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frannyzooey · 5 months ago

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Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: E (age gap)

Summary: Best friends with younger one, you’ve known the Miller brothers since forever — you’ve wanted the older one for just as long.

a/n: it’s been a while! I’ve been writing over on Ao3, but thought I would pop in and say hi and happy summer ❤️ enjoy! —

Glancing at the clock on the wall, you wonder how much longer you need to stay before it’s appropriate to leave.

You can’t even remember the name of the person who's talking at you – someone who said they took calc with you or something, back in high school. Brian, maybe? Ben? Picking at the label on the bottle in your hand, you tip the last swallow of warm beer into your mouth, grimacing at the taste.

“Gimme a second,” you interrupt him. “I’ll be right back.”

Not a fuckin’ chance , you think to yourself.

Navigating through the crowd of people packed into the Miller’s living room, you make your way towards the kitchen. Needing another beer to get through it all, you head straight for the fridge – only to see someone already there, their broad back facing you. When they straighten and shut the door, you reach out and pluck the beer from their hand.

“Thanks for the beer, Miller.”

Joel huffs, grabbing another one from the fridge. Turning to face you, he leans his hip against the counter.

“You even old enough to drink?” Twisting the cap off, he takes a long, slow drink, his throat working with the motion.

You roll your eyes, and his eyes drift down your body and back up again.

Playing it cool, you clink your bottle against his.

“Cheers, old man.”

His eyes narrow, and he waits a beat before tipping the bottle against his lips.

His face has been a fixture in your life for as long as you’ve known Tommy – a kid you met back in elementary school. Tommy was a few years older than you, Joel even older than him. The fact that you were younger never bothered Tommy – you were just as daring as any boy his age, and he was more fun than any girl your own. A fixture by his side more often than not, you’d stuck together through middle school and then high school, through boyfriends and girlfriends, through Tommy’s enlistment after senior year.

The entire time, Joel was there.

In the beginning, you never paid him any attention. Busy working since he could, you barely saw him. The couple times you did see him at parties, it was only as Tommy’s ride, or showing up when Tommy got in trouble with his mouth. Like he never had any patience for parties or stuff like that; an aged man since forever. Even at their house, Joel had been…around, but he never stuck around for long. Always drifting away to go hang out in the garage, or in his room.

It was during high school when you started looking at him differently. Started paying attention to him in a way you never did before. Starting noticing things like he never had a girl around – or at least one that stuck , though you knew he knew his way around them, because you saw him in town sometimes.

Walking out of a liquor store with a brown bag, a girl sitting in the passenger seat of his truck.

Pulling open the door of the bar, his hand on the small of another girl’s back.

Once, you saw him at the movie theater you worked at senior year. You still remember the heat that flooded your face when he strolled up to the ticket booth where you were standing, the broad smile he had on his face for his date, one that turned your insides warm. His arm was looped around her back, his hand resting on her ass with casual confidence.

You’d never been so jealous of someone in your life.

You left him behind (not that he ever knew it) when you went away to college. A visit back home after your first year timed with a visit home from Tommy, Joel is right where you left him, still on the fringes. Only at the party to keep an eye on things, to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand, still keeping to himself. He’s been upstairs all night, only coming down every so often for another beer.

The mystery of how he spent his time used to consume you back in your school-kid crush days…and it comes back full force, when he leaves you in the kitchen to go back up to his room.

Leaving the noise of the party behind you, you climb the worn carpeted stairs. The second floor of their house is off limits to party guests, but you also know that doesn’t apply to you. Having been to this house more times than you can count, you know right where Joel’s bedroom is. You’ve never been in it though, which is part of the pull that drives you towards it – along with a slice of light that breaks through where he’s left the door cracked.

You nudge it open with your knuckle, to find him sitting inside.

At a desk chair, his legs spread wide in his slouch. A beer rests in his hand, the other one holding a book and at your presence, he puts the book face down in his lap.

He frowns. “Everything okay down there?”

