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knight-of-flowerss · 7 months ago

Text

BIRTHDAY PRESENT

MODERN!BOXER!BENJICOT 'DAVOS' BLACKWOOD x READER

Masterlist

Smut! MDNI! 18+!

Synopsis: Daughter of a famous boxer, a spoiled little princess, but also one who cares for her family. When your brother gets beaten to a pulp by an underground beast of a boxer, your father takes him under his wing. Now you have to deal with him.

Note: am I supposed to be writing three other fics atm? Yes. Yes I am. Did I write this in the spur of the moment cause it sounded like an amazing fic? Yes. Yes I did.😋 also I used Y/N twice (js a warning lol)

Tags: @thethreeeyed-raven @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @hardkiddonut

Your bother was a boxer. A shit one but still a boxer. Your dad is one too, a legendary one. The great Duke Miller. Your brother, Scotty Miller, is due to be his 'prodigy', he's hoping.

Duke has high standards for Scotty, he wishes for him to be like how he was. But he's a screw up, he hates boxing and he'd rather play football rather than train.

Duke started him off in underground fights, trying to toughen him up. It'd been a few months and he'd gotten a bit better so Duke decided to put him in a match with one of the best fighters in that shitty, underground boxing world.

Benjicot 'Bloody Ben' Blackwood.

He's dangerous, always beating his opponents basically to a pulp. As soon as he stepped into that ring, he was an animal.

And that's what happened, he beat Scotty to a pulp, nearly killing him. You were furious, watching your brother get repeatedly punched as he lay their helplessly, brutality always did make the crowd go wild.

Scotty is taken away on a stretcher, to the hospital. Rage blinds you as you storm over to Benjicot's changing room, opening and slamming the door.

He's half dressed and you're seething with anger. Are you seriously going to stand up to this very violent boxer? Yes, yes you are apparently.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?! You nearly killed my fucking brother!" You shout at him. Ben turns around, only just now noticing you're here.

His eyes rake up and down your body, taking in the heels, short dress and perfectly manicured nails. His lips curl up into a smirk as he leans against the lockers, his arms crossing across his bare chest. "He was too weak. He deserved it."

Was your brother weak? Yes, yes he was. Are you going to let this man know that you agree with him? No. No the fuck you aren't. "Too weak?! So since he's too weak, you just thought you'd kill him?! Is that it?!"

He shrugs and his smirk widens. He pushes off the lockers and stands straight. "His own fucking fault. He shouldn't have signed up to fight me. You must be his little sister then?"

"Yeah! I am! And it wasn't him who signed up for the match! It was our dad! Just 'cause you think you're some big man doesn't mean you have to nearly kill him!" You screech, the sound echoing off the walls.

He approaches you slowly, stopping just in front of you, towering over you. He takes you in once more, his gaze raking over you. Taking you all in, a shiver going down his spine.

"Your daddy should know better than to throw your older brother to me. What's your name then?" You glare up at him as he smirks down at you. "My name's y/n, but I don't care about that. You're gonna pay for his hospital bills."

He hums, "y/n huh? Cute, like you." His smirk morphs into a teasing grin, "and pay his hospital bills? How are you going to make me do that, Darlin'?"

"You're gonna pay it with the money you won." He laughs at that, gripping your chin and tilting your head up. "Is that so? You think you can just waltz in here and demand money from me, huh? And what if I don't wanna give you a single penny, Darlin'? What then?"

You smack his hand away, "it doesn't matter if you don't want to! You nearly fucking killed him! It's the bare minimum!"

He laughs again, reaching out and tugging you towards him, his big, calloused hands gripping your hips. "How do I know you care about your older brother? How do I know you aren't just trying to swindle me out of my hard-earned cash?" He grins, a shit-eating grin.

You push him away, your manicured nails slightly digging into his bare chest, "Because I was the one who told him not to fight! I love my brother and you are the fucker who nearly killed him! You're gonna pay for it!"

He lets out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes at you. He leans forward, his arms coming up to box you in on a nearby locker. "And how are you going to stop me from walking away, huh? Sweet little thing like you. Who's gonna make me pay, huh?"

"I'm gonna make you pay. Or they are." You nod your head at the two men at the door, your body guards. They follow you practically everywhere since your dad is a legendary boxer back in his day and his brother being his 'prodigy son', that's what the press calls him, bar him being a shite boxer.

He follows your gaze over to the two bodyguards, eyeing them both up for a few seconds before a loud, barking laugh leaves his lips. His attention drifts back to you. "Yeah? You think those big guys are going to make me pay up, eh? Just because your daddy used to be this big, famous boxer doesn't mean your bodyguard’s intimidate me darlin'."

"Oh, so you think you can beat them black and blue like you did Scotty?" He laughs again, a barking sound that seems to echo. He grins down at you, his voice now taking on a lower, more serious tone.

"You think I’d let those two goons over there even touch me? I'd knock them both out with a single punch, then what're you gonna do darlin'?" His tongue darts out to lick at his lips before grinning.

"You won't knock them out." You spit out. He smirks, leaning in closer so your faces are mere inches apart. “You doubting my boxing skills? I'm offended, darlin'. You just saw what I can do. I'd beat those big guys into the ground, without even breaking a sweat."

You cross your arms over your chest, "Go on then."

He laughs again, a loud and arrogant sound, he pushes away from the wall, "You sure you want me to kick your goons arses? Won't you be embarrassed about my beating them so badly?" You give him a dirty look, looking him up and down, "Like you could."

He grins as he stops in front of your big bodyguards. He looks up at the two big men, an arrogant smirk plastered on his face as he gives them a cocky wave. "Hey there boys, fancy a little sparring session? Just a fun little warmup before I fight again tomorrow."

The bodyguards exchange a look before the first one cracks his knuckles, his eyes never leaving Ben. "Sure pal, why not?"

You stay a little behind, watching everything happen. One of the bodyguards swings a punch at Ben's face, but he ducks to the side at the last moment and it misses, he laughs as he straightens up and shakes his head. "Is that the best you've got? Seriously?"

The bodyguards both charge forward at the same time now, fists flying. But he's too quick, he dodges every punch, his movements smooth and agile. He laughs again and smirks at them. "You call yourselves bodyguards? You're about as strong as a wet noodle."

The bodyguards are getting frustrated now, one of them tries a kick aimed at his stomach, but he grabs the man's leg and swings him around, sending him flying into the other bodyguard and knocking them both to the ground. He stands over them, still laughing, his hands on his hips as he looks to you. "You still doubting me, darlin'?"

You glare at him, "You said you could knock them out, you haven't knocked them out yet." He laughs again as he looks down at the two men who are now both getting to their feet. He's having the time of his life. "I'm getting there sweetheart, I'm getting there. Just didn't want it to be too quick and easy."

The bodyguards charge at him again, but he's still too quick, he ducks and weaves through their punches, countering with jabs of his own. He's like lightning, moving around the room with dizzying speed.

The bodyguards are getting tired now, their movements slowing down as they wear themselves out. But he's nowhere near tired at all, he's enjoying himself too much. "Come on guys, is that all you got? This is embarrassing, honestly."

The bodyguards exchange a look, they're both exhausted now, their faces red, their breathing ragged. They're done for. But it doesn't even look like Benji has broken a sweat.

He grins as he steps over to them, towering over the two big men, his hands on his hips as he looks down at them. "Have you boys had enough yet?"

They both nod, still trying to catch their breaths. There is no way they could keep up with him. He laughs again, that same loud, barking sound, and turns to look back at you. "There, I told you I'd knock their asses to the ground. You doubt me again princess?"

"Are both of you fucking serious?! You're both fucking pathetic!-" You hear someone clearing their throat at the door, you turn to look at them. "Daddy..", Your father was at the door. A former legendary boxer, still big and hench, in his fifties, bordering sixties. He's still got his muscles and the brooding glare.

Benji's smirk slips a little, his eyes going wide at the sight of your father, the famous, legendary boxer, Duke Miller. This was not the man he wanted to meet right now. Well, he would love to meet him, but right now when he's knocking his daughter's bodyguard's on their arses? Nope. He slowly steps back and stands up straight, he's still taller than your dad, but that didn't matter, everyone knew that this man was not to be trifled with.

Your dad doesn't speak, merely looks him up and down and grumbles. "You're that Bloody Ben bloke arnt you, huh?" Benjicot swallows, his hands shifting from his hips to stuffing themselves into the pockets of his trousers. "Yes sir. That's me."

Your dad walks further into the room, taking in the sight of his two bodyguards sitting on the floor, before his steely gaze drifts back onto Ben, he looks him up and down for a few moments before grumbling again. "What're you doing talking to my daughter?"

Ben glances quickly at you before looking back at your father, trying to keep his cool, though he can feel himself starting to sweat under the pressure of being eyeballed by your dad. He shrugs his shoulders and responds with a slight stutter. "She uh, she came to see me, sir… after the fight."

Your dad narrows his eyes, the intense glare not faltering for a second as he steps further into the room, moving closer to Ben, his expression stern and intimidating. "Why'd she come to see you huh? You beat her brother good. What she want from you?"

Ben swallows again, his hands gripping a little tighter in his pockets, though his lips still quirk upwards into a cheeky half-smirk. He looks past your dad and meets your gaze for just a moment, before his eyes flicks back to your dad again. "She came to demand I pay hospital bills, sir."

Your dad scoffs a little at that, his eyes flickering over to you, before he fixes Ben with his hard stare again. "Hospital bills huh? Yeah she's a good kid, always making sure that brother of hers is okay. Always looking out for people." He steps closer still, his face so close to Ben that he's practically breathing down his neck, his voice dangerously low. "I take it you told her you ain’t paying?"

Ben swallows again, his gaze shifting to the floor, the smirk slipping from his face as he suddenly feels much smaller and insecure under your dad's gaze and proximity. He nods faintly once, not trusting himself to speak without stuttering right now.

Your dad chuckles slightly at that, a low and gruff sound, as he steps back and crosses his arms over his chest, still looking at Ben. "Is that right? You’re saying no to us, huh?” He raises an eyebrow as he waits for a response, the look on his face making it very clear he's not to be trifled with or defied.

Ben slowly raises his gaze, meeting your dad's eyes now, his bravado starting to return as he straightens up slightly and speaks up. "Yeah, I am. Why should I pay hospital bills for some guy who I beat up in a fight when it's literally our jobs."

Your dad keeps his brooding face on before bursting out in a boisterous chuckle, "Fair enough lad." You look at your dad with a shocked face, you can't believe he's not shouting at him by now.

Your dad chuckles again and shakes his head as he moves over to the two bodyguards, still sitting on the floor, and reaches down to pull the first one to his feet, who wobbles slightly but ultimately stands up on steady legs. He pats him on the shoulder before he nods to the second one, who stands up but still looks a little shaky. "You two go stand out in the hallway. Make sure we're undisturbed." They both nod and leave the room, glancing warily and warily at Ben as they do.

Ben watches them go, his eyes following the two bodyguards, before slowly drifting back to your dad, who is now standing in front of him again, his arms crossed over his giant chest and his feet planted firmly on the floor, like an intimidating sentinel.

Your dad glares at him for a few moments, his expression stern, before he slowly starts to speak again, his voice low and firm. "Let me tell you something, kid. You got a reputation for being tough, for winning fights and being a damn good boxer. But I'm not afraid of you. Don't think for a second that I wouldn't lay you out flat if I had to. Understand?"

Ben swallows again, his bravado shrinking down under your dad's harsh words and terrifying presence. His shoulders slumped slightly and he mutters. "Yes sir, I understand."

Your Dad nods, seemingly satisfied in knowing that he's got Ben feeling small and scared. He steps back, putting a little distance between them before speaking again, his voice a little less intimidating now, but no less firm and authoritative. "Good. Now, I'm going to talk with my daughter. Alone. You sit down. And you don't move a muscle till one of us tells you to, you hear?"

Ben nods again and mutters another 'yes sir' before he quickly turns and heads over to a chair in the corner of the room, sitting down on it quickly, like an obedient schoolboy.

Your dad makes a satisfied grunt as he watches Ben sit down, his gaze lingering on him for a few more moments, before he looks at you, jerking his head towards the door. "Pumpkin, come with me. We need to talk."

You nod and follow him out of the room, glancing back towards Ben one more time, he glances up and meets your eyes but looks away quickly, staring down at his hands awkwardly instead, looking like a scolded child sitting in the corner.

Once you're both out in the hallway, your dad speaks again. "What're you doing talking to that kid, Pumpkin?" You look up at your father, "He has to play Scottys bills daddy. Just because you think he's a good boxer and you wanna 'take him under your wing' doesn't mean he gets to beat up your son."

Your dad scoffs and mutters something under his breath as he shakes his head, still looking a mixture of annoyed at your insistence. "You're too soft, Pumpkin. Kid has skills, he's got potential. I think I can train him, mentor him, groom him. He could be something special."

"But.. but he hurt Scotty, daddy!" You plead with your father. Your dad sighs and looks at you, his gaze softening a little as he takes in your concern for your brother, though his tone remains firm. "It's just a couple of broken bones sweetheart. Scotty'll be fine. Kids get hurt in boxing. It's part of the game. You gotta toughen up a little, stop being so soft."

I pout. Am I a spoiled princess? Yes, yes I am. Do I get worried about my brother and my dad revolving around fights? Yes, yes I do. That's why I'm so adamant that this fucker pays.

Your dad chuckles slightly when he sees your pout, his expression softening even more. He has a soft spot for you, always has. "You're just like your momma. Always getting worked up at the slightest bit of injuries. She was soft just like you."

I nibble at my bottom lip slightly, "I miss momma. She would agree with me. It's not smart to take that.. savage… under your wing daddy."

