingers along the wet muscle, pressing down on it ever so slightly.

All too soon he pulls his fingers back out with a wet pop, gently taking your chin between them. “I think you earned yourself a reward.”

A tingling feeling of giddiness runs through your body from the top of your head to the soles of your feet.

Pushing you along behind Valentino, who leads the way to the lounge area above the studio, with fast steps. You don't even realize the way the actors and crew are looking at you. All your focus is on him.

The heavy door hasn't even fallen close when Valentino sweeps you up in his arms and sits the two of you down on one of the large sofas, with you comfortably straddling his lap.

The upper pair of his arms each hold either your chin in a controlling grip or a cigarette between his fingers, while the lower ones rest on your hips, to guide them into a steady rhythm when you start to grind against him. The motions your own body produces are far to desperate and have you whining like a puppy, yet you haven´t got enough restraint left to control it yourself. Seeing it brought a dark chuckle from Valentinos lungs. Your hands wander restlessly up and down his slender body, pawing at his belt.

“My my, you really must have missed me. How long has it been, huh? One hour? Two?” The demon playfully taunts, pulling your face closer by the chin and letting his long tongue caress the shell of your ear.

The question only earns him an impatient whimper from you. “Please, mi amor. No more teasing. I already admitted you were right.”

“And yet it sounds better and better every time you say it. Let me hear it again…” The demand rumbles in your ear in a velvety voice, at the same time he stops your hips from moving even the slightest bit.

“You were right. I need your touch. It feels like I´m literally burning up with need right now.” Your eyebrows furrow and the words get broken up by a sob. That look he gave you already told you that you wouldn´t come for another while, but my, was hope a nice thing.

“See? Doesn´t that sound good? And doesn´t it feel even better to be able to admit to your deepest need?” Val closes some of the distance between your faces. With the widest grin on his lips. “Why don´t you say it one more time, hm?”

“You were right, Val. You were right. You were right, I love your touch and I need it more than anything.” Tears begin to prick in your eyes, however before they can slip down your burning cheeks, they get swept away by a wet tongue.

Without a warning Valentino pulls your face down to bridge the last few inches, to connect your lips for the first time after what feels like forever. With a sigh of relief your hands move up, to run through the soft fur around his neck, which in turn made Val slip his tongue into your mouth.

The long muscle traces over your own tongue and teeth, before you entangle them in a dance that very much perfectly mirrors the passion and neediness between the two of you. And with your colliding lips keeping you just calm enough, you finally manage to open the heart shaped belt buckle, pulling your lovers white dress pants down just far enough to free his cock. Equally hasty your panties get pulled to the side and you sink down on his hardness. Val revels in the moan that leaves your lungs upon it, growling as the sweet, hot, tightness that is your cunt wraps around his length.

“P-please, mi amor. Please, let me come… Can´t take anymore.” There is a thick cloud of pink smoke not only filling the room, but also your brain. Since he had bottomed out in you, Valentino had brought you to the edge countless times and filled you with the thick ropes of his seed half as often. Your begging has become more of a mindless babble at this point and your needy hole aches for relief. Relief that you have spent the past, you don´t even know how long, begging for.

“Awww, baby.” The taunting coo reaches your ear, though you barely understand the words meaning anymore. “Where has your mind gone, huh? Have I fucked you stupid already? And you haven´t even come once yet…”

“Please… Need it. Need to come.” You sputter, weakly fucking yourself on your lover’s cock.

In truth your legs had wanted to give out about the same time that your brain did, but Val had refused to help you and so there was nothing left to do but to follow the one coherent thought left and continue to slide up and down the hard, twitching length.

“Not yet, baby. I know you can keep going longer. I know I can fuck your brain out just a bit more.” The smug smile on his face practically backs to be wiped off, but you have no mind for it. You have to concentrate on getting yourself close to another orgasm that would never come.

Despite the way your legs give out underneath you and your wet eyes are barely staying open on their own, you get yourself up to that cliff again. Even daring to look over the edge as Valentino warns you not to come, but when he pinches your clit, it is over.