“Yea. Just thought I’d come up and say hi. See what you’re doing.”

“Said hi in the kitchen,” he teases. He lifts the book with one hand. “And I was readin’.”

Used to his gruff sarcasm, you ignore it. “Any good?”

His eyes follow you as you walk further into the room, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“Not really,” he answers. “Just waitin’ for everyone to leave.”

You know that’s not going to happen any time soon; another large group of people had walked in just as you made your way upstairs.

A golden hue washes over everything, a single lamp burning on the desk, the colors of everything else dulled in the dim light. Shadows pool in the corners of the room, but he is lit, though only parts of him: the chestnut ends of his curls, his tanned skin, the stretch of his jeans across his thighs. The bed you sit on has a rumpled comforter, clearly having been slept in.

Arousal pools low and heady between your hips.

Has he ever brought another girl up here? Has he fucked anyone in this bed?

You imagine it briefly: his flushed cheeks, his heavy breathing, his muscles shifting under his skin. Your hand trembles, and you grip your beer tighter.

“Already sick of bein’ downstairs?” he asks.

You thumb at the condensation gathered on the bottle, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Yea. Sort of. It’s always a little awkward when you come back, you know?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. Never been anywhere but here.”

Your shoulders slump, and you let out a sigh. “Right. But you know what I mean.”

Suddenly, the weight of exhaustion pulls at you: the smiles you had to force downstairs, the names you tried to recall, the crush of people and the fake enthusiasm. You came here for Tommy, and you’ve barely seen him tonight. Forgetting for a second that you’re not in Tommy’s bedroom, you relax and let yourself fall backwards on Joel’s bed. The second you do it, you freeze – but don’t correct it.

You’re in Joel Miller’s bed. Lying down.

You feel the hem of your shirt ride up, but don’t fix it. The sheets smell like him, and you hear him huff.

You also feel the weight of his eyes on you.

–

He should be more annoyed that you’re in his bedroom, but he can’t take his eyes off your legs: a mile long in your cutoffs, the slight peek at the curve of your ass in their ride high. The slice of soft skin he can see, between your waistband and your shirt.

He watches you roll over and prop your head up on your hand, not liking at all how good you look in his bed.

He’s been watching you since you came back. Watched you even before that, though he’d never admit it. Walking around their backyard in a tiny bikini when you lounge with Tommy by the pool, looking gorgeous as hell all windblown and carefree sitting in the passenger seat of Tommy’s truck, looking so fucking innocent and beautiful swamped in one of Tommy’s sweaters by the bonfires he’s been having at night since he came back.

The sight of your ass in those shorts as you walk around their house has been imprinted on his mind all week.

He sits up, clearing his throat. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he lets his head hang down between his shoulders. If he can avoid looking at you, maybe his cock will stop hardening with interest.

“I think you better get back downstairs.”

“I just wanna catch up,” you reply innocently, looking anything but.

He looks up, giving you a knowing look in reprimand. “That ain’t all you wanna do.”

He doesn’t know what compelled him to say that to you , but he does know it to be true. He’s seen the look on your face on plenty of women before – women . You’re a girl . One he’s known since forever. One he never thought about until he did, and one he tried not to think about once he started.

One who is way too fucking young for the things he’s thought about doing to you.

“No?” you ask. “Why don’t you tell me what you think I wanna do?”

He shakes his head instead.

The edges of your mouth curl up in a soft, teasing smile. “Joel Miller, a secret prude.”

His head snaps up, “I ain’t no prude, honey, you’re just –”

“Honey?” Your eyebrows lift, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m just what?”

“ Young. Too young.”

“I’m twenty.”

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes and you cave.

“Almost. In a few months.”

He huffs in disgust, dropping his head back down. “Jesus Christ. A baby.”

He feels you study him for a moment.

“I missed you while I was gone, you know.”

The confession surprises him, and he looks up to find your face completely sober, truthful.

“Did you miss me?” you ask quietly.