Your dad sighs at that, his smile slipping as he's reminded of the past. He shakes his head slightly before he speaks, "Your momma would most likely not approve, you're right. But she's not here anymore. I'm the one looking out for you two now. And I say that kid has potential. I think it'd be a waste to let him carry on fighting in those crappy little underground clubs. I could help him become great, get him into professional fights."

You roll your eyes, done with this stupid conversation, "whatever, I'm gonna go visit Scotty." Your dad nods and pats you on the shoulder. "You do that sweet'eart. I'm gonna stay here and have a chat with that kid for a while. But you go see your brother, I'm sure he'd love a visit from you."

I walk away, going to the hired car for you to go to the hospital, leaving your dad.

Your dad watches you go, his expression soft for a moment before he turns back to the room, pausing outside the door to take a deep breath before he goes in.

Benji is still sitting in the chair, looking up when the door opens. He can see the intensity in your dad's eyes and suddenly feels a wave of nervousness again as your dad approaches him.

Your dad stands over him for a few seconds, not saying anything, just looking down at him. Ben tries to smile to cover up for his nervousness but it comes across as an awkward grimace on his face instead.

Your dad just grunts and motions to the chair next to Ben. "Move owa." Ben quickly scrambles to move a little further down the chair, and your dad sits down next to him, his legs spread out wide and his bulk taking up more than half the chair.

Your dad turns to look at him, his gaze hard and unwavering, it makes Ben shrink a little in the chair. "So, kid, I hear you beat my boy Scotty good huh?"

Ben swallows and nods faintly, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair slightly as he tries not to show how intimidated he feels right now by your dad.

Your dad lets out a gruff chuckle and shakes his head slightly. "You're a crazy bastard, I'll give you that. He's my kid and I love him, but Scotty never was the brightest or the toughest. I'm not surprised you managed to lay him flat like that."

Ben chuckles a little, relaxing slightly and feeling a little more confident. He likes how your dad is treating him casually, instead of like a kid, the way you had, even though he's older than you. "He was sloppy. Put up a pretty pathetic attempt of a fight. It was hard to even take it seriously, if I'm honest."

Your dad lets out another laugh at that, this one a little louder. "Yeah, Scotty's never been the best at fighting. He's always been a bit of a mummy's boy that one. Never been one for roughhousing. Was always more interested in playing sports than fighting."

Ben nods in agreement and relaxes further into the chair, starting to enjoy the conversation with your dad now, instead of feeling like he's being interrogated. He's smiling now, the same cocky smile he usually has. "Yeah, he spent more time on his football kick than on punch training, I could tell from his form as soon as the fight started."

Your dad chuckles again and nods. "Yeah yeah, that sounds like Scotty alright. Always a mamma's boy, that one. I've tried my damndest to get him to toughen up, to actually learn how to fight instead of relying on being quick or agile. But every time I tried to get him to come to the gym with me, all he wanted to do was kick a bloody ball."

Ben laughs at that, shaking his head at the thought of Scotty being anything but a fighter. "He's damn lucky he never came up against a proper fighter then or he'd be hurt a lot more than a couple of broken bones."

Your dad laughs loudly at that and shakes his head, seemingly amused by the thought of Scotty getting hurt worse than a few broken bones. "You are a real fighter son, a true one. But you're stuck in these shit-tip underground fights."

Your dad grins at that and claps a hand down on Ben's shoulder. "That's what I'm hoping to change. You got real skill kid, you've got natural talent. But you could be one of the greats if you let me train you. Help you reach your full potential."

Ben grins back at your dad, his eyes lighting up with excitement now. It was one thing to have your daughter come demanding him to give money. But having the famed former legend himself want to take him on as a mentee? That was an opportunity he was not about to refuse, even if it did mean he was stuck having to deal with your pestering.

Your dad grins as he sees the excitement and interest in Benjicot's gaze, and squeezes his shoulder. "So, what do you say kid? Will you join my private training regimen and let me help you reach the greatness I know you can achieve?"

Ben nods, not hesitating for a second at the offer. "Hell yeah I'll do it. Train with a legend? Who'd say No to that?"

Your dad grins even wider at that, laughing as he gives Ben a firm pat on the back. "That's the spirit kid. No time to spare. We start your regular training next week. Twice a week. I trust you'll be at the gym every time, no excuses. Understand?"

Ben nods again, feeling the firm slap on his back and trying not to wince as it hits his sore muscles. "I understand, sir, yeah. I'll make sure I show up. Every single session."

Your dad grins and leans back in the chair as he hears that, his hand still on Ben's shoulder. "Ah that's good news. I was hoping you'd say that. You'll stay at me mansion. Have a proper place to rest and eat before and after our training sessions. There's a gym there so that we're not driving back and forth to the boxing gyms too. You'll love it, kid."

Ben's eyes widen at that. A mansion?! That's some real top class treatment. He's never had anything close to that growing up, so he's shocked to say the least at the offer. Plus, living at a boxing legends mansion? And one as rich as your dad is? This was sounding better and better by the minute.

Your dad pats him on the shoulder again. "You'll have your own room, don't worry. Private room just for your use. Got plenty of space at the mansion, more than enough room for you to have your own space separate from our family."

Ben's mind is still boggling at the thought of having a room in your dads mansion. It's an insane deal from his point of view. Free training from one of the boxing greats and a place to live? It sounded like a dream come true. He smiles and nods again, still a little speechless.

Your dad smiles as he sees the look of disbelief on Ben's face, and can't help but laugh at his surprise. "I take it you're shocked by that, yeah? Surprised I'm giving you such special treatment and a place to live?"

Benji nods, his lips curving up into a smile despite himself. "Hell yeah, I'm surprised. I was expecting a few training sessions, but now you're telling me I'm living with you at your mansion. You don't have to do all that for me, you know. I don't deserve it."

Your dad laughs and shakes his head, waving away Benji's words. "Nonsense, kid. You've got talent. Serious talent. I'm damn near certain I can turn you into a world class fighter. It'd be a waste not to give you the best training and support to reach your full potential. I'm going to make you a damn legend."

Ben's smile somehow gets even wider at the praise and support. It feels damn good to be treated as something other than just a dumb boxer and instead, someone with actual potential. "Yeah, damn right you are. I'm gonna be the best damn fighter you've ever trained. Make you proud of having taken me on like this."

Your dad smirks and pats Benji's shoulder again, giving it a firm squeeze now. "That's what I like to hear. You have the skills, kid, I've got a lot of confidence that you're goin' places. I'm not taking on just any old guy to train. You're something special. I can see it. You're gonna have the skills and the talent to become a damn champion one day if I keep working with you."

It'd been a few months since Benjicot moved in. As you can already tell, it was a shit show. Let's just say a glass got launched in the direction of Benjicot from you, snarky comments from an injured Scotty and Rom, your little brother, silently eating while he watches and does his GCSE revision.

At every opportunity, you make his life hell. Well, inconveniencing him. Moving his boxing gloves or wrap, putting his clothes in random places, changing out his protein powder for flour. Other things too, just to piss him off, a little inconvenience in his day.

You were also rude, giving him dirty glances, mean comments, rolling your eyes at every word.

After seven months of Benjicot living with them and training with your father and brother, your birthday comes up. Nineteen. You always had wild, big parties on your birthday, this is no difference.

You're going for classy. Golds, silvers, fancy glass carved cups. It was gonna be huge.

Guests pile in, champagne getting passed around to each. After all the guests arrive, they get to mingle for a while and put the presents on the large, over-piled table.

Soon enough, you make your grand entrance. Walking down the very large staircase, clad in a black dress, short skirt at the front with a long trailing back, sliding against the floors and stairs. Your hair is lightly curled and your makeup done up. You looked almost feline.

Benjicot's standing with your brothers, watching your walk down the stairs, like a model. Long legs going down each step with cute Louis Vuitton heels.

Stepping off the stairs, people come up and wish you happy birthday. You grab a glass of champagne, sipping on it as you make your way around, mingling with friends and family.

After a while, you're a bit tipsy, taking shots with your friends and dancing on the dance floor. You stumble outside, walking to a small bench in the very large back garden, grabbing a breath of fresh air.

Ben wanders into the back garden to grab some fresh air as well. He'd had a good time partying so far but he'd needed a short break. He spots you sitting on the bench and heads over to join you. He sits on the bench next to you and looks over at you. "You enjoying your birthday so far?"

You look at him as he sits down, rolling you eyes, just your luck. "Yeah. I am."

Ben just snickers softly at your reaction to him sitting next to you. You clearly weren't too happy to see him, which amused him. "Oh, come on. Don't act too thrilled to see me, I know you're really happy I'm here…"

Ben has a cocky smirk on his face as he pokes your side gently. He hadn't seen you all night, so you getting all annoyed at him for joining you on the bench was amusing. You sigh, rolling your eyes again as you put one knee ontop of the other, resting your elbows on them.

Benji's smirk grows at the sight of you rolling your eyes yet again. He'd clearly gotten under your skin already, and it was far too easy.He glances over at you and grins before he speaks up again. "Damn, you look like you're really enjoying yourself over there."

One of his eyebrows raise slightly as you reposition your legs. You were acting just as he had imagined you would, you'd clearly grown exasperated with him already, even though he'd been sitting next to you for only less than a few minutes. It was a little funny.

Benji snickers to himself. You were a hell of an easy to rile up. He could already tell he was annoying you, he was just testing your limits now. "Why the long face? We're at a birthday party… you're supposed to be having fun, birthday girl…"

"Yeah well, with the guy that battered me brother and is now me dads fucking favourite despite not being his son sitting next to me, no surprise I'm not in a good mood." You scoff.

Benjicot just smirks slightly at your response, you were clearly a little pissed off and he knew he was the cause of it. You were just so easy to rile up, all he had to do was sit next to you and you started losing your temper. He chuckles softly, tilting his head at you. "That's right… I'm the golden boy… and you're just a pain in my arse…"

He leans back against the bench and continues to smirk smugly as he glances over at you. You were glaring at him already, you must've been absolutely fuming by now, but that was exactly what he was wanting. You were very fun to wind up, he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

He couldn't help it, he was far too amused by your angered expression. He knew you were seething on the inside and he just felt like poking the bear some more. "Aw… look at your face. You're all pouty and angry… it's cute…"

You give him a disgusted look. "Just shut up. My head is banging and you’re talking too much."

Ben snickers as you give him that look. You acted so damn cute when you were annoyed, it was amusing to him. He almost couldn't resist the idea of making you even more pissed off. "Aww, is your little head hurting? Has all that dancing given you a migrane? Poor little thing…"

You glare at him. Then your mind got fuzzy, next thing you realise, your making out with him and his fingers are.. well.. inside you..

Ben's taken by surprise when you suddenly start making out with him, not that he's complaining of course… but he wasn't expecting you to kiss him out of the blue. He grins into the kiss, just going with it. He lets a finger trail along your skin before he slides his fingers between your legs.

Benjicot's enjoying this, clearly, and he's not about to stop kissing you and touching you any time soon… he knew you were a little angry before but now he had you kissing him and making out with him he just wants more.

Ben slides his tongue into your mouth, pressing himself closer to you as he starts to kiss you a little bit rougher. He's enjoying having you so close to him like this, and he can't help but want more.

You moan softly into his mouth, your legs parting more as his fingers rock inside you. Ben grins against your lips, feeling you part your legs even more for him. He loved seeing how much you wanted him, it was an ego boost. He pushes his fingers into you a bit deeper, enjoying the way you writhe for him.

Ben slides his tongue into your mouth again, trying to muffle all of those sweet sounds you make. He really was enjoying this a lot, and he wanted more… he felt his jeans start to tighten as you got a bit more handsy and started pulling his shirt up.

Benji pulls back from the kiss when he feels you start to tug at his shirt, grinning down at you. "You gonna take my shirt off, darlin'?" You moan and pant, pouting. "I.. I wanna feel you.. fuck Benji.."

Benjicot just chuckles softly, enjoying how eager you were right now. He wasn't used to you being so willing and submissive.. He grins down at you as he pulls off his shirt, revealing the lean, well-toned muscles underneath. He grins as he looks at you, just waiting to see what you would do next.

You tug him down to kiss you again, moving his hand to guide his fingers back inside you, your nails raking down his chest.

Ben grins as you pull him down to you, not even a little bit surprised that you're wanting to continue things. He moans as he starts kissing you again, and it doesn't take you long to guide his fingers back to where they had been before and he lets his fingers sink into you again. He lets out a soft groan as your hands wander down his chest.

He leans into you a bit more, enjoying the feeling of your hands running over his chest and body, and your lips on his. He's really enjoying this, and you feel so fucking good around his fingers, he's starting to strain in his jeans, and he knows he's going to need to ease the pressure and discomfort soon enough.

You grip onto his waist, your other hand in his hair as you tug on it and moan in his mouth.

Ben moans back into your mouth, loving how you're pulling his hair and gripping onto his hips, knowing how good his fingers are making you feel, how eager you are. He slides his other hand up your thigh, his hand moving higher and higher as he kisses you more roughly and you let out another quiet gasp.

His lips move from yours and start trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of hot, messy kisses against your throat as his hand on your thigh starts to push your dress up, wanting to get touch more of your skin.

He moans against your neck, his lips and teeth sucking and biting gently as he continues to kiss down your collarbone and shoulder, his hands are now grabbing your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he continues leaving hot, eager kisses all over your skin.

Your thighs tremble slightly, squeezing your eyes shut, biting your lip softly. The pleasure is becoming too much.

Benjicot can feel your thighs trembling in his hands and he grins against your skin, loving how you were reacting to his mouth and hands, he could tell you were getting more worked up. His lips and teeth travel back up to your neck and he starts kissing and biting at it again, leaving more marks over your skin.

"Fuck.. Ben.. 'm close.." You whimper out, trembling and writhing.