Your legs give out and you plop down in Valentino´s lap, mouth open in a weak, high pitched squeak, as the painful release washes over you, shaking your entire body along with it. Once you feel a bit more stable again, you place little kisses to Valentino´s neck again. This time to apologize for having disobeyed his orders.

“´m sorry, Val. I´m so so sorry. Just couldn´t take it anymore. Was too much.” You mumble against his lavender skin.

But all the frantically murmured apologies in the world couldn´t save you from your punishment.

“That´s okay, mi estrella.” The moth demon reassures you eerily calmly, one of his hands tracing soothing circles into your back. “You really needed that orgasm really bad, huh? And you couldn´t think right anymore…”

You nod along with what he is saying, having been so far gone before that the release couldn´t entirely bring back your mind.

“Hm, sadly you still disobeyed me and you know what that means. I´ll have to punish you.” Before you can even think about protesting or begging for mercy, Valentinos four arms hold you close to his lean body as he shifts the two of you until your back is on the red cushions and he leans over you. “Since you wanted to come so badly that you even disregard my words, now you won´t stop coming until I say so.” He grins, wiping away some of the tears and the sweat that were sticking to your skin.

Your back arches and you cry out when Val first starts to slowly thrust into you all over again, but you are also smarter than to try to protest. So all that´s left to do now is to mentally ready yourself as much as possible for however extensively he thought you needed to be punished.

#valentino #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino x reader #valentino x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fic

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iveleftitwithyou · 5 months

Text

ruderal pt. 1 | paul lahote x reader

hi everyone! this is my first ever twilight imagine (and the first fanfic i've written in like 5 years) and it's already looking like it will be somewhat of a series. would love to hear your feedback (good or bad) on this, or if you want a second part :)

word count: 1.1k | based off a random writing prompt generator

you never know who you’ll run into at a funeral - or, in this case, the reception.

the church gymnasium was full of Forks residents, gathered to celebrate the life of Deborah Lewin. she worked as a teacher in the town for 30 years, long enough to teach the kin of some of her first classes of students. so, it wasn’t a surprise that the echoey cinderblock room was nearly full of people.

you were seated at a table towards the middle of the space, sharing it with some of your friends who you’d had class with back when you had Mrs. Lewin as a teacher. you gazed out upon the sea of figures dressed in black, taking a mental inventory of all of the familiar faces in the room, when you spotted a face you didn’t expect to see entering the door.

“oh my god” you winced, averting your gaze and lowering your head immediately before you had the chance to be spotted.

“what?” your friend Ruby said, slightly panicked at your sudden, albeit quiet, outburst.

“Paul’s here.” you deadpanned, planning your escape as you spoke.

“Paul Lahote?” you hadn’t seen him in years, since he broke up with you over the phone for seemingly no reason on a random wednesday night.

“what other Paul could it be?” it came out harsher than you intended, but right now, you couldn’t seem to care that much.

of course, you looked up at the exact wrong time - Paul was looking at you from across the room. he stood in the food line next to Jacob Black, holding a ladle full of potato salad in one hand and a paper plate in the other.

before you could even really recognize that he was, in fact, staring at you, the two of you made direct eye contact. in the split second before you instinctually looked away, you could have sworn you saw Paul’s face twitch into the same shocked expression that you wore on your face as you watched him walk in the room just a few minutes ago. however, there seemed to be something more behind his eyes, too; you couldn’t tell if it was fear, or pain, or sorrow, but there was something else there.

“do you want to leave?” Ruby’s words snapped you out of your small trance.

“no, i’m not here for me. i’m here for Mrs. Lewin. Paul’s not important enough for me to need to leave.” your words were unconvincing, even to yourself. you’d never truly moved on, never forgiven Paul for what he had done. he couldn’t even explain why - he just kept repeating that it was “for your own good” and “you’d be better off without him.” it stung that he would be willing to throw away nearly a year of time spent together, and to not even dignify you with doing it in person?

“i think i’m going to step outside for a second. it’s really hot in here and this sweater is not helping.” you tugged at the collar of your thick turtleneck. it was normally one of your favorites, but the mixture of anxiety and embarrassment bringing your body temperature up was enough for you to want to rip it off of your body as soon as humanly possible.