The vulnerability on your face pulls at him, and even though he knows what will happen if he gets on that bed, he wants to. If only to tuck you against his chest and reassure you that he did. He really did. He knows you think he never noticed you, but that’s only because he made you feel that way. He couldn’t notice you, for both your sakes.

“Just come…sit with me, okay?” you ask. “I’m not gonna bite.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, keeping his eyes on the floor. He feels you wait with bated breath, knowing full well that he should stand up and walk you out of his bedroom…but he can’t bring himself to leave you hanging like that.

Instead, he stands, and walks over to the bed.

Your face flashes with surprise that you try to hide, and he smirks.

There is a look on your face he’s seen a million times — a bolstering sort of lift to your chin, the look of a tough girl that would follow his brother anywhere. A girl who never backed down, even when he could tell she was nervous.

A girl he knows he shouldn’t want, but does anyway.

He tests the waters, crawling onto his bed. Stretching out next to you, he sprawls across the mattress, his broad form partially covering yours in shadow. He can feel the heat gather between your bodies. You look even younger close up, and he leans closer, unable to stop himself from pushing to see how far you’ll go.

He recognizes that same determined look on your face now, only this one is slightly different. This one is laced with lust, and want. So much fucking want it makes him ache.

“Okay, big girl,” he drawls. “Now what?”

–

It’s his turn to be surprised when you lean in and press your mouth to his.

You can tell because he momentarily freezes when your lips meet, his stubble brushing against your skin, your lips fitting neatly along the seam of his own. You kiss him again, this time opening your mouth just enough to let him in and he takes your invitation, the taste of beer thick on his tongue when he slides it against yours. His hand comes up, cradling the curve of your jaw as you tilt your head to the side to deepen the kiss and a soft sound that catches in the back of your throat has his fingers flexing, pulling you closer.

The sheets rustle beneath you when he takes over, his hold guiding you beneath him on the bed. He kisses you harder, longer, a deep groan rumbling from his chest, the light of the room blocked out behind him. His solid body weighs heavy on top of you, his denim clad hips pushing between your thighs with a grind and you open your legs wider, his hand sliding up the outside of your leg to hitch your knee around his hip.

It’s sensory overload after wanting him for so long. You’ve daydreamed about this a million times, imagined it happening a million different ways, but you never thought it would be anything like this. Lost in the weighted haze of lust, drunk on the way he feels against you, head swimming with arousal, the crotch of your panties already so fucking wet that they slide over your achingly empty core with every rock of his hips into yours. Meeting the rolling grind of his hips with your own, you feel the weight of his cock press against you, his calloused hand covering your breast with a squeeze. His hips rock forward again, the grinding promise of what he’s capable of against the damp seam of your shorts and you are just about to beg him for more when he pulls back, standing.

In one long stride, he shoves the door shut and locks it.

Tugging his shirt off with a one handed grip over his head, you take in the sight of his broad, solid chest and the dusting of hair that scatters sparsely just under his collarbones. It’s thicker along his sternum, even thicker still just under his navel, where it leads into the waistband of his jeans. He looks so…big, from where you lay on the bed. Older, masculine in a way you’ve never seen on a boy your age. Your eyes run the length of his body and back up again, the outline of his thick cock pushing against the fly of his jeans making your cunt flutter.

He opens the drawer next to his bed, tossing a condom down and there is something so arousing about the matter of fact action, the implied sight of it just sitting there, waiting for him. Black, with gold letters. When his hands drop to work open his belt buckle with single minded intent, you reach down to slide your shorts off.

“Don’t.”

Your hands pause.

“I wanna do that.”

You don’t even know what to say in response before he’s bending to grab you behind your knees, hauling you to the edge of the bed. Your shirt rides up your back, and sit up enough to tear it over your head, your bra following shortly after as his greedy eyes track every movement. His thick fingers pop open the button on your shorts, hooking under the fabric and he drags them down and off, bringing your panties along with them.

Then he stands there, his hands on your knees. He pushes them apart, and you try not to squirm as he spreads you for him.