Ben feels a shiver down his spine as you let your breathless words, he can tell how close you are and he loves it, he keeps his lips against your neck, sucking and biting gently as his hands slide higher and higher up your legs. He's enjoying it too, his breathing is heavier and he's feeling a lot of pressure against his jeans, he's going to have to find a way to get some relief sooner or later.

"Oh fuck! Benji! 'M gonna cum!" He lets out a low and slightly strangled moan as he sucks a mark into your throat, feeling you getting closer and closer to release as his hands continue to move and wander over your legs. He's growing more and more desperate to have some sort of relief, it was starting to get really uncomfortable, feeling your skin against his and hearing you call out his name over and over again.

" 'm gonna cum, 'm gonna cum, 'm gonna cum.." You mumble and babble, thighs shaking. He grins against your neck as he hears your breathless words, loving the sounds of you so close to cumming, he continues to suck and bite at your throat, his breathing heavier now and feeling more strained, he needs something soon.

Benji lets a hand wander up higher, finally letting his hand grip and squeeze your thigh, wanting to touch more of your skin and hold you even closer to him. He moans against your neck as he feels himself get even more pent up and frustrated in his jeans, and he's starting to get desperate for some kind of relief and friction.

You grip his arm, acrylic nails digging into his skin, your mouth drops open into an 'O' as your thighs tremble and you cum, the waves of pleasure crashing down.

He moans into your neck, feeling you come against his fingers and he can't help but let out a slightly shaky breath as you grip onto his arm and make all those sweet sounds.

His hips twitch forward, and he lets out another shaky moan as he feels himself get even more pent up, he's struggling to keep it together.

He pulls back from your neck and letting his forehead rest against yours, his breathing still a little laboured and his jeans feeling really damn tight.

"Mmm… Benji.." You moan breathlessly. He can't help but let a shiver run down his spine as you say his name again, all breathless and weak, he's really struggling to keep himself from just shoving you back against the bench and taking what he so badly wants.

He lets out a low moan as he looks down at you, his heart racing and his head spinning a little, he needs some kind of relief, and he's struggling to keep himself together as he looks down at you, all messed up and flushed and panting a little.

Now that was one hell of a birthday present.

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moonflower-rose · 2 years ago

Note

I Completely understand your desire to frame the spock shirt. To preserve it, commemorate it.

But don't you think it deserves to be worn?

Doesn't the world deserve to see it?

Please wear the shirt. Do it for the shirt. Do it for the unknown artist. Do it for your mum. Do it for me, a stranger whose mum absolutely loved spock and also data and who spent a lot of her life not doing silly things she wanted to do because of what other people would think.

All the best.

Never fear, the woman herself has been wearing it and loving herself sick in it. Several other vintage trek tees have also been brought out of retirement but none of those are risqué enough to warrant a pic (or a 15K note post).

#star trek #beat me up scotty #spock big naturals #st: tos #vintage tshirt #convention merch #rosie answers

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new-virtual-world · 8 months ago

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Impact play kirk. Fuck.

cnc kirk would say "beat me up, scotty"

#i guess he would actually say #dont beat me up scotty

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cherry-leclerc · 1 year ago

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bye bye baby ☆ dr3

genre: angst

word count: 2.5k

inspired by bye bye baby, taylor swift !

cherry here!... the req was to write about danny boy, but the concept of this was that i was feeling very dramatic, per usual, duh. wrote this today since i’ve had bye bye baby stuck on REPEAT. 2 posts in 1 day, YIKES. enjoy! :)

The ups and downs that take place in your relationship once Daniel is left without an F1 seat.

“What do you mean you’re out?”

Furiously, Daniel unzips his fireproofs as he ties the sleeves around his waist. He rummages through his duffel bag, growing more and more impatient, then takes a cautious step forward when you hand him his water bottle. “Thanks,” he lowly mutters and takes a long sip. The Australian shakes his head and looks blankly towards the white wall. “They want someone younger. More talented.”

“But you’re talented, Daniel! You’re better than anyone here!”

Letting out a weak smile, he angles himself lower to hug you before pulling away and brushing your hair behind your ear. “No, I don’t think I am anymore.”

That was two months ago when news came out that your boyfriend would no longer be driving for McLaren. It was a complete shock, considering everyone loved the bubbly Australian, but it honestly didn’t hurt anyone more than it did you. Often, he would remind you that he was the one left without a seat and that you should be glad you would both have some time to disconnect and be together.

Your shake your head as you munch grumpily on a stack of pancakes. “I love that you’re around—of course I do—but what they did to you was completely unfair. Who in their right mind expects good results for a shit car? That’s their fault, not yours.”

He lets out a smile. “Relax, baby. I get it. You don’t want me around.” Sharp eyes narrow as you fling a pair of gloves at his chest, from his recent addiction to dirt biking. Don’t even, you warn. He lets out a sigh, then he opens his mouth for you to pop in a bite. Digging your fork on a piece of pancake, you raise your arm up to feed him. He hums at the taste. “I was kidding, but seriously— it's okay. I’ll get over it. You should, too.”

As much as he said he was doing fine, you knew something wasn’t right. He was hurt, felt betrayed, and it did him no good to keep rejecting his feelings. But you didn’t bring up the topic anymore. You knew he didn’t like the reminder of what once was.

Dirt crunches underneath your boots as you walk up to him and Scotty. The Australians are hunched over, trying their best to fix their bikes as they share a bottle of cheap beer underneath the blazing sun. The twenty-nine year old spots you first as he squints his blue eyes. You’re up early. You flip him off as you pretend to kick a pile of dirt towards him. He comedically raises his arms as he wiggles his brows. “Chloe is looking for you. I think she’s gonna beat your ass.”

He quickly stands up as he blows a deep breath directly to your boyfriend's face. You cringe. They share a quick look before Daniel shoots a thumbs up. “You’re good.” Thanking him, Scotty rushes past you as he hands you his left over beer. Making your way over to the brunette, you take a seat next to him as you spill the remaining dark liquid.

“Isn’t it too early to be drinking?”

“Isn’t it too early to be looking so beautiful?”

You muster a glare. “Don’t change the subject, Daniel.” Avoiding eye contact, he just keeps his tired gaze entertained on an Acacia tree. Bringing the bottle up to his lips, he lets out a low whistle. It’s hot. A cold beer helps. “Right,” you mumble as you flicker your own eyes towards the green tree. You can still spot it—your initials and his engraved. He had done it one evening when he and Scotty had one too many drinks. He had stumbled all the way just to drag you and show you. Because I love you. Even when I’m drunk, I love you like crazy.

“Trees getting old. Might be time to cut it down.”

You flinch at his words. “Can I have a sip?” He raises his brows as he hands you the bottle. You just had one, he tries to joke as he watches the way you chug it down. Drying your lips, you crane your neck to look up at the blue sky. “You never minded sharing before.” He can distinguish the way your voice sounds—as if you’re upset over something he might’ve said—but he knows he hasn’t done anything wrong. Standing up, you hand him back the glass bottle.

“Cut the tree. I don’t care.”

“And to my beautiful girlfriend—you’re everything to me and I love you. Without a doubt, the best birthday present I could ever ask for.” Raising his Coca-Cola can, the brown eyed boy sends you a wink with a bright smile plastered across his face. A face you’ve grown to recognize. The one you love.

Making his way over, he throws his arms over your shoulders as he rocks you side to side. You smile against his chest. “How does it feel to be thirty-four? Do you have bad knees already?” He lets out a toothy grin and he slaps your ass. “It’s just a question!”

“My knees are fine. As long as I can still kneel down in front of you—that’s all that matters, no?”

You blush at his words as you jokingly push him away. This only makes him cling onto you harder. Squinting your eyes up at him, you trace heart shapes against his biceps. You sincerely feel the happiest you’ve felt in ages. This is the Daniel you knew like the back of your hand. “I was thinking maybe we can take a trip. Anywhere, really. To celebrate—"

“My birthday?” He beams. “This is why you’re the sweetest girlfriend in the entire world!” No problem, you shyly respond as you pinch his t-shirt in between your fingers. Kissing you one last time, he excuses himself to go welcome some late-comers. Chole zig zags her way over to you as she gives you a side hug.

“How’d it go?”

You sigh. “He forgot. He completely forgot. I don’t think I can entirely blame him—I mean, it is his birthday.” The fact that you have to defend him makes the blonde furrow her dark brows. Shaking her head, she hands you a slice of chocolate cake.

“Never in a million years did your guys’ anniversary slip his mind. What a dick.”

But you’re not even listening. You’re too flabbergasted that he cut his cake without you being there with him.

Whether it was a trip to Vermont for his birthday or your anniversary, it didn’t really matter, because you loved every second. It’s almost like he needed this break. To do something different that didn’t feel like a forced routine. You went hiking, apple picking, to a million bars that only served barbecue ribs—and you never felt more at peace.

Handing you a bouquet of flowers, he kneels down in front of you. You roll your eyes as you take the colorful peonies from him—though inside you were shaking like a seventeen year old getting her first glimpse of love. “What’s this for?” He shrugs as he takes a seat next to you.

“Just because.”

Those were your favorite types of flowers. Intertwining his fingers with yours, you both continue chatting about anything and everything that crossed your mind. As you both pass by a peach tree, he lets go of your hand as he brings up his camera with sudden determination. Stand right there, baby.

Trying to express your happiness as best as you can, you hug your gift close to your face as you smile so wide, your eyes nearly shut.

“You’re mind blowing,” he murmurs as he snaps the picture. He takes a moment to admire you as you jog over to him. Show me! He clicks his tongue. “It’s digital. You’re gonna have to wait.” You pout as you pinch his cheek. Bringing your hand up to his mouth, he presses warm kisses.

“I have something to tell you.” Your heart stops, suddenly filled with anxiety as he smiles with giddiness. What is it? “I’m going to be driving again! I mean, it completely sucks for Nyck, but I’m just so happy to get back into an F1 car.”

“Nyck? As in the Alpha Tauri driver?”

He nods. “I got the call last month—a few days after my birthday. Best present ever.” Once again, his words cut you deep without him even noticing. Nevertheless, you force a tight smile.

“I’m so happy for you, Danny. You’re finally getting what you’ve wanted for so long.”

When you both get back to Australia, it surprises you a bit how normal things have stayed. He’s smiling more—if that was ever even possible—he’s laughing louder, too. Roaming the house, you rub your eyes from sleepiness. Scotty and Chloe share a laugh when they spot you. “And Sleeping Beauty has finally woken. I didn’t think that was possible.” Chloe smacks his chest as she sends you a wink.

“Humor me, why don’t you?” Your gaze flickers across the living room. “Where’s Danny?”

“Outside.”

Sliding the door open, you step out as you try your best to adjust your eyesight to the bright sun. As soon as it does, your stomach drops. You run up to the brunette as you pull the ax from him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Startled, he jumps up as he takes his earphones out. “Holy shit. You scared me, don’t do that!” Tears fill your eyes as you analyze the chopped tree. You’re no expert, but you can tell that there’s no going back. The only result that comes out of this would be for it to come crashing down. He rushed over with panic, checks you everywhere to make sure you weren’t hurt. You brush him off.

“Why would you do this?”

He cocks his head to the side, brown eyes filled with confusion. “I’m so lost, what did I do?” Anger bubbles up inside of you as you force yourself to not scream at him. “You’re okay, so why are you crying? Oh no. Did Scotty wake you up again? I told him not to do that anymore.”

“I’m done.” You wipe your tears as you let out a bitter laugh. “I am so done.”

“What do you mean you’re done?”

“I’m saying I give up! Fuck, I give up. That’s it. You win. I just —can't.”

He tries to take a step closer, but you only distance yourself twice as much. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“I’ve tried so hard to understand you, I really did, but I’m just as tired as you are, okay? I tried to ease your pain when McLaren let you go, but you kept pushing me away. I tried to be there for you on days you felt like nothing, but to me you were always everything. I tried to not let you see how much it hurt me when you forgot our five year anniversary. I tried to not act like it bothered me when you cut the cake I spent hours baking for you, without me. I tried to not act surprised when I found out you kept the news from me about you returning to F1 for one fucking month. But I can’t try and pretend that you cutting down this tree hasn’t broken my heart.”

“It’s just a stupid, old tree—"

“I don’t think you understand! It may be old, and it sure as hell could be stupid, but it was ours.” You grab his hand harshly as you drag him to the other side of the tree. His eyes grow wide. I didn’t remember—I swear I forgot that was even there! You let out a wet laugh as you toss your hair over your shoulder. “You’re hurting me, Daniel. Can’t you see?”

“You’re the one who said I should cut it down. You can’t seriously just be blaming me.”

“And who came up with the idea first?”

He lowers his gaze as he runs his left hand against his clenched jaw. “I’m sorry.” He connects his desperate eyes to your glossy ones. “But don’t say all those things, please. You’re right. I’ve been an awful boyfriend, but no one understands me better than you.” Placing his hands on either side of your face, he lets out soft pants. “You’re everything to me, how could you have possibly felt that way? I love you.”

“Love me like what?” He furrows his brows as he searches for an answer. You scrunch your nose as you push his hands down. “I thought you loved me like crazy.” His stomach churns. “Listen, I love you, Daniel. I love you so fucking much, but even I can see that I’m not your happiness anymore. Not the way I used to be, at least. You have other priorities, other plans—”

“No, you’re my priority. You always have been.”

“Except I haven’t. For a moment, you went radio silent. It was a one-sided relationship, but I loved you so much that I stayed. I pushed past it. Then—one random day— your smile came back. You were insanely happy and I thought...” You shut your eyes. You can feel the salty tears trickle down your face. “I thought it was because of me. Now I realize, it hasn’t been about me for a while now. It’s so obvious that the only reason you were cheerful once again was because you got what you wanted. You got a seat.”