Ruby nodded, eyeing you suspiciously but recognizing that asking any questions right now would be entirely unproductive. the redhead turned back to your other friends, starting to tell the story of when Tyler Jackson broke her arm under the slide in kindergarten.

the cold, damp air brought you back to a somewhat normal headspace as you stepped outside. it was times like these, standing under an awning, watching the rain fall on the trees and the parked cars in front of you, that you wished you smoked cigarettes. you bet that it would help calm your nerves even more; to distract you from the feelings that had been stirred up tonight.

but, you had none, so you opted to take deep breaths in and out instead. your eyes closed and you slid down the wall, planting yourself cross-legged on the concrete. after a few minutes of meditative breathing and counting the raindrops that dripped onto the shrubbery in front of you, you heard the old church door creak open.

“y/n?” a small, deep voice asked. you still had not looked up from the shrubs, but you knew that voice anywhere. this time, though, it sounded different. weaker.

“what do you want, Paul?” your tone was laced with annoyance. despite whatever feelings you had remaining for him, he was probably the last person you wanted to talk to right now.

“can i sit with you?” he asked, taking a small step forward. he waited for your gentle nod before awkwardly parking himself next to you, but not too close. you were grateful for the space that remained, already regretting your split-second decision to allow him to join you.

“now will you tell me what you want? why you’re even bothering to speak to me?”

“i miss you.” he sighed. you could see him rubbing his temples with his impressively large hand, eyes covered and a slight wince on his face as he waited for your reaction.

“you miss me? you fucking miss me? go to hell, Paul. you’re the one who ended things - over the fucking phone, might i add - not me. you have no right to come over here and act like you even deserve to be sitting next to me right now, let alone telling me you miss me.” you were on your feet now, trying and failing to keep your voice down as you watched Paul seem to recoil at your tone. you were still confused why he was acting like this; usually, nothing could crack his tough exterior, but here he was with his knees to his chest pushing himself against the church wall, not even making eye contact with you.

“now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m going back inside. this day is not about you, or me.”

“y/n, wait-“ Paul’s voice was cut off by the closing of the heavy church door.

you sighed as you walked back to your table, joining your friends once again.

“hey y/n, feeling better?” your friend Jordan asked. you smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, nodding a little too fast. he didn’t seem to notice - they must not have seen Paul follow you outside. for that, you were grateful, in no mood to discuss whatever just happened.

—————

part 2 here :)

#paul lahote #the twilight saga #twilight #twilight obsessed #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x you #the wolf pack #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote blurb #paul lahote fanfiction #midnight sun #seth clearwater #paul lahote angst #bella swan #edward cullen #jacob black

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alicerosejensen · 9 months

Text

Something about sin. Pt 2.

Warning: Older!Leon; younger reader; fem/reader; age difference; reader is the daughter of another DSO agent; Mention of erotica but it is not here; Anxiety; Relationship with Ada mentioned; Mentioning the conflict.

Synopsis: It's becoming increasingly difficult for Leon to be only your father's friend. Day by day you awaken more and more sinful feelings in him.

Tags: @ourfinalisation

Part 1

He's just a friend of your dad's.

A friend of your father's who happened to meet you in a downpour, frozen, under the awning of some small shop that was probably closed, and you were already shivering like a kitten in a wet box that no one wanted to take in. Of course, he immediately took you to a warm place - his apartment. Do not think that he had any plans; apart from your well-being, he did not have a single sinful thought in his head, and you calmly trusted him. You bet! However, there were no sinful thoughts during the trip. But as soon as Leon opened the door of his apartment and let you in as his guest, he wanted to immediately take off all these soaking wet clothes, wrap your little body in a warm towel or bathrobe and put you in his bed. No sex, seriously, but that doesn't mean he couldn't imagine you sleeping in his bed, lying on his chest… A couple of days ago, he even woke up with another girl and thought for a few minutes that it was you, but reality hit him hard in the ribs. Instead of a shower, Leon offered only a towel, as well as his T-shirt and shorts to wait for your clothes to dry. Yes, the size is big, and, roughly speaking, the shorts were useless because it were too wide.