“Goddamn.” The word pours out of his mouth, saturated with awe, low with lust.

Your thighs flinch, your knees trying to pull together to hide yourself from the heat of his gaze, but he keeps a firm grasp on them, holding you open.

“Don’t try to hide it from me now, honey.”

His eyes drop from your face to the gleaming spread of your cunt. He reaches down, his thumb brushing over your opening, and it’s so fucking filthy the way he drags it through the mess you’ve made for him.

“Especially not when it’s this pretty,” he murmurs.

He drops to his knees, your breath hitching when he tugs you closer to his mouth and guiding your legs over his bare shoulders, his mouth immediately seeks you out.

“ Fuck .”

The word slides into a moan when your body bows off the bed to chase the slick heat of his tongue. It smears wetness over everything, dipping inside you to drag upwards to your clit and then he’s fitting the bottom half of his face along your cunt with a messy, open mouthed kiss.

He devours you there the same way he devoured your mouth earlier, and the sensation is simultaneously too much but not enough, your hands finding purchase in his sheets. You fist them, twisting them in your grip as you start to rock your hips and you have never - never - had this done to you before, a tremble pouring sweet and thick down your spine to pool right under his mouth.

His hands keep your thighs forced open, his shoulders spreading you wider and when his tongue starts to swirl firm, tight circles over your clit, it drags a hoarse moan out of your throat.

Too consumed to care if you’re being too loud, every thought leaves your head when two thick fingers stroke delicately along the dip of your opening, before sliding inside you with a filling stretch just as he starts to suck . His whiskered cheeks hollow with it, your words breathless and pleading. A stretch just to take his fingers , you close your eyes and feel your stomach drop when you think about taking his cock.

The thought alone sends you flying over the edge.

When it happens, he groans into you just as loud as if he’s the one who’s come, and a second wave washes hot over your limbs when you peek down to see the upper half of his face between your spread thighs. His brows pinched together, his eyes closed tight, his white knuckled hold on your thighs.

The music turns up louder downstairs, a shout of a crowd greeting new arrivals – but it’s lost in the intimacy of the bedroom. His satisfied low groans, your trembling thighs, his damp beard against your skin.

Pulling back, he wipes your slick from his face with his hand – and then gives your cunt a sharp, flat swat.

The action shocks you, your eyes widening and the grin on his face is charmingly boyish. Or would be, if he didn’t follow it with a filthy suck of the fingers that were just inside you. He stands, shucking his jeans and briefs off in one movement, and puts a knee on the bed between your legs, reaching for the condom. His large hands rip it open, and though you can feel his gaze rest heavily on you as he puts it on, your eyes are fixed firmly on his cock.

It’s – big. Much bigger than you’ve ever seen, a grown man’s dick. He fists it lazily for a moment, the weight of it evident in his grip and when he places the condom over the tip and rolls it down to the base, you openly stare. The translucent rubber fits snug and tight, down to the thatch of hair at the base of his cock.

When you finally drag your eyes up to his face, he looks smug.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. It’ll fit.”

The amount of times you’ve thought about this moment is nothing compared to the real thing. The man standing in front of you has always been off limits, a complete mystery to you all these years, even as the subject of most of your debased fantasies. The realness of him — the solid width of his frame, the flush to his skin, the amount of bare, firm skin on display. You swallow hard, a bundle of nervous anticipation even though he just fucked you with his mouth.

He settles his body on top of you, caging you underneath him and the press of his hot skin has all of your nerves scattering, evaporating into need .

His mouth rests right next to your ear, a kiss brushed against the divot below it.

“We’ll make it,” he whispers.

If you thought his fingers were a snug fit, it’s nothingcompared to how full you feel as he slides in. The stretch almost to the point of pain save for how wet he got you beforehand, it still steals the air from your lungs as he pushes inside. You squirm underneath him, shifting to accommodate every single inch and his hand curls around your waist, his hips pushing forward with a final, hard thrust.