“You’re wrong—"

“I’m not.” You let out a shaky breath as you bite down on your lip, a weak attempt to not let out loud sobs. “I would have gladly taken part in your pain, but you never let me in. You never let me get close enough to help you out.” Making your way up to him slowly, you tippy toe as you lean in for a kiss. What hurts the most is that all of a sudden—he’s kissing you the exact same way he did when he first told you that he loved you. He was giving it his all. Pulling away, you let out a low whimper as you feel your chin tremble. Your smile wobbles. “Can’t force something that’s not there anymore, can you?”

Taking him in one last time, you rub his forearm as you gently pat it before you walk away. Daniel feels paralyzed as he watches you go. He’s expecting you to turn around at least one last time and he’s expecting his body to let him run after you, but neither of those things happen.

Hesitantly, Chloe and Scotty make their way to their frozen friend. They had heard the fight, but decided it was best to not intervene.

“She left.”

The couple share a concerned look as they take in the weak tree that was clearly about to fall at any moment. Chloe sighs, then walks away, making a beeline to find you. Though, she knows you better than anyone. You weren’t going to return. And she completely understood why.

Scotty takes a step back and shakes his head in disbelief.

“She fucking loved that tree.”

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whatiswrongwithpeople · 1 month ago

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I keep going over the world we knew (p.4)

a player 230/ Thanos/ Su-Bong x fem!reader fic

summary: “It had always been him and her against the world. But if you've been fighting against the world for years, how do you react when you suddenly realize that your best friend has become your world?”

warnings: none really except the usual Thanos/Squid Game stuff. Maybe slightly ooc Thanos? , Written in my notes app

note: happy valentines 💌 I’ve FINALLY managed to finish the next chapter and I sincerely hope you enjoy it!!

🏷️: @l5byrinth , @wpdarlingpan , @lollipopsandstuff , @scotty-doesnt-know-ig

Previous Part

( italics = flashback; [e/c] = eye colour)

“Thanos, huh?” [Y/N] mused , one finger gently gently tracing Su-Bong’s handwriting on the CD that laid upon his desk, the letters THANOS written on it with slightly smudged purple ink. “Yeah, he’s freakin’ powerful and so will I be. As a rapper I mean.” Su-Bong’s deep voice hummed from where his position on his bed, long legs resting against the wall as his head dangled over the edge.

“You don’t expect me to call you after a purple comic villain tho, do you?” [Y/N] turned looking at her best friend with an amused but slightly concerned expression.

Chuckling the boy sat up into a cross legged position. “Remember that movie you like so much? Where one only ever has power over someone else if you know their true name?” His eyes watched her as she leaned against his desk , crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Yeah , what about it ?” Her [e/c] gaze found his and he held it , an intense glimmer of something she couldn’t quite place in his eyes. “I want you to be the only one in my life who holds such power over me.” [Y/N]’s heart skipped a beat, her breath catching slightly at the gravity of his words. “Su-Bong-“

The abrupt humming of the platform underneath her feet, pulled [Y/N] out of her memory, dumping her back in the cruel reality of the games. Finding her balance, she observed how the spinning increased to an unnerving speed once again, the other remaining players shifting nervously from foot to foot. [Y/N]’s pulse thudded in her ears, eyes tracing the blur of red blood on the area surrounding the platform. Mingle…She had played this game a hundred times back in the day. Never once would she have thought that one day she’d be playing it for survival, and money, but mainly survival.

The voice blared through the speakers, cold and mechanical, announcing the start of yet another gruesome round.

“Three Players”

A collective groan rippled through the group as players began to scramble. Groups formed quickly—some with practiced ease, others with utter desperation. But for every group that came together, there were those left standing on the edges, scrambling for anyone who would take them. There was no time to waste. Groups had to be formed, and rooms had to be secured or else you’d suffer the fate of a brutal elimination.

[Y/N] stood frozen for a moment, scanning the room. She moved swiftly, trying to spot a familiar face, but each person she had some form of acquaintance with seemed to be taken already. Looking over her shoulder she caught a glimpse of Nam-gyu’s smirk as he locked eyes with another player, securing his spot, and her stomach tightened. If that rat could find someone, so could she….right?

A wave of panic rolled through her. She couldn’t get left behind to die. Not here. Not now. Not during a stupidly childish game such as mingle.

Glancing at the timer, [Y/N] darted toward a small group forming near a door, only to find the last spot already claimed. The seconds were ticking away. She barely heard the voice in her head telling her to stay calm. Her feet carried her from one group to the next, but each time, she was met with the same response: full.

Her breathing began to quicken. This is it. She was going to be eliminated. Shot by some masked cowards and left to rot away wherever this hellish place was located.

But then, just as her usual confidence slipped and her mind began to spiral, a firm hand gripped her wrist, pulling her back into the fray.

“Come on, let’s go,” came the low, familiar voice.

[Y/N]’s heart skipped a beat as she looked up, her breath catching in her throat. There he was— Su-Bong. His purple hair stood out in the crowd like a beacon. She couldn’t help herself as her eyes studied his expression. His sharp face holding that same calculating look she had come to know all too well over the past few days.

She didn’t have time to ask questions. Without a word, he tugged her towards one of the colourful doors leading into the little safe-rooms. Shortly before the timer reached 00:00 Nam-gyu slipped in the room as well, looking unusually pleased with himself as he cane to a halt with his arms crossed. The player he had previously been with was nowhere to be seen.

“You made it just in time,” Thanos said to him, his tone almost casual, as if he hadn’t just pulled [Y/N] from the edge of elimination.

Nam-gyu raised an eyebrow, giving [Y/N] a long, appraising look before letting out a laugh. “Well, well. I actually found us some idiot but then I had to get rid of him again once I saw that you got yourself some arm candy,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes flicked from [Y/N] to Thanos, a smug grin spreading across his face. “I thought you didn’t need anyone, Thanos. But I guess even you can’t resist a damsel in distress.”

The comment struck a nerve, but Thanos didn’t flinch. Instead, he smirked, his gaze never wavering from Nam-gyu as he casually leaned against the wall of the room.

“She practically threw herself at me,” Thanos said, his voice smooth, as if the words came effortlessly. “I’m just being a good guy, taking the poor thing off the chopping block.”

As his voice registered in her mind, [Y/N] felt a heat rise in her chest, her fingers clenching at her sides. This bastard...She wanted to retort, to throw his words back in his face, but she held herself back. Not now. Not in this tiny space and most certainly not in front of Nam-gyu. The last thing she wanted was to give him any more ammunition.

Instead, she let her focus drift to the gunshots outside, silently counting as the air in the room grew thick with tension.

Nam-gyu’s eyes narrowed as he leaned against the wall opposite of Thanos, arms crossed over his chest, looking between the two of them. “So, what’s the deal here?” His voice was casual, but his eyes were sharp. “You’re telling me that you—who’s got a reputation for being untouchable—are suddenly the knight in shining armor for our little friend here?”

Su-Bong didn’t even acknowledge the question at first, staring coolly ahead. His posture was still relaxed, his confidence unwavering. He slid his hands into his pockets, leaning his head back against the wall in a way that made it clear he wasn’t bothered by the confrontation.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice deep and even, eyes meeting Nam-gyu’s without a hint of hesitation. “She was about to be left without a group. Thought I’d step in and make sure her blood wouldn’t be staining my shoes next round.”

Nam-gyu raised an eyebrow, his expression more amused than anything. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” He looked over at [Y/N], the hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. [Y/N] couldn’t hold back any longer. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?” she bit out, her voice cold. But Thanos just turned his head slowly, eyes meeting hers with a look that could’ve frozen her on the spot.

“You’re just lucky I decided to save you,” he said, the words coming out with a clipped edge that made it clear he wasn’t entirely unaffected by the situation either. “You should be thanking me, not playing the victim.”

Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she stepped away from him, moving to the far side of the room and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She didn’t care what he thought. She didn’t need him. She wasn’t going to thank him.

Thanos watched her for a moment, his usual smirk slipping, replaced by something unreadable in his gaze. But before he could say anything else, the lock clicked and the door sprung open.

Squeezing past the two boys, [Y/N] didn’t flinch. She had no time for Su-Bong’s games, and she wasn’t about to let him get to her now.

Thanos looked over at her, rushing after her with big steps. “If the next round is two, I’ll send Nam-Guy off to find that other idiot.” he said, his voice carrying a hint of something darker now. “You’re with me.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Something about the way he said it made her skin crawl. Not in the same way like it did whenever it seemed like he was enjoying this, this twisted game they were all a part of, but in a way that made her heart stutter like it did all those years ago.

Nearing the giant platform, [Y/N] decided that she wasn’t going to let him play with her mind anymore. This torturous hell simply was neither the right place , nor the right time for feelings of such a complexity. And to be quite honest, she wasn’t even sure if Su-Bong was the right person anymore, like he had been what felt like a lifetime ago.

Finally, she spoke, her low voice slightly wavering. “That won’t be necessary. Good luck, Player 230.”

The words were simple, but the sting of them hit Thanos like a punch to the gut. His smirk faltered , and in the brief silence that followed, he understood exactly what she was doing. She wasn’t addressing him with his name as she once had. Shutting that door to their shared past. He was nothing more than a number now. Just another player in this game.

The weight of the words settled over him like a crushing weight. Player 230. The reminder was bitter—she had always known him as Su-Bong. And now, all of that, every connection, every shared moment, was slipping away from him.

His throat tightened. He wanted to say something, anything to push back against that cold indifference in her tone. But the words didn’t come. Instead, he stood there, staring at her as the final moments of the game began to unfold.

[Y/N] didn’t look at him again. Her form leaving his field of vision as she mingled with the crowd. Thanos, however, stayed frozen, the words Player 230 echoing in his mind.

The last thread of his past, the last hint of the person he used to be, had just been severed.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get it back.

#squid game #thanos x reader #squid game x reader #squid game thanos #su bong x reader #squid game reader insert #squid game season 2 #squid game x you #squid game thanos x reader #choi su bong x reader #choi su bong #player 230 x reader #player 230

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alaskan-wallflower · 1 month ago

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curtis gang playing monopoly (i hate that game)

ponyboy: he plays as the lantern. he constantly targets steve (and then wonders why steve is mean to him for the rest of the night), but is actually reeeally good at sweet talking. he knows he can convince soda into buying his properties and stuff, and because he has soda wrapped around his finger, he kinda just accepts this, lol—it usually comes down to him and darry, sometimes johnny, and it’s usually a toss up of who will win. he’s really good at saving up his money and refuses to buy anything from steve, will buy stuff from johnny just so give him a shot of winning (though johnny doesn’t need it, he just fakes like he does cause if it comes down to him and darry he needs all the help he can get)

sodapop: he will break your limbs in order to be the rocking horse. the rocking horse is HIS piece. one time dally tried to take it and soda was soul crushed (and it “made dally uncomfortable” he lowkey felt bad so he just gave up. he’s honestly lowkey bad and isn’t great at math, but the gang doesn’t go easy on him just cause he sucks at counting. sometimes he’ll just give too much money and nobody will tell him, not even steve or pony. not when there’s bragging rights involved. however if he somehow beats someone’s that person will always tell him just to piss off whoever he’s given too much money to, lmao.

darry: plays as the boot. he’s the banker and deals all the money because half the gang can’t count and everyone cheats so to make it fair he plays as banker. he doesn’t cheat cause he doesn’t need to—he’s really, really good at bargaining (he learned to bargain for tips at work and he applies everything he knows lmao)—he likes to be all “are you sure? that’s a really good deal to me…” and trying to make the gang second guess themselves, not just when he’s making deals with them, but he’ll pipe up when they’re making deals with each other. he usually does this to benefit himself lol—i’d say 5 times out of 10 darry wins. he gets really competitive tho and like-him and dally have gotten into screaming matches before dally flips the board and goes out for a smoke.

johnny: plays as the scottie dog. johnny is real good at swindling and he’s really lucky (canonically—i believe he pony owed him a fair amount of money from poker before he died). he’s managed to get even darry to bend to his will and buy his properties—he’s never landed in jail once shockingly. he’s just that lucky. he stays quiet when other people are making deals, but he, like darry. will pipe up and say something to try and convince them to do what’ll benefit him more in the long run. he usually walks away the winner when darry doesn’t win. he’s a good sport about it tho when he loses. when he wins tho he brags about it a little tho

dally: he plays as the battleship. the gang had to make a rule that every time dally tried to swipe someone’s money unlawfully, he has to be put in jail, or he has to “pay a fine”. he spends half the game in jail. when he’s not in jail, he’s actually somewhat good at making deals. the only ones he hasn’t cracked are johnny and darry. dally usually places fourth, but whenever he loses, he’s saying smth like “oh no, there’s an earthquake!” and straight up flips the board and goes outside for a smoke. he accuses darry of cheating since he’s the banker all. the. time. that’s usually what sparks the screaming matches (and he’s the one who starts the screaming lmao)

two-bit: he plays as the top hat (cause he’s a fancy gentleman)-he doesn’t take the game seriously at all. he’s usually drunk while playing anyhow, so he’s not making the wisest decisions. one time pony managed to swindle him out of a good $20,000 for a house. he’s usually trying to cheer on whoever is winning when he loses, though—he likes to move the pieces around when no one’s looking and tries gaslighting everyone into thinking that’s where they all were. no one falls for it. one time darry straight up lifted him up by the collar and told him he’d belt him if he did it again. two doesn’t do it again for at least a week. he’s not a sore loser, but whenever whoever he was rooting fir loses he’s all “THATS UNFAIR”

steve: plays as the race car (ofc)—like how soda’s piece is the horse, the car is his piece. he broke dally’s hand one time because he was joking around about how they should “switch things up” but later he was walking on eggshells cause he knew as soon as that hand healed he’d be getting belted with it. he’s got a quick tongue and is semi good at convincing people to do what he wants, but he’s not great af it. he gets by far the most competitive out of anyone in the gang, even dally. the “brawn no brains” comment to darry was definitely from one of their game nights. if he’s in jail, he’s dragging soda into jail with him somehow. he’s such a sore loser like when he loses he just stands up and spits something about “going for a drive” and comes back at 3am to steal some cake out of pettiness.