He honestly tried not to think about you. And on the other hand, couldn't help but fantasize about what would happen if you were entirely his. When you come out of the bath dressed only in his clothes, laying out your things on the dryer to dry, Leon wants to go up to you and put you on his lap by taking off those shorts. And it's even better to soak in the tub with you while you play with foam like a little girl. Shaking his head, driving away from himself again a series of vicious desires, he does not immediately realize that you are already sitting in front of him at the table waiting for a hot mug of tea to keep warm.

"I'm sorry, I was thinking, so what did you just say?

You smile at him again with your innocent smile, taking a sip, stuffing your mouth with more tea, after which your cheeks swell like a hamster for a couple of seconds. It's a funny sight. Leon knows that you only do this when you're drinking tea alone or with someone you're comfortable with. With whom who will not say that you are behaving inappropriately. He's definitely never going to tell you that.

"I said that Dad is absent now and mom has gone to my aunt for a couple of days. And that rain was not promised in today's weather forecast," You're lying, but no. There's no point in lying, Leon knows you're not going to seduce him. And you're not doing anything because he wants to love his friend's daughter… life really sucks.

He should have fallen in love with a woman his age or continued dating Ada. And you're worse than a zombie…stuck to him like a burr.

"Take a break now. You can watch TV, and to be honest, it's a long way to your house. I can call a taxi, but if you want, can you stay with me until morning? Sleep on the couch"

This is a risky question. Regret takes hold immediately after these words have been spoken out loud. What does he even hope for? That at nightfall you will come to his bed and say "I love you"? Cute, but unreal. Although Leon admits to himself that in this scenario he would be a gentle lover. There's no other way with you. In addition to the gun, he has condoms and lubricant on his bedside table, besides he does not skimp on preparation. But watching your face and how you feel indebted to him, Leon realizes that none of this is going to happen. You don't look at old people like him.

On the other hand, the taxi driver will charge you a considerable amount. Although who is he kidding? he is ready to pay for the trip to your home himself.

"Oh, princess, don't look at me with those puppy dog eyes…" he wants to say, but instead he says it to justify himself: "I'm just worried that the driver might offend you. Your father will twist my head off if anything happens to you."

Although he'll be the first to wring his own neck if someone hurts you.

"I wanted to spend the night with a friend, but at her house… a date with a guy. I don't like being alone," you admitted, shyly lowering your eyes, stroking his mug with both hands.

"Then stay," he had to make an effort to make his voice sound the same, but his smile betrayed him. "Let's order something for dinner, watch a movie and tell me about your TV shows that you love so much…"

"Do you know?!" You were surprised, but you smiled again. Of course he knows.

"Your father said that you watch them all the time."

It was wonderful when you agreed, and Leon let you choose whatever you wanted. don't worry about the money, the last expensive purchase he made was at the bike parts store, and well, the bottle is in the top cabinet in the kitchen. You order spicy pizza, pasta and something else, Leon doesn't even look at what exactly, because he doesn't care. The only thing that pisses him off is that you thank him and then fall asleep soundly on his couch after a little night of fun with food and TV.

He's a son of a bitch.

He's your father's friend, he's old, he's… It just doesn't suit you. Leon knows that you trust him, otherwise you would have run away as soon as the opportunity presented itself, and his brain suggests to him the idea of pulling off your T-shirt, exposing your small breasts, and squeezing you in his arms. You have a stupid habit of biting your lips, but you're not doing it because it's sexy (because it's never sexy), but because it's a fucking habit, not flirting.

The point is, he's not trying to justify himself like the rest of the bastards, saying it's your fault that he wants you. It's NOT your fault. You're NOT flirting with him.

And Leon understands that. When the movie ends, he brings you a blanket and a pillow, saying that you can still watch TV, but he is too old and will go to sleep. And all this in order to take the burden of guilt off his shoulders a little. And you're still innocently wishing him sweet dreams.