His mouth brushes tenderly along your clenched jaw, letting you get used to it before his hips find a rolling rhythm. Every downstroke shoving you up underneath his hold, you hold on tight, hitching your knees up along his ribs and your feet slide over his tailbone, a whine crawling out of your outstretched throat.

“This little pussy is so tight ,” he groans, his hot breath gusting over your skin. “So fucking tight.”

His hand shoves itself under your tailbone, angling your hips to take him deeper and his own groan sounds deep over your softer, higher one.

“Do you have any idea how much I thought about fuckin’ you? How many different ways I’ve wanted to?”

Hearing him utter those words makes your chest crack open, your heart thundering underneath your rib cage. Everything you’ve ever wanted to hear, paired with more than you ever thought you would.

He picks up pace, his hips a relentless, heavy pound into the cradle of your own, each thrust punching the air out of you – and your fingers claw into his forearms when he sits back on his heels, pushing your knees to your chest to fuck you harder.

The bed pounds lewdly against the wall, the music from the party covering it up.

“Joel,” you whine, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. It feels like you’re being used by him, your body a tool for his own pleasure, your pliant, moldable body being positioned just for his use. It sends you higher, thinking about him doing the same for others, right here in this bed.

You start to tense underneath him, the wave of slick, brutal pleasure pulling you under and when you come, it’s a wordless, breathless thing – your body pulling taut, your cunt squeezing him tight. He groans, dropping forward to cover your mouth with his, his hand sliding up to wrap around the nape of your neck with a grip and he forces himself deeper, his strokes urgent in their snap against you.

He rests his forehead against yours, and through the haze of your freshly fucked gaze, he recognizes the same look from before. A girl who never backs down, a girl who knows how to hold her own.

“I already want it again, Joel,” you breathe against his mouth, his heavy pants washing over your lips. “Next time, I’m gonna ride you. I’m gonna sit on your lap and you can watch me take it, okay?”

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips stuttering. They chase the slick warmth of your cunt, his eyes closing tight.

“You’re fuckin’ trouble, you know that?” he rasps, his fingers threading into the hair at your nape, fisting it with a tug. The motion tips your head back for him, a victorious grin stretching across your face.

“A pain in my ass since I met you,” he pants, letting out a deep groan. “A sweet piece of ass in my bed.”

You nod, the smile on your face melting into something pleasure soaked when he shifts the angle of his hips.

“I’m gonna come inside this little cunt, okay? And then I’m gonna do it all over again. You ready, honey?”

“God yes.”

He buries his face in the damp crook of your neck when he comes, he back rounding as his hips still in their push against yours. He’s so deep you know you’re going to feel it tomorrow – more than you’ve ever taken, a stretch you know will make you ache every time you sit down. He holds onto you so tight that you can barely breathe, and it’s a special sort of heaven to be buried underneath the bulk of his body. Your cheek pressed against his curls, your chest compressed under his. Your hips sore from being spread so wide, your cunt still snug around him.

He lifts just enough to see you, and opens his mouth – right when something crashes beneath his room.

“What the fuck , Tommy,” he grumbles, and you laugh at his instant change of expression. He slips out from inside you with a groan, his hips imperceptibly shifting forward to chase the heat between your thighs. He presses a quick, hard kiss against your lips and then he’s dragging himself from the bed, tugging the condom off and tying it in a neat knot.

Tossing it in the trash next to his bed, he grabs his jeans off the floor.

“I’m gonna go downstairs and see what the hell that was,” he says, sliding them up over his bare ass. Buttoning them, he shoots you a look. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ get dressed.”

You gesture a wordless salute, and he shakes his head, smiling.

“Smartass,” he grumbles, picking a shirt up off the floor. Sliding it over his head, he opens the door and disappears.

“Tommy!”

You hear him shout and a laugh bubbles up from your chest.

“What the fuck was that?”

Stretching out, you slide against the warm, rumpled sheets and listen to the familiar sound of their deep voices. For the first time since you’ve been back, you feel like you’re home.