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #johnny cade #dallas winston #two bit mathews #steve randle #someone’s usually walking out lmao #it’s like that shrek quote #“it ain’t christmas until someone’s crying—that someone is usually me”

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the-offside-rule · 3 months ago

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Lance Stroll (Aston Martin) - Happy Hanukkah

Day 24 of Christmas

Prompt: The Differences in Christmas

25 Days Of Christmas

Y/n was filled with excitement as she stepped off the plane, a flurry of anticipation swirling around her. Christmas was just around the corner, and she was invited to spend the holidays with her boyfriend, Lance, at his family home. As she arrived, she took in the lavish surroundings, the elegant decorations, and the warm, inviting atmosphere that enveloped her. As she settled in, she stumbled into the living room, looking confused at how bare it looked and wondering why there was no tree.

"Lance?" She called out, looking around. Lance peeped in. "Where’s your Christmas tree?" Lance chuckled softly, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes. "Y/n, I’m Jewish, remember?" He replied gently, his smile reassuring. "We don’t have a Christmas tree." Her face flushed in realization. "Oh! Right! I completely forgot." She admitted, laughing at her own oversight. "So what do you do instead?"

Lance was more than happy to explain. "Well, we celebrate Hanukkah instead." He said simply. "It’s a festival of lights. We light the menorah, play dreidel, and eat traditional foods. It’s a little different from Christmas, but it’s just as special in its own way." Y/n listened intently, fascinated by the rich traditions he described. "What kind of foods?" She asked, her curiosity piqued. "Latkes, which are potato pancakes, and sufganiyot, which are jelly-filled donuts." He explained, his eyes lighting up at the mention of the treats. "We’ll make some together!" The thought of spending time with Lance in the kitchen made her heart flutter. "I can’t wait to try them!" She said enthusiastically.

The next morning, Y/n and Lance were in the kitchen, the warm scent of donuts lingering in the air. "I just need to grab something from upstairs." She said, wiping her hands on a towel. As she made her way through the expansive house, she stumbled upon a door that was slightly ajar. Curiosity getting the better of her, she peeked inside. It was Lawrence’s office, filled with books and family photos. One picture caught her eye: a younger Lance beaming as he helped his father prepare food for the final day of Hanukkah.

"Oh! I’m so sorry!" Y/n exclaimed, stepping back. "I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just exploring and got lost." Lawrence looked up, a friendly smile on his face. "No problem at all, Y/n. You can join me if you'd like." He invited, motioning for her to sit down. "I was just reminiscing about those days. Lance loved helping out in the kitchen." Y/n felt at ease as she sat down, her initial embarrassment fading away. "He told me you celebrate Hanukkah. I’d love to hear more about it, I just don't wanna annoy him with all the questions I'm asking about it."

Lawrence was more than willing to share. He talked about the significance of the menorah, the stories behind each night of Hanukkah, and how the family would gather to celebrate together. The conversation flowed easily, and Y/n felt grateful for the insight.

Just then, Lance walked by, overhearing snippets of their conversation. He paused, feeling a swell of pride as he watched his dad share their family traditions with her. “Dad, what are you telling her?” He called out, playfully suspicious. "Just some stories about your childhood." Lawrence replied with a grin. "Did know your girlfriend is curious about our traditions?" Lance smiled, his heart swelling. "I’ll take her to the airport to pick up Chloe and Scotty. She can learn more about Hanukkah from them!"

On the car ride to the airport, Y/n leaned back in her seat, looking out the window as the scenery rushed by. Lance glanced over at her, a content smile on his face. "Are you finding everything okay?" He asked, genuine concern lacing his voice. "Oh, I’m loving it!" She exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. "Your dad told me so much about Hanukkah. It’s all so interesting!" Lance’s heart skipped a beat. He thought to himself, I’ve definitely found the one. They arrived at the airport and helped bring the bags back to the car. Y/n chatted animatedly with Chloe and Scotty as they walked ahead, while Lance lagged behind, soaking in the happiness of the moment.

As they loaded the car, Chloe turned to Lance with a knowing smile. "This is the happiest I’ve seen you in a while." She remarked. "It’s because I’ve realized I’ve found the one." Lance replied, a serious note in his voice. Chloe rolled her eyes playfully. "You’ve said that about the last two girlfriends, and we all know how that ended."

"Yeah, but this time it’s different, and I know I've said thay before too, but I mean it this tims." He insisted, his gaze locked on Y/n, who was laughing with Scotty.

Once they were back in the car, they turned on the radio, and Christmas songs filled the air. Y/n joined in, singing off-key but with pure joy, and Lance couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Chloe watched them, feeling a warmth in her heart, like when she and Scotty started dating and still to this day felt. She finally understood what Lance had been saying; he had found someone special.

*please lmk if there are any mistakes! This is just the understanding I have from my Jewish friend about Hanukkah*

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #lance stroll x you #lance stroll x y/n #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll fluff #lance stroll fanfic #lance stroll x oc #f1 christmas #christmas imagine #christmas fanfic #christmas fic #christmas

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coco-loco-nut · 11 months ago

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Daddy’s Girl - Part 2

pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Stroll Reader

summary: you bring Daniel on the family vacation

a/n: thanks for the request!

masterlist part one

——————

You invited Daniel to the annual winter family vacation, this year to a beautiful beach in Fiji. Lance has finally just come around to the idea of you and Daniel. It’s also Daniel’s first time meeting your mom, Chloe, and her husband Scotty.

“I’m actually a little nervous,” Daniel says as you board one of your families private jets from Australia, opting for a take off time that will have you landing in the morning.

“I promise there won’t be a repeat of the dinner, just be a little more careful than usual since they haven’t met you yet and you’ll be fine,” you sit in the chair across from your boyfriend.

“I can handle it, for a week of relaxation with my girl,” he smiles at you, “and getting to see you in a bikini,” Daniel winks, never missing an opportunity to turn something dirty.

“If you want to see that all you have to do is ask, honey badger. I hope you brushed up your golf skills too, because Dad will probably want you to go golfing with them, and before you ask, no I won’t be there for you to stare at in a skirt,” you tell Daniel, one step ahead of him.

“How do you feel about joining the mile high club?” Daniel asks, his lips close to your ear once you’ve taken off and the pilot turns off the seatbelt light.

“I think it’s a good thing this is an overnight flight,” you reply, heart beating faster.

“Be a good girl for me and go back to that bed made up just for us,” Daniel instructs, the air thickening between you, so you say the one thing that will mess with him.

“Yes, daddy,” you smirk, moving towards the back of the plane where a bed is made up from the couch.

The pilot wakes you up before descent with an announcement, you scramble to get back into your seat and buckled.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp as you look out at the island.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Daniel compliments, your cheeks flame.

“Danny, shut up,” your laughter fills the plane. It’s not too much longer before you deplane and a short ride gets you to the rented villa.

“Y/n! And you must be Daniel, welcome to the villa, I’m very happy you made it,” your mom greets you with a hug. Daniel goes for the handshake but your mom hugs him anyway. She still comes on the family vacation despite your dad remarrying. His new wife, Raquel, did not join this time, busy back home.

“Thank you for having me, I hope I’m not intruding,” Daniel says, he’s not always the rakish Australian that you love.

“Of course you aren’t, come in, breakfast is almost ready,” your mom shows you your room first, so you can drop your luggage and change before breakfast.

You opt for a bikini covered by a tee and linen shorts, Daniel goes off of your vibe, wearing something he would back home. The best part about the villa is that all the bedrooms are separated from the main living space and yours happens to overlook the beach with its own private patio.

“We’re on vacation, no need to dress fancy unless it’s a special dinner,” you grab his hand and drag him down to the kitchen table. “Sit, I’ll grab us coffee and food,” you smile, he just follows your lead.

“Daniel seems like a nice guy, Dad spoke kindly of him,” your older sister, Chloe says, sliding up beside you.

“The only thing Daddy doesn’t like is his age. Lancie was mad at me for a while, I guess Danny is his rival,” you tell her everything that you’ve said over the phone before.

“Well you look happy, that’s enough for me,” she hugs you.

“How was the flight here?” you ask, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

“Good, poor Lance is the only one who doesn’t have a partner here, but it was a long flight. We only got here an hour before you. How was yours?” Chloe wiggles her eyebrows.

“Very nice, shorter than yours because we left from Australia, but I can say that I am a part of the exclusive club. Don’t tell Daddy, he will actually kill Danny,” you look at her and she just smirks.

“Scotty and I did the same thing on that plane, who am I to judge?”

“Girls, once the coffee is done help me carry in the food,” your mom tells you both.

“You take the coffee in, I’ll help Mom,” you tell Chloe, who doesn’t argue. You follow behind her with plates of food, setting them on the table and taking your seat between Danny and Lance.

“Morning, Y/n,” Lance greets you with a tired smile.

“Morning, Lancie,” you take a sip of the coffee Chloe poured you. Breakfast isn’t too eventful, just quiet chatter as everyone is still a bit tired from the flight.

“I’m going to go sleep a little bit, you are welcome to join me,” you tell Daniel, who happily follows you back to the bedroom. You make sure to set an alarm so that you don’t sleep longer than a couple hours, and it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep, the warm ocean breeze combined with Daniel’s superior cuddles knocks you out quickly.

You spend the rest of your day lounging on the beach, catching up with your sister and mom. Daniel is also on the beach, but he’s talking racing with Lawrence, Lance, and Scotty, even though they all promised that they wouldn’t.

As the sun sets, you all sit down for dinner, prepared by the private chef service that is a part of the villa rental.

“Will you pass me the water, Daddy?” you ask your dad, slightly kicking Daniel as he seemed to start reaching.

“Here you are, sweetheart,” it’s a relief that no one noticed Daniel’s reaction. Once you pout your water, you give Daniel an unimpressed look to which he just grins. You would do anything for that smile.

The next couple days are extremely relaxing, spent swimming in the pool, playing on the beach, and a lot of sex. Daniel couldn’t help the last part, have you seen yourself? You are an absolute goddess, plus your sun kissed skin from all the time spent outside, completely irresistible. You felt the same way, the tropical air making his curls bounce, his tan skin and toned abs, you could jump him anytime.

On the fourth day, Lawrence takes the guys golfing and your mom takes you and your sister to a spa to gossip and relax.

“So, when are you joining the married couple club?” Chloe asks as the three of you are in your massage.

“I’m not sure, Daniel is really focused on getting his career back on track, plus it’s nice to just follow him around the world and not be planning a wedding. If it’s meant to be, it will happen, but it’s still pretty early in the relationship and I am a lot younger than him,” you say, not concerned about holding your thoughts back.

“Honey, that doesn’t matter. If it’s right, it’s right. I haven’t seen you happier with anyone else and the two of you look at each other like you are the only ones in the world. Plus from what I’ve heard you tell your sister, you have a very healthy sex life,” your mom adds to the conversation and you lift your head a little to look at her.

“Mom!” you let out a scandalized gasp.

“It’s natural, it’s a good thing. Just wrap it before you tap it,” she brushes it off, savoring the spa experience.

“Scotty and I have been talking to Lance and Daniel. Lance has said nothing but good things about Daniel and Daniel cannot stop telling us about how much he adores you,”

“I would marry him if he asked, all I’m saying is that there’s no need to rush into it,” you defend yourself, putting an end to the conversation.

“Sir, I would like permission to marry your daughter. I’m not going to ask yet, I think it’s better to wait until we’ve been together for a little longer, but your daughter is the one for me. Y/n is perfect in every way and I want to make her happy for the rest of her life,” Daniel says to Lawrence as they stand off to the side, watching Scotty and Lance tee off.

“No,” Lawrence says, wanting to see the drivers reaction.

“I respect that sir, but I do think that Y/n wants to marry me eventually and if that will make her happy then I will marry her despite your wishes,” Daniel sets his jaw, trying to think where he went wrong. Lawrence didn’t see him make a move to grab the water the other night, did he?

“I’m kidding, son. You have my permission, but if you mess it up, I will end your racing career,” Lawrence smiles, happy that his baby girl is happy and found a life partner.

“Thank you, sir. I wouldn’t expect less,” Daniel breathes a sigh of relief.

When the guys get back to the villa, they spot the girls on the couch, wrapped in light blankets, watching old Disney movies.

“You guys took relaxing to heart. I should’ve joined you instead,” Lance quickly makes his way to couch, squeezing in between his siblings.

“Do you girls want wine?” Lawrence asks, an amused smile on his face.

“Yes, Daddy,” you and Chloe purposefully say in unison, watching Daniel and Scotty restrain themselves at the last second.

“Boys, come help me out,” Lawrence tells Scotty and Daniel, not noticing their reactions.

The next day, you, Daniel, and Lance join Chloe and Scotty on a guided hike. Lance, being the only single one, is relegated to photographer unless it a a group photo that the tour guide offers to take.

On the last day, there is a rain storm, so you spend the day inside playing card games and reading. Like always, you never want to leave, even if you are going back to Monaco.

instagram

tagged: danielricciardo, chloestroll, lancestroll, scottyjames

y/nstroll the kids go hiking in Fiji, what pretty views☀️🌊

user1 I think the Stroll girls have a thing for Australians

danielricciardo the best view was sitting beside me

y/nstroll shut up 😭🫶

user2 oh to be an F1 driver or heiress going on winter break

chloestroll this is my petition for a kids only family vacation soon

lancestroll i second that

scottyjames i third that

danielricciardo i fourth that

y/nstroll guys this is why we have a group chat (let’s book one right now)

claireannstroll my babies ❤️

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senditcolton · 10 months ago

Text

hits different

do you think i have forgotten... about you?

summary: after months apart, you reunite with Matt Martin at your brother's wedding. and he says he's changed. it's up to you to decide whether or not you believe him. masterlist playlist word count: 9.3k warnings: feminine reader, teammate's sister, age gap. smut! heavy handsy make out, oral (f receiving), protected penetrative sex. Disclaimer: Reading/creating content for married players isn’t for everyone. Please don’t read if you don’t vibe with it, but don’t attack me or others!