Yeah, indeed, his little princess, whom he should not defame. Eventually, you'll find yourself a guy your own age, graduate from college, and from time to time remember the day your dad's crappy friend sheltered you for one night.

A couple of weeks have passed since that day. All Leon can offer his few girls for one night is coffee in the morning and a sandwich made from the remains of what he has not yet rotted in the refrigerator. When Ada comes, everything is even simpler here, because she doesn’t need to offer anything, she’s like a cat: she comes and goes when she wants. You're not like that.

For some reason, Leon is sure he would have ordered you breakfast. Not always, of course, but things would really be different with you. There could be good moments in his life that are overshadowed by only one thing - his own conscience, which screams to stay away from you. You didn't tell your father anything about spending the night in his apartment. Leon guessed only because no one attacked him with pretensions, and in general, what kind of father would want his daughter to spend the night at his friend's house? Even if nothing happened between you, it will still remain a secret between the two of you.

He still cares about you, like your dad's friend, he can pat you on the back as support or even hug you at some holiday, but soon Leon is surprised to notice that the hugs from you are becoming longer and stronger.

It's nice.

Maybe he just imagined it and you're still chatting sweetly with him, and that hug gesture was just in his head. You have a nice floral perfume that suits you and Leon likes it when you sit next to him at the table offering this or that dish cooked by your mother. You take care of him, although not with the context he wants.

In fact, Leon is not a fool and understands why you don't give a damn about someone like him. At one point, he was ready to openly flirt, but damn it, if that happened, you would run away to complain to your father and do the right thing, but here he is sitting in your family's house, drinking beer with your father, discussing life and at some point realizes that your father really looks like him, but he has a family. He spends all the money he earned in the DSO on you and your mother, that's why you've been a little spoiled since childhood, but who's going to blame the old man for that? If Leon had a family, he would also spend every last cent to please his loved ones, and therefore the last woman he gave an expensive gift to was you.

However, Leon would have given you his card without any problems so that you could buy whatever you want. Dad loves you and he loves you too, but not as a friend, although he carefully hides it.

It's not funny. Leon would like to find at least one couple with a large age difference who has a healthy, loving relationship, but he himself understands perfectly well that he behaves like a boy who believes in fairy tales to the last. Well, at least he smiles when you are visiting him and you managed to start talking to him about this topic, telling him that there were such couples... several hundred years ago, when girls were forced into marriage. Your argument was that “They fell in love with each other later anyway,” supported by beautiful films about love of that era and romance novels marked “not for children,” with Leon himself reluctantly admitting the truth.

“Sunny, this is just literature designed to arouse interest among girls like you and earn money. Grown-up guys like cute girls like you for a completely different reason."

You didn't like the answer. You discussed with him for some time without crossing the line, but more and more Leon noticed the sadness on your face. The way you clenched your jaw and involuntarily puffed out your cheeks again made him want to comfort you. And then you mentioned that you know a couple who have many children and have a significant age difference.

"Why are you trying to convince me?" He smiled when he saw how frightened his desired, but unattainable angel was, and came up with excuses, saying that he was destroying your illusions that “they lived happily ever after” and “all ages are submissive to love.”

Well what can say? With this conversation, you made him doubt that he was not the only one with sinful thoughts in his head. You still don't have a boyfriend...

At least Leon hopes you weren't seduced by some old bastard, but you're a smart girl and know how to run away from creepy guys.

You're still laughing at his jokes, smiling, and Leon really wants to find the answer to why Ada left his heart so easily and you took over it so easily. But he has a bad habit of loving those women who don't need his attention. In any case, when Ada visits him again, pride does not allow this woman to go to bed with a man who has another on his mind. And Leon himself, however, no longer has any desire, as well as needs.

The costs of the profession.

Maybe because he is still ashamed that he called his last girl by your name and kissed her in his sleep.

Leon really thinks he's such a bastard when he sits in front of Ada and doesn't know what to say to her. She is a part of him, but one that he no longer wants to touch.