Pressing your face into his pillow, you take a deep breath – and grin.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction

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thediaryofaurora · 3 months ago

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ticci toby nsfw headcanons 😭🤲 can’t express how much i love your hc’s bro its so good 🥹💗 pls keep cooking

☆Ticci Toby Relationship HCs☆

CW: NSFW, f!reader

THANK YOU SO MUCH! This ask single-handedly brought me out of my writing slump. I went ahead and added SFW dating HCs as well, a little bonus 🙌 Also I’m in a leg brace from soccer so I’m stuck in bed.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

★SFW★

- This guy has got a LOT on his mental plate, be prepared for that.

- He is 100% a friends to lovers type of guy. He’s not easily trusting, so that relationship really has to be built up.

- When he does have a crush on someone he beats himself up about it because he feels so stupid for thinking you’d ever like him back.

- Moving onto actually dating him, he is so so so insecure. Lots of reassurance is needed, but if you’re able to get through to him he eventually realizes you actually like him.

- Crazy touch starved. In the first few months of dating he’s super unsure of if he can kiss you or even put his arm around you, he’s HORRIFIED of crossing any boundaries and you leaving. You’ll probably have to make the first move.

- He most likely won’t be the one to ask you out. If you’ve known eachother for a while and he’s feeling a little confident there’s a possibility, but in his mind he’d rather stay friends and get to see you rather than get rejected and you not talk to him anymore.

- LOVES going on dates with you, but he’s a ball of anxiety. It should be easy to cool him down and let him know you’re enjoying it, he’s just so worried about if you’re happy or not.

- Usually thinks going on walks or sitting on a curb together is like the perfect date, ESPECIALLY in the fall. He keeps an old camera on him that he got from Brian so he can make little home videos and capture the moments you spend together.

- Picks up cool leaves, glass shards, or other things left in the forest and makes sure to show you.

- He’s actually not an awful cook. He’s a fast learner in pretty much every aspect and he already knows the basics. His mom taught him when he was young how to make some baseline German dishes, and this man can WHIP that shit up.

- Once you two are to the point in your relationship where you can cuddle, he is ALL OVER YOU. Especially when it’s raining/ thundering out and you two can lay in bed together. Since he overheats easily due to his CIPA, in the colder seasons you’ll have to leave the window open so he can stay cool.

- After seeing how his dad treated his mom, he has a pretty good grasp on how to treat a partner. At times he can fly off the handle, especially with his bipolar disorder, but afterwards he breaks down and apologizes. If at any point you even SEEM like you don’t like him anymore he gets defensive, it makes him very standoffish or snappy.

- Won’t shut up about you after you start dating. Not in a rambling way, but he finds a way to bring you up in every conversation. He doesn’t meant to, but how could he go without telling someone you’d like the flower he just walked by?

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

✩NSFW✩

- VIRRRRGINNNNNNNN.

- I mean VIRGIN virgin, like this guy has had NO activity. No first kiss either. All the knowledge he has is from porn, so he’s completely clueless. If you’re both inexperienced you’ll just have to persevere.

- He’s the kind of person to get turned on looking at a picture of you fully clothed, he’s just so in love with you.

- Before you two start dating he’s 100% taking candid pictures of you or finding your instagram posts and jacking off to them.

- Massive bottom. He puts out a front for a WHILE before you’ll be able to realize he’s not a top, he doesn’t want to look like a sissy. If you suggest being on top he’s BLOWN AWAY. Acts like he’s just doing whatever you want, but afterwards you definitely realize he’s been waiting for it.

- Sensitive as hell. He’s a loud one, but again he doesn’t want to look weak or not masculine enough. He tries to hold his moans and whimpers back and grunt instead, but if you do it just right he’s a whimpering, whining, PANTING, mess. Kiss his neck? He’s rock hard. Even if you’re just giving him a hickey he’s whimpering and bucking his hips into you.