It felt like something out of a goddamn movie.

The way your eyes locked onto each other the very moment you settled next to Shannon at the altar. How the scent of the flowers that Emily had chosen for your bouquet suddenly became overwhelming. The feeling of heat that rushed through you – a heat that had nothing to do with the warm July afternoon and everything to do with the blue eyes that had captured you under their gaze.

Not the mention the film reel flashback that replayed in your head of those months when you allowed him into your bed and into your heart. And how he broke you into a million pieces and sent you running to Los Angeles to escape his hold on you.

Almost two years and three-thousand miles between you and him. You thought that would be enough.

But, even after all of that, it seems that you still couldn’t forget Matt Martin.

And based on the beating echoing through your ribcage, it was obvious that your wretched heart failed to remember how much it hurt whenever he was around.

The string music dancing on the breeze lifts to a crescendo and you almost scoff at the irony; like the universe itself was trying to arrange a reunion worthy of an Oscar-winning romance. Then you heart stutters when you see Matt lift from his seat, his eyes still locked on your frame and you fear that a love confession was about to fall from his lips.

Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. Instead, he turns from you, directing his gaze down the aisle.

The embarrassment rushes through your body and you have to shake your head at your dramatics; at the way you made yourself the main character in a moment that was anything but yours.

This was Scotty and Emily’s moment – their wedding, for Christs sake. Your eyes divert to the end of the aisle, watching as your soon to be sister-in-law walk to your brother, her stunning white dress flowing behind her. You sneak a glance at Scotty, watching his eyes water as Emily takes those final steps towards him. This was the reason you were here. Not Matt Martin.

Somehow, you manage to make it through the entire ceremony without looking out to the audience and those ocean blue eyes. When you walk back up the aisle for the recessional, your arm linked in Sebastian’s, your gaze locks with Matt’s once again before he disappears from your sight.

It’s a moment of reprieve as you sneak back into the cabin where you and the rest of the bridesmaids had spent the night, a deep breath lifting your chest.

You should’ve known he would be here. He was your brother’s teammate, a fact that you were all too aware of when this tryst began. Still, you hoped you wouldn’t have to face him. Not because you hated him or because you had moved on. But because there was still a part of you that craved him, that couldn’t let him go.

There was an ache in you and it felt like only he could heal it.

How? The answer to that question was still uncertain. You didn’t know if you needed him to apologize, or give you closure, or tell you everything you’ve always wanted him say. But you weren’t ready for it, whatever it was.

And when you walk into the reception area where the guests waited, your heart proves how unprepared you were based its reaction when your eyes find Matt. And the gymnastic routine it does when you realize that he was seated at your table, only a few spaces away from you.

Dinner is excruciating. It feels like a choreographed routine as you stop your head from drifting too far to the right to look in Matt’s direction, pretending that you don’t feel the weight of his stare, laser-focused on the toasts and your brother’s first dance. And when the dance floor opens and the mingling begins, the reason you fly from your chair was to greet other guests, performing your duty as a bridesmaid.

Not because you were desperate to delay the inevitable conversation you knew you had to have with the one man you had been avoiding.

Blissfully, a familiar voice calls to you from across the space and your eyes lock onto Mat Barzal, frantically waving at you from one of the other tables. You smile, walking over to him as he rises from his chair and hugs you, your name falling from his lips with that bright cheerfulness that you heard so frequently over Facetime calls and nights out in LA when the Islanders came to California.

“How are you doing, Barzy?” you ask, pulling away from the hug.

“Pretty good,” he replies, his hand falling to the shoulder of the pretty brunette occupying the seat next to him. “Have I introduced you to Lyla yet?”

“Well, you’ve talked about her enough that I feel like I’ve met her before,” you laugh as you steal Mat’s seat from him, holding out your hand before formally introducing yourself. “Good to officially meet the girl that stole this idiot’s heart.”

“Nice to finally meet you too,” Lyla says, taking your hand in hers. “Although, I will be honest, when I first saw your name on Mat’s phone and how many Facetime calls the two of you shared, I was a little concerned. Thought you were a long-distance girlfriend or something.”

“Completely understandable,” you laugh, admiring her candor. “But there’s nothing to worry about. He’s a little too sweet for me.”

“I’m standing right here,” Mat huffs and you look up at him with a smirk.

“It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.”

Your relationship with Mat Barzal was the one thing that had shifted in the years you were away but it definitely changed for the better. He had turned from a potential romantic partner to a true friend. That shift – one that was brought on after a night of too many French Blonde cocktails – lifted a weight off both of your shoulders and opened the door for an even deeper connection with star winger.

“I hear that I have you to thank for him asking me on a date,” Lyla says.

“I did nothing but push Mat to ask for the number of the pretty girl at the gym that he spent almost a half-an-hour raving about,” you laugh, loving the way both Lyla and Mat’s cheeks flushed. “You had him whipped before he even knew your name.”

“Oh, trust me, I figured that out eventually,” Lyla jokes and you can’t help but scoot in, ready to hear all the embarrassing stories that Lyla was willing to share. And share she did. It seems like hours of laughter and conversation, Mat even dragging a chair over and joining in – although most of his comments are attempts to defend himself. Eventually, Lyla gets up to run to the ladies room, departing with a kiss on Mat’s cheek and you can’t stop the smile that appears when Mat’s eyes stay glued to her as she walks away.

“I like her,” you say, calling his attention back to you. “She’s way too good for the likes of you.”

“Oh, I know,” he laughs, taking your jest in stride before sipping his beer. You see his hazel eyes bounce across the room, pausing momentarily before they return to you. “Have you talked to him yet?”

A sigh rushes through you as you shake your head.

“I still can’t believe I told you about him.”

“You told me like… eight months ago. Besides, you can only blame yourself.”

“Hey, I can also blame copious amounts of alcohol.”

“Yeah, alcohol that loosened your tongue and sent his name falling out of your mouth,” Mat quips, his eyebrow raising. “Along with your dinner.”

“Please don’t remind me,” you say, your mind jumping back to the night in question.

It was November, when the Islanders played Los Angeles. You and Mat met up at a local bar – just the two of you and it was that night that your relationship changed completely. Because in your inebriated state, Matt Martin’s name slurred from your lips while Barzy was attempting to shove you into an Uber.

Despite facing the wrath of his coaches, Mat helped you back to your apartment and kept you company that night, his reasoning being that he wanted to make sure you were alright and a California road trip allowing him the time to do so. It was over greasy eggs and bacon that he asked why you said Marty’s name. And you told him.

You even told him about the night of the charity gala, emphasizing that you never meant to use him like that. And that the reason why you never took him up on his offer to be more than friends was because you didn’t want to use him more, keep giving him false hope.

The truth stung him for a few days but after giving him the time and space he needed, the honesty and clarity brought the two of you closer. Now, he was the only person in your life that knew the whole story of why you left Long Island. And, like the good friend he was, he kept your secret all that time.

“You know you’re going to have to speak to him at some point,” Mat prods.

“I know,” you quip, playfully rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t mean I can’t avoid him for a few more minutes.”

“You’ve been avoiding him for almost two years. Don’t know if a few minutes is going to help.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“You can thank Lyla for that,” he smiles and you watch his whole expression soften at the mere sound of her name.

“She makes you happy.”

The sentence is more statement than question. You were there on the other end of the line when he talked about the first time he saw her. You gave him pep-talks and advice on how to ask her out. You helped him plan dates and dinners. It was obvious that this girl was something special to him.

“Happier than I’ve been in a while.”

“Then why are you still sitting here talking to me?” you say. “Dance at a wedding with your girlfriend.”

“Alright, I will,” Mat laughs, standing. He doesn’t depart immediately, choosing instead to lean over to you with a serious look in hie eye. “But you have to promise me you’ll talk to Marty.”

Another sigh escapes you as you let your head turn to look at the reception hall, your eyes glancing off the crowd of guests before landing on Matt, leaning against the wall, talking to Cal and his wife. As if he can feel your eyes on him, his gaze drifts to you and you watch a myriad of emotions dance on his face, each so subtle and fleeting that you couldn’t even begin to decipher what he was thinking.

“He’s been asking about you, you know,” Mat’s voice sounds, pulling your attention back to him.

“He has?”

“Yeah. Asking me, Scotty, Emily, anyone really. How you’re doing, what you’re doing.”

“What have you told him?”

“Just surface level stuff: your job, your complaints about the weather and LA traffic, things like that. It seems like he wants to talk to you,” Mat says. “So, you should talk to him. If nothing else, you might at least get some closure.”

You exhale, you mid swirling with the information that Matt Martin was still thinking about you, maybe in the same way you were thinking about him. Your head was a mess of doubts and hopes and fears and longing and desires. You just breathe through it all, pulling Mat into another hug which he reciprocates.

“You’re a really good friend, you know that right?” you ask, your voice muffled by his tuxedo.

“So I’ve been told by this really cool Los Angeles girl who overthinks everything.”

You laugh as you let your arms fall, Mat shooting you that crooked smile before he is walking away. You see him intercept Lyla as she re-enters the reception area, taking her arm in his and pulling her to the dancefloor, the smile on her face brightening as Mat leans in and kisses her cheek.

There was a part of you that twinged at the sight. You knew it was jealousy – not the traditional jealousy but a different form. You weren’t angry that Mat found joy with someone that wasn’t you, but envious that he found someone, period.

Especially since you were unable to move on from the man you shared a scandalous but exhilarating few months with. The man you promised yourself you would forget.

But then you hear his voice sound from behind you and feel that exquisite ache that you had never been able to soothe throb in the center of your chest.

“Hey.”

You turn to see him standing behind you, his suit looking almost too perfect for his body, his hair tousled and falling over his forehead. You watch as his blue eyes rove over your face and you wonder what he’s thinking and if all the same emotions are flooding his system the way they were yours.

“Hi,” you whisper, cursing your voice for coming out sounding so timid, cursing yourself for still allowing Matt Martin to make you feel small. But instead of that cool smirk that used to always appear at the sound of your frailty, his face remains impassive, his eyes flicking down to the now vacant seat next to you.

“Could I sit?” he asks and your head spins, not only because of the gentleness of the question but the fact that he even asked at all. The Matt Martin you used to know would’ve sat down immediately, invading your space boldly and brazenly for no other reason than to get a rise out of you.

You nod, watching him settle down into the cushioned seat and take a sip from his whiskey glass, his eyes still on you. It takes an immense amount of effort to break your gaze as you reach for your own wine and letting the smooth oaked flavor dance over your tongue.

“How have you been?” Matt breaks the silence again and you know you hear a hesitance in his voice, like he is unsure if he should even be addressing you.

“I’ve been alright,” you reply, your own voice thick with trepidation. “You?”

“It’s been decent.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, and his eyebrows quirk up in curiosity at your words. “For your injury. The playoffs,” you elaborate. Your gaze stays locked on him, trying to understand the micro-expressions that pass over his face.

“Thank you,” he replies and you just nod, taking another sip of your wine. “Didn’t know if you were even watching.”

“Wanted to support my brother.”

“Right,” he sighs. “Of course.”

You hated this. Hated the weight that hung over the two of you like a lead curtain, making anything beyond small talk too difficult to say. You weren’t sure how to surmount this obstacle, not sure if it was even possible to overcome. But someone had to be brave and attempt that first step.

With a deep breath and another sip of liquid courage, you turn you attention back to Matt.

“Was there… something you wanted to ask me?” you question, the words as stilted and unclear as the intention behind them.

Matt looks at you, his blue eyes wide as he absorbs your words. It is a moment of stillness before he is finishing off his whiskey and setting the glass on the table, lifting himself out of his chair. Your heart flips in fear that you said the wrong thing, that you ruined the moment before it could even take shape but that concern is silenced when Matt stands in front of you, holding out his hand, his palm upturned.

“Dance with me?”

Of all the questions that you thought Matt Martin would confront you with, this was one that you were not prepared for. A sentiment that is echoed by a bewildered ‘what?’ falling from your lips.

“Will you dance with me?” Matt reiterates, the request turning into a genuine question. Would you let him take you out onto the dance floor and into his arms again?

Your eyes rove from his face to his hand, still outstretched. The hesitance lingers in you reflected by the way you lift your own hand, your fingers curling back in a moment of uncertainty before you allow them to touch his. They glide against his calloused skin, wrapping around his palm, his own fingers winding around your hand.

Another glance up at him shows you the slightest smile playing at his lips. But it isn’t twinged with the familiar undercurrent of cruelty or power. Instead, it looks like relief.

He gently tugs you upright before leading you to the dancefloor, the refrain of a slow melody encompassing you moments before Matt’s arms do the same. He adjusts the grip on your hand while the other finds a respectful place on the small of your back. You let your own free hand lift and rest delicately on his bicep as the two of you begin to sway.

The silence between you remains even as the music rises and falls. You still avoid looking in Matt’s eyes, content to stare at the hardwood floor even though you can feel the weight of his gaze. In the back of your mind, you knew that if your eyes locked with his, you wouldn’t be able to keep your composure. That possibility was to be avoided at all costs. You couldn’t let Matt Martin regain the control over you that he used to have.

“You look beautiful.”

Those three muttered words, the compassion behind them, makes your resolve crumble, your eyes darting up to meet with his.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice breathless – the exact opposite of the curtness you wanted your tone to convey. But perhaps it wasn’t your choice to soften your words. Maybe it was subconscious, based on the way that Matt held you, the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you. It felt different.