"I am not angry"

Leon simply nods, running his hand over his face, not at all surprised by this woman's reaction. Ada Wong isn't one to throw a fit because her partner has found another love interest. An interest that could be mutual and healthy, unlike what had happened between the two of them over the years.

and all that Leon says to her in response is:

"I know"

"You shouldn't blame yourself for wanting stability somewhere. Feelings can disappear after 20 years of marriage, and you and I have separate ways… I will not fulfill your cherished dream of a typical American family, where you return home and there your wife is waiting for you with a hot dinner and two, maybe three Kennedy kids who will immediately jump on your neck with happiness that dad has returned home"

Anyone who knows Ada even a little bit will say that she is right. It seems to Leon that he knew this even at the first meeting when she identified herself as an FBI agent showing him a fake badge. But then he was a young, scared rookie cop with a great sense of justice who, despite his fear, wanted to save at least one living soul in the Raccoon City… So many years have passed and Ada is right, he has hardly changed.

They didn't even have love. The status of "Everything is difficult" turned into "Everything has become much more difficult" because you fit into this status and Leon is completely confused, preferring to just stay away from everyone and suppress all the feelings inside. And you keep climbing and climbing into his head against his will that one day he really got angry and snapped at you when you accidentally dropped one of the old parts in his garage.

To tell the truth, this useless spare part should have been thrown in the trash a long time ago, Leon doesn't know what the hell it was lying there, maybe he just forgot to throw it away, but the way you lowered your head and apologized, biting your lip so as not to cry in front of everyone, well, it makes him feel like a son of a bitch even more. My God, he would immediately fall at your feet and beg for forgiveness for raising his voice at you at all. After that, even when he came to visit your father and stayed for dinner with the family, you didn't even show up in his eyes. Your mom kept saying that you weren't feeling well and decided to get some sleep, then you were too busy (but didn't say what), then you were supposedly not at home, but one day you accidentally got caught when you sneaked into the kitchen for dinner, putting a bigger portion on your plate. Leon wanted to call out to you but looked away pretending not to notice.

This could be the end.

He would have just waited a little longer before apologizing to you for yelling at you over nothing. I would have given you time to calm down, but I was really scared when I received the stupidest message from you.

"I want to pay for the thing I broke. I really didn't want to break anything, so just tell me how much it cost."

At that moment, he wanted to yell at you even more. Do you really think that he is so petty that he will charge you money for just dropping an already broken part?! After that, he felt even more disgusted with himself. Because he acted like a bastard and now you think he's a real brute.

Of course he didn't charge you. However, unsubscribed the same way as you: SMS.

A conflict that essentially grew out of nothing. When your mom finally made you show up and greet him out of politeness having dinner together, you were now sitting as far away from him as possible without saying anything or offering, constantly looking at the clock waiting to escape from the table. Then it was decided that it was time to end it. After your awkward escape, Leon tried to find you in the backyard of the house and he was almost right, however, he spotted the exact location by following your sobs when you were sitting in the barn and sorting through some old things without noticing someone else's presence.

If you were his… No, he still quickly ran up to you with the idea that something had happened to you, you couldn't just sit and cry like that, and if you could, then at least give the old man hope that it wasn't because of him. Leon didn't want you to cry because of him.

Mr. Kennedy, as you used to call him, has no right to kiss you even if he really wants to. Even if you're a forbidden fruit that you can't eat, but you really want to, so you just don't have any strength anymore. You just can't. However, you look at him with those tear-stained eyes, allowing him to take your palm in his hand and squeeze it slightly, dropping down in front of you to listen to stupid apologies. Leon doesn't know how to apologize a damn thing, but he tries. He really tries when he wipes your tears from your cheeks while maintaining eye contact and doesn't know what to feel when you press your cheek against his palm.

An accident or a hint?

Leon thinks the former, although he secretly hopes for the other. He may be the perfect government weapon, the perfect soldier, a good man, but he knows that he is an ordinary scumbag who kisses his best friend's daughter and is bursting with happiness when an awkward kiss gets timid reciprocation.

Even if you are already of age, even if you dreamed about it yourself, Leon Scott Kennedy will always feel like a guilty scoundrel.

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