He was different.

“I missed you,” he whispers; the first real confession of the night.

“Matt,” you sigh, the cynic jumping out to protect your heart – the one that he shattered.

“I know,” he says. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“How can you?” you challenge him, the small flame of anger that you held flickering in your chest.

“You’re right. I have no idea what you were about to say. But I can make a guess.”

His words extinguish that resentment as soon as it appears, your eyebrow raising in surprise – not only towards his words but in his concession to you, he deference of power, the pendulum swinging in your favor. Your silence allows him to continue.

“I know I haven’t given you any reason to trust me,” he begins. “For you to believe anything I say is the truth. But I guess… I’m just wondering if you would give me a chance. Let me prove it to you.”

“Prove what to me?”

“How much I missed you. How much I care about you.”

He pulls your closer to him and you allow it. You let him hold you tighter until your chests press together, the smell of his all too familiar cologne flooding your senses. You swear you forget how to breathe when you feel his hand trace up your arm before resting against your jawline. The gentle press of his fingers guides you to look up at him, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“Let me prove that I was an idiot for ever letting you go.”

You can feel the tears prick the corner of your eyes and you know Matt can see them, watching as they well up on your lower lashes. His words seemed so sweet, so genuine, and you so desperately wanted to believe them. But there was still that voice in the back of your mind screaming, ‘this is what he does; he’s an expert at speaking these saccharine words but you know they’re never fulfilling.’

But here, now, he was promising to prove it to you.

The words of acceptance are dancing up your throat, hanging on the tip of your tongue and at the edge of your lips. But before you can speak them into existence, the universe silences you once again.

“Alright everyone, please clear the dance floor and let the bride and groom have one private last dance. Make your way to the front entrance and get ready to send them off in style!”

The MC’s voice booms from the speaker, pulling your attention and your body away from the gentle hold of Matt. The uncertainty and distrust take advantage of the interruption to reassert itself in your mind.

‘This was a sign,’ it said. ‘The universe is protecting you from getting your heart broken again.’

But when you look back, your eyes connecting to Matt’s once more and you still see nothing but yearning on his face, you feel your own longing surge again.

“Meet me by the fountain when this is all over?” you ask.

“I’ll be there.”

This time, you really do believe him.

You meet with the rest of the bridesmaids and hand out the silver streamers. You are blessed with an immense amount of coordination and impeccable timing as the streamers pop right as Scotty and Emily make their way through the crowd and hop in the car, already packed with their suitcases and honeymoon plane tickets. It is another few moments of clean up and meeting with the wedding coordinator before you are able to run back to the cabin where you and the other bridesmaids stayed for the past two days. You grab your overnight duffle bag, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way through the country club and out to the garden near the front entrance.

The two aspects of your personality were still at war with each other as you entered the terrace. Part of you prayed that Matt would keep his word and be there, just like he said. The other part prepared itself for the possibility that this was all just a cruel joke, an elaborate attempt for him to keep his hooks in you.

But when you walk out and see Matt standing next to the stone fountain, his profile illuminated by the garden lights, your desire once again silences the doubt in your mind.

You wanted to trust him. Sure, you might get hurt. But you could also heal.

That hope was worth the risk.

Matt hears your heels clacking against the pavement and turns to face you, his lips curling in a gentle smile at your approach.

“You’re here,” you say, breathless, as if your brain still didn’t trust that this wasn’t all a dream.

“I told you I would be,” he replies, holding out his hand to you again, another offering for you to accept or reject. This time, your hand slides easily into his, your fingers intertwining.

There is a pause, as if neither of you expected to be in this situation. Now that you were, you were both unsure what to do next. The uncertainty sinks into you, your voice breaking the silence in an attempt to continue the moment.

“I was planning on getting a room at the hotel airport,” you explain. “If you want to join me.”

You swear you see a flash of surprise cross Matt’s face at your suggestion before softening, a look of gentle exasperation painted on his features.

“Is that how you think I’m going to make it up to you?” he asks. His tone isn’t frustrated or offended. Instead, it’s curious, like he truly wonders if that’s what you thought of him. Or if that’s what you needed from him.

The ache that rushes through your body, reminiscent of the desire you always felt towards him but multiplied tenfold, gives you your answer. The months you spent denying your hunger for him, the ways you explained away the pain of losing him as something akin to withdrawal, how you used those brief moments of happiness to justify your choice to leave, keeping you handcuffed to the idea that you would be better off without him… they all melted away.

You wanted him. You’ve always wanted him.

You step forward, pressing your body close as you look into those eyes that haunted your dreams.

“It’s how I want you to,” you whisper, the response to his question cutting through the night air.

There is no clear indication on who moved first but you find it doesn’t matter when you feel the press of Matt’s lips against yours. This kiss itself is delicate, as if he was careful not to cross any line, any boundary that you wanted to place. But you had no sense of restraint.

Your desire surged forward, free from the cage that you kept it locked in. You release your grip on his hand and your duffle bag, your free hands flying up to his hair, tangling in the silky locks as your body presses impossibly closer. Matt takes your desperation in stride, his own arms wrapping around you, holding you steady. Your tongue presses against the seam of his lips, silently begging for access which he gives. A whimper escapes your throat, the taste of him on your tongue only increasing your craving. You can feel Matt’s grip tighten in response to your sounds, his fingers crumpling the silk fabric of your dress as he swallows every desperate noise that he pulls from you.

Somehow, the kisses slow until your lips are falling away from each other. Matt keeps you near, your forehead pressed against his, the warmth of his breath fanning across your cheekbones.

“Let me take you home,” he murmurs and you don’t even think twice before your head is nodding in agreement.

The car ride back to his place feels both familiar and foreign. The air between you is still thick with need but those powerful emotions are lightened by the feeling of Matt’s fingers intertwining with yours over the center console, the way his eyes dart over to you, looking at you as if he couldn’t believe this was real. You were sure that your face conveyed the same thought.

He pulls into the driveway, the porchlight gleaming like a beacon in the darkness, calling you back to him. His grip around you is firm as he walks you to the front door, escorting you across the threshold and your eyes take in the sight of a house that you felt you knew like the back of your hand. The pillows on his couch were different as was some of the art lining the walls but besides that, it looked exactly how it did the last time you were there.

You hear Matt kick off his shoes behind you and you aren’t sure if it’s habit or muscle memory that pulls you forward, your own heels tapping against the hardwood as you wander deeper, your body guiding you to the staircase. Your hand wraps around the wooden railing as you begin your ascent to the second floor. Matt is close behind you, his own steps slow and measured as he lets you guide him up the stairs and to the first door on your right.

The master bedroom is more of the same, the smallest and subtlest of changes catching your attention as you walk into the room. You can hear the small click of the door latch finding home echo and you turn to see Matt leaning against the doorframe, his eyes observing you in the low lamplight.

Your smile is all the encouragement he needs to push himself away from the door, crossing the distance stretched between you in only a few steps. His hand lifts to cup your face, your eyes locking with his before he is capturing your lips in another kiss.

In the safety and security of his bedroom, it seems as if both of your desires were unleashed with a vengeance. His hands pull you closer and your own scramble on his body, wanting to feel every inch of him, wanting to recommit his shape to memory. You are pressed against him, pushing him deeper into the room, your feet moving across the carpeted floor. He lets you manipulate him, walking backward and holding you against him as if he wanted no space to separate the two of you ever again, be it three-thousand miles or three inches.

It isn’t long until his body is falling to sit on the edge of his mattress, his thighs spreading to pull you between them. His desire to have you close is reciprocated, your body moving on its own accord. Your hand mindlessly reaches down to grip the fabric of your dress, pulling the midi hem higher to allow you to climb into his lap without hinderance, your legs straddling his waist.

Matt’s hands grip you tighter, pulling you close, the movement of his lips against yours never ceasing. Your own hands return to tangle in his hair, the taste of him more intoxicating than all the bottles and glasses of alcohol that you drank trying to forget him.

If possible, your desire ratchets up another level and your hands fall from his hair, tugging off his suit jacket. You blindly reach for his tie, undoing the knot as Matt’s hands wander all over your body, grabbing your ass, pulling your hips down to meet his. A moan rumbles from your chest as you feel the hardness of him pressed against you, your lips falling from Matt’s. He doesn’t seem affected, his own lips moving to kiss your neck, his hands still tracing your curves.

You are blind with lust as Matt’s head dips across your collarbones and the top of your decolletage and you let your instincts guide you, your fingers finding the buttons of his dress shirt. Each clasp is unfastened deftly and as soon as the shirt falls open, your hands sneak underneath the fabric, pressing against Matt’s warm skin. You can feel the strength of his chest, the movement of his muscles, and the pounding of his heart underneath your palms as they glide up, pushing the material off his broad shoulders. Matt’s hands only depart from your body momentarily to rid the shirt from his frame completely before he is pulling your lips to his again.

Your hands drift back down to his abdomen and you can feel his muscles clench in response to your gentle touch. It’s another generous roll of your hips against his before your fingertips find the button and zipper of his slacks. You blindly undo them just enough that you can slip your hand beneath both the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Matt groans against your skin as your hand wraps around his length. Another rush of heat flows through your body at hearing the familiar pet-name fall from his lips. Your own lips twist in a smile as you give him a few languid strokes, relishing in the way his moans vibrate against your skin – the way he weakens for you.

The need to make him unravel more takes over as you begin to pull away from him, your body scooting back in order to dismount and fall to your knees in front of him. But before you could even drop a single foot onto the carpeted floor, Matt’s hands hold you firm, halting your motions.

“No,” he whispers, pulling you back to him. “Not tonight.”

You stare at him, your eagerness to have him in your mouth mixing with the confusion of why he was preventing you from doing just that. The immediate response he gives you is another kiss, his hand returning to rest against your jaw. When he does pull away, you hear his sultry timbre echo around the room.

“I should be the one on my knees worshipping you, not the other way around.”

His declaration burns through you, igniting a need that had been left untapped for years.

You were used to submitting to Matt Martin. You thought that you loved it. But now, here he was ready to bow to you and your desires and your will. That thought alone made a fire pool in your lower stomach, your lips pressing against his again.

His hands tighten against your skin, securing his grip on you as he lifts himself from the bed with you in his arms. The sensation of the smooth sheets pressing against your back is almost instantaneous, Matt’s lips falling from yours to retrace their previous pathway along your jaw, down the column of your throat and across your collarbones. You are about to lift yourself upright to pull the material of your dress away from your frame but Matt’s arms keep you pinned against the mattress. Instead, his hand simply tugs the fabric up, painstakingly exposing more of your skin to the cool air until the silk is bunched around your waist.

You feel Matt’s smile against your skin as his lips continue their descent, kisses placed against your stomach before he presses a whisper of one right above the edge of your panties.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes darting up to look at you.

The only sound that your voice can manage is a whine but it’s enough for Matt, his elegant fingers hooking and twisting around your waistband. Your head falls back as you lift your hips to help him pull the soft cotton away. He tugs the material down your legs at a painstaking pace, lifting your feet to unhook the elastic from around your ankles.

You expect – no, you need him to return to the apex of your thighs. But you soon realize how much Matt meant it when he said he planned on worshipping you.

His hands guide your feet to rest on his muscular thighs as his finger unbuckle your shoe, sliding it off before repeating the action on the other side. He lifts your leg, your bare heel now resting on the back of his shoulder and you sigh when you feel his lips press against your calf. They linger as he makes his way back up your frame, a kiss pressed on your shin, your knee, your inner thigh.

It feels like reverence. It feels like devotion – to you, to the way you make him feel.

Your hand reaches down, tangling in his hair and gently tugging him closer to the place you needed him most. Matt lets you guide him and, after he brings both of your legs to rest on his shoulders, his arm wrapping around your waist, pinning your hips to the bed, he finally – finally – presses his mouth against your core.

A relieved sigh escapes your chest as Matt’s lips move, his tongue darting out to trace your folds. Your sighs turn to whimpers to moans as he continues his ministrations, remembering all the things that make your breathing hitch, your thighs shake. Remembering all the ways you come undone.

“Still so sweet,” he murmurs. “Still so desperate for me.”

He resumes his movements, winding you up in the most deliberate way. Your free hand twists into the sheets as he drags you closer to the edge, his tongue diving into your cunt before lifting to flick against your clit, the action causing your hips to jolt from beneath his strong arm. You swear that you are about to rip his sheets based on how tight you are holding them.

You’re too strung out to see Matt’s eyes lift, him noticing the death grip you have on the soft cotton covering the mattress. In your haze, you can feel the grip he has on your thigh loosen and depart but your mind doesn’t understand the reason until you feel his hand dancing across your fingers twisted in the sheets, silently coaxing you to release the fabric. You do and as soon as there is space, his fingers filling the gaps between yours, holding your hand tightly as his mouth continues to work its sinful magic against you.

Your orgasm hits you unexpectedly, your back arching off the bed as the tidal wave of pleasure crashes through your body, radiating from your stomach down to the tips of each limb. Your hand tightens around his so firmly that you believe you must be cutting off circulation. But Matt doesn’t seem to mind, squeezing your hand tighter in response. He moans against your core in response to the taste of your release flooding his tongue, the vibration sending another round of shudders down your spine.

The feeling of Matt’s mouth and hands leaving you ignites a new wave of desperation, one that is only partially satiated when he returns to hover over you, kissing you deeply. You moan into his mouth when you taste the tang of your own essence still coating his tongue.

“I can’t believe I forgot how good you were at that,” you exhale when your lips fall from his.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget how gorgeous you look when you cum,” he murmurs, his head dipping down to your neck, his quiet assertation making you smile.

You let him press his lips against your throat, content to lay beneath him for the moment. But when you feel his hips roll against yours, his own hunger for you and your body not yet satisfied, another ache of need hits you. You pull his head back up to your face, capturing his lips in another feverish kiss.

Matt’s body hovers mere centimeters above yours, his hips pressed against you. The position makes it easy for you to hook your leg around him. Using what strength you had, you somehow manage to flip the two of you around, Matt’s back crashing onto the bed, your body now suspended above him.

You break the kiss, lifting yourself upright with a grin on your face as your hands trace over the ridges of his chest. His own hands dance up your thighs, sneaking beneath the hem of your dress to caress the soft skin around your hipbones. In the span of a breath, your fingers bunch the silken material of your gown, gathering it in your hands before you pull the fabric over your head.

The gentle sharp inhale of Matt’s breath as your body becomes entirely exposed to him is music to your ears. There is no stopping his hands as they continue to drift up your body, gliding over the curves of your hips and waist, dancing across your ribcage before coming to cup your breasts. He caresses the sensitive skin, his thumbs reaching to brush against your nipples causing your head to fall back, a soft plea for him to continue falling from your mouth. He listens, his fingers roving across your body, as if there was not an inch of skin that he wanted to leave untouched.

“Such a gorgeous perfect body,” he mutters, making the pool of desire within you fill again.

You lift your hips up only so far as to reach behind you, tugging at the fabric of his slacks and boxer briefs; a silent request. His hands fall from your body to pull the material down his legs and you feel him kick off the only remaining barriers between your bodies. You lean forward as you kiss him again, your hips sinking back down. A simultaneous moan escapes both of you as you grind against him, your arousal coating the soft skin of his shaft.

There is want and then there is pure unadulterated need and the latter is what takes a hold of you now. Your lips fall from his as you stretch your body forward, your arm reaching for the nightstand drawer, the place he used to – and now you hope still does – keep his condoms. Your progress is halted briefly by Matt’s head lifting to wrap his lips around your nipples, the action making another gasp sound your throat. You persevere, albeit somewhat distracted because of Matt’s ministrations, pulling open the drawer, relieved to see the box in the same place, thankful that not everything had changed.

But as you reach for one of the square packets, your eyes land on a stack of envelopes pushed against the other side and you swear you see your name scrawled across the white paper. You don’t have any time to linger on them as you feel Matt’s teeth gently nip at your skin, pulling your attention back to him.

“Please, darling, hurry up,” he implores, dark blue eyes looking up to you. “Need to get inside you.”

Who were you to deny him?

Your fingers grasp the foil, your body returning to its upright position above him. You rip open the packet, pulling the rubber from the confines and preparing it before you reach behind you, taking Matt in your hand. He throws his head back, his hair haloing around his face as you give him a few languid strokes before sliding the condom on.

There is no waiting, no more hesitation as you lift your hips up. Your free hand presses against the center of his chest for balance as you guide him to your entrance. You aren’t sure if it’s him or yourself you’re teasing when you slide the tip of him against your folds once, twice before you align yourself to him.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as you sink down, the stretch of him entering you delectably foreign and yet comfortingly familiar. Matt has a similar reaction to the sensation of your walls wrapping around him, his hands flying up to your hips, his grip tightening around you so much so that you swear you’re going to have bruises in the shape of his fingerprints the next morning.

“Fuck, darling,” he growls as your hips meet his, him bottoming out inside of you. “Still feel like fucking heaven around me.”

Your only response is a whimper as your eyes flutter shut, both of your hands now resting on his chest, using him for leverage as you begin to move. Matt guides the motion of your hips, helping you bounce on top of him, letting you grind against him, more sharp gasps falling from your lips as your clit rubs against the taut skin of his lower stomach.

“That’s it sweetheart,” he praises, fingers brushing against your skin as you ride him. “Take what you want from me. It’s yours to have.”

You whine, grinding your hips even deeper onto him, one of your hands lifting to tease your nipples. You missed this, the feeling of Matt hitting spots so deep in you, spots that no one else had been able to find before and since.

“God, I missed this,” Matt groans, echoing your thoughts, his eyes devouring your body. “Missed you.”

His words force you to open your eyelids and when your eyes lock, you almost cum simply from the way he is staring at you: like you were the most beautiful piece of artwork, like you were sculpted from the purest marble, crafted from the finest paints. Like you deserved to be hung in the Louvre.

“Matt,” you whine, his name falling from your lips in a plea as your movements falter against him.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asks, his own voice strained and earnest. “What do you need?”

“Need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” he questions. But unlike the times before, he’s not asking in order to tease you, to be cruel, or to force you to beg him for a mere sliver of his attention. He is asking because he wants to hear you say it – wants to hear you confess that you’ve missed him and that you’ve been wanting him as much as he has been wanting you.

“Please,” you reply. “Please, I need it. I need you.”

Your words aren’t twinged with contempt, nor are they wretched from your mouth unwillingly. They fall from your lips because you mean them, because you want to beg for him – not the other way around.

A gasp is torn from your chest as Matt lifts himself up, his chest pressing against yours. His hands trace your spine, one burrowing into the hair at the nape of your neck, the other resting heavy on the small of your back. He pulls you to him, kissing you again and swallowing every noise that falls from your lips as he drags your hips into his.

You weren’t sure if it was because you were wound too tight or that you truly couldn’t comprehend what was happening because before you knew it, Matt had spun you around, flipping you once again so you were the one laying against the sheets. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips and before you can moan at the feeling of him thrusting into you, your sounds are muffled by his lips again.

Matt eventually breaks away, one arm reaching back to grip your thigh, pulling one leg higher, the new angle causing every stroke of him to brush against that damnable spot that made you see stars. You cry out, your head collapsing against the bed, Matt’s name falling from your lips.

“Fuck, I missed this,” Matt mutters, keeping his steady pace as he watches your body respond to his movements. “Missed how beautiful you look underneath me. Missed this perfect fucking pussy. Fucking taking all of me like it’s made for me.”

His possessiveness makes you whimper, the high-pitched sound catching his ear.

“That right, baby?” he asks. “This cunt still mine, even after all this time?”

“Yes,” comes your reply, wrapped in a strangled moan. “I’m all yours. I’m still yours,” you gasp out, your hips desperately chasing his.

“And I’m all yours,” Matt replies, his head dropping down to kiss you again. “Let it out, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”

He doesn’t speed up, content to keep his languid pace, steadily driving you towards that cliff. The noises that escape you are incoherent, a jumbled mess of curses and pleas as your walls flutter desperately around him. It feels like the most deliberate and exquisite torture, a pleasure that you would welcome time and time again if he would let you.

“Come on, darling,” you hear Matt’s voice whisper in your ear. “Remind me how good it feels when that beautiful cunt cums around me.”

It is the quiet demand that has you falling off the edge, your muscles stiffening as your orgasm hits you. You can hear a faint growl rumble from Matt, murmured praise being spoken into your skin like a prayer as he fucks you through it, your legs trembling as they fall from him.

Matt’s movements finally increase in speed as he chases own climax, each move of his hips making you whimper. You tug his head to you, kissing him fiercely and swallowing his groans as he stills and you bask in the sensation of his cock pulsing inside of you.

Your labored breaths mingle as you stay wrapped up together, sweat drenched foreheads pressed against each other as you both collect yourself. Matt’s hand, the one that that had been gripping your thigh, lifts to brush your hair away from your forehead as his eyes appraise you. You can’t stop the way your eyes close as he leans in, kissing you once again, his tongue dipping into your open mouth and you whine as you feel him slowly pull out of you.

He places a gentle chaste kiss against your lips before lifting himself off you, walking around the bed. Your eyes track his movements, watching as he stops at the nightstand, the top drawer still open. There is a flicker of some emotion that crosses his face before he pushes the drawer closed before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. You hear the water running before he returns, a warm damp washcloth in one hand and a t-shirt in the other.

Matt gently presses the washcloth against your skin, starting at your forehead and temples before descending until he reached the apex of your thighs, brushing away the lingering wetness of your release from your skin. He throws the towel into the hamper and holds out his hand, which you take. You let him lift your torso off the sheets as he hands you the t-shirt. He holds you steady while you slip the soft cotton over your head, the worn Maple Leaf emblem resting on your upper chest almost completely faded.

You collapse back against the sheets as Matt pulls on a pair of boxers before climbing next to you. His arms wrap around your body as he settles behind you, pulling your back close to his chest. Your own fingers lift to absentmindedly play with his as reality crashes back over you.

You aren’t sure what to say, if there even is anything to be said. You don’t want to ruin the golden halo of peace that surrounds the two of you but you knew you couldn’t just leave it like this. There were still too many questions unanswered, still too much uncertainty.

“What are you thinking about?” you hear Matt’s husky voice whisper from behind you. You sigh, wiggling in his grasp. He loosens his hold enough for you to spin and face him, his blue eyes soft as they take in the sight of you in his bed.

“A lot of things,” you answer, the response vague enough to let him decide whether to press on or to leave it at that. He decides to do the former.

“Like what?”

Your eyes lift to think, picturing the mess of thoughts in your head as you attempt to untangle each. The loose threads seem innumerable, too many to choose which was the most important to tug and which could be saved for a later moment. So, you just latch onto the first image that appears in your mind.

“Could I ask you a question?” you say, eyes connecting back to him.

“Of course.”

“When I was in your nightstand earlier,” you begin, carefully observing even the tiniest reactions that tug at Matt’s expression. “I saw a stack of envelopes and it looked like they had my name on them. What are they?”

There is a myriad of emotions that dance across Matt’s face, each more fleeting than the last before his features settle to what looks to you to be apathy or resignation. You feel your heart panic as his body turns away from, fearing that you spoke the wrong words – said the wrong thing. But it quiets when you watch him pull open the nightstand drawer, his hand reaching in. Your eyes follow his movements as he pulls out the stack of envelopes before spinning back to you.

“They’re for you,” he says, holding them out towards you. You take them from his hands, the bundle held tight by a rubber band. Your fingers flip through each of them, finding your name written on every single one. Your eyes dart from the paper back to him and you swear you see his cheeks tinge a lightish pink.

“My therapist suggested that I write you letters.”

“Your therapist?”

“Yeah. I started seeing him shortly after you left,” he explains, his hand reaching behind to awkwardly scratch at the nape of his neck. “Realized that there was a lot I needed to work on.”

“Why didn’t you send them?”

“I didn’t know your new address,” he tells you, the candor in his voice strengthening as he continues. “And I was too proud to ask. Besides, I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to hear from me. Thought you might throw them away if I did send them.”

You don’t respond, neither confirming or denying his assumption because in that moment, you weren’t certain what you would’ve done if a letter from him had appeared in your mailbox.

“What’s in them?” you ask, choosing to revert to a safer statement.

“Things I wanted to say to you. Things I never said to you when you needed to hear them. Everything I wanted to tell you but never got the chance to.”

There is a silence as you take in his declaration, your curiosity piquing as your fingers trace the edges of the envelopes. There is a desire to read them but also a fear, unsure if the contents would contain blame or apologies or gaslighting or regret.

“You don’t have to read them now,” Matt speaks again, his voice drawing your attention back to him. “You don’t have to read them at all if you don’t want to. They’re yours to do whatever you please.”

Something inside you tells you that it’s dangerous; that it’s a bad idea to open them. To trace over the words and strong emotions that forced him to put pen to paper. To allow Matt Martin back into the heart that you’ve spent years repairing. But when you feel his hand trace down the side of your face, his fingers twirling a strand of your hair, you realize that that line had already been blurred beyond recognition.

You didn’t know what a bad idea was when Matt was around. You had already done so many things that you shouldn’t have with him. What was one more bad idea compared to the thousands you acted on before?

What was this bad idea in comparison to one that brought you to Matt Martin’s bed in the first place?

Your mind swirls with all the drastic changes you had experienced in such a short amount of time. How different the world felt right now versus a few hours ago. How different the man sitting next to you was from the man you left in a Long Island bar two years ago. You felt as if you lived twenty lifetimes since you woke up. The past, the present, and every possible future tangled together in your mind, an amalgamation of all that had happened and all that could happen.

But you didn’t want to think about that right now. All you wanted to do was sink into Matt Martin’s arms and hold him close.

So, that’s exactly what you did.

You gently turn away from Matt, reaching up to place the stack of envelopes on top of the neighboring nightstand. There was still uncertainty whether you would read them, but the action of keeping them meant that you would consider it. And when you face Matt again, it seems that – for him – that was enough. This time, it is you who reaches out to intertwine your hand with his, scooting closer to him. He follows your lead, his body sinking into the mattress until you are pressed together, side by side. Your head comes to rest on chest, your eyes closing, the sound of his strong heartbeat echoing in your ear.

Right before sleep overtakes you, you manage to whisper to him the truth that your heart sang out, the sentence that you realized you couldn’t deny even after months of trying to do just that.

“I missed you too.”

The last thing you register is a soft kiss pressed onto the crown of your head, and encompassed in Matt’s warm embrace, you let the feeling of peace wash over you.

… but it’s gonna be alright. I did my time…

a/n: here it is! the finale of the "we're a bad idea" series. it's crazy to think that this series started on a complete whim and turned into this. i had so much fun writing this for you all and screaming about it with you and... gosh, just, thank you for all your support! I hope you all love this conclusion as much as I do. I did decide to leave it a little open ended because i just liked the feeling of it better. but if you want to know how what i think happens after this, i will direct you to this mashup

tagging the babes who made writing this so rewarding: @texanstarslove @comphy-and-cozy @smileysvech @laurenairay @dissonannce @cowboybarzy @cellythefloshie @provokedgoalie @m00nlightdelights @tkachvkmatthew @cixrosie @alwaysclassyeagle @geospatialharmony

#nicole writes #we're a bad idea series #la petite mort #matt martin fic #matt martin imagine #matt martin smut #new york islanders fic #new york islanders imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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