- Tits man 100%. Doesn’t matter what size, the fact that they’re there is enough. When you’re on top of him he prefers for you to face him so he can watch them bounce. When he’s on top he’s usually in missionary so he can still see them.

- Hair pulling kink, specifically his. He can’t feel the pain, but the yank drives him CRAZY.

- Big on oral. Giving or receiving, he doesn’t care. If he’s giving he prefers for you to sit on his face, but he’d never admit that.

- His favorite place to do it is tight spaces. Closets, cars, narrow alleyways. Especially if it adds to the thrill of getting caught.

- STAMINA. He cums crazy fast, but he’s definitely able to make up for it with how many rounds he can go. Even if he came a few minutes ago, it’s already up and ready to go again.

- Likes to have music playing in the back while you do it. He probably already made a playlist the second you started dating, but if you ever want to choose the music he doesn’t mind.

- At first he’s self conscious about his abilities, but after some time and seeing how good you feel he’s a cocky motherfucker. Slyly grinning and looking at you all worn out after a few rounds boosts his ego to the moon.

- Dim lighting all the way. He wants to be able to see you, but he feels too exposed when it’s too bright.

- Not completely opposed to a threesome, it depends on who it is. He’s more protective than possessive, so if he trusts the person enough he’d be okay with it. If it had to be anyone in the mansion it would probably be Cody or Liu, but he’d make sure you’re okay with it.

- Rabid horny teenager.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

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norrisleclercf1 · 3 months ago

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OKAY I LOVE YOUR WRITING STYLE PLEASE

can you do a charles x reader fic about her leaving marks on him and him being proud if jt

A/N: Charles would lowkey be so smug about it

Charles just smiled at you, waving softly across the garage, but you ignored him as you stared at the marks you left a little too high and how he wasn't even attempting to cover them up.

Last night you had gotten a little jealous, unable to help as pretty girl after pretty girl took pictures with Charles and gushed over him. Granted you were so happy for the fans to meet him and take pictures with him, but hey, you still get jealous.

So, when you shoved him against your hotel wall, he happily let you leave your marks all over him. He left before you, kissing your cheek and slipping out of the room. When you woke, to your phoen going crazy you didn't even check the messages going straight to Twitter and suddenly your thought of coffee was gone, instead the adrenaline kicked in.

There he was, wearing a black shirt that was practically see-through shirt and there he was smirking and angling his head perfectly for your marks to be seen and that's how you ended up here.

One his side of the garage, his hair messy as he pulled his fireproof down and little bit more you felt the mechanics stare at you, your face warming and you look away and slide on your sunglasses.

You don't bother to turn feeling his presence as he slides his arms around your waist and places a soft kiss on your shoulder "Love you," He whispers, but you just nod and go back to watching the screen where he chuckles and leans around, stealing a kiss.

"Cover the marks," You hiss, but his smirk just grows and shakes his head no. "No way, love, when you leave marks on me," Charles whispers and nips your neck which has you shoving him away. "Don't you have a car to drive," Charles chuckles and walks off, pulling his neckline down further. People staring at him and then at you. Yeah, you were so going to kill him tonight.

"Leclerc," You threaten and he stops seeing how people were staring at you and him, "Okay, okay," He whispers and walks back over quickly kissing you before rushing to the car and hopping in.

"Vampira," Brian coughs and you turn glaring at your boyfriend's engineer. "Skeleton," And he turns a bored expression on his face. "Touche," You smile and nod turning as Charles pulls out onto the Monza track, this was going to be a long weekend.

584 notes · View notes

halfmoonaria · 1 month ago

Text

what i can’t undo

pairing: tara carpenter & reader

summary: tara goes down a path she never expected to take.

word count: 9.9k

author’s note: part two of ‘what i can’t undo’

The bathroom was small, its walls painted a faded cream that reflected the golden glow of the single overhead bulb.

You didn't care about the way it flickered slightly, nor did you care about the damp towels tossed over the hooks or the cracked soap dish on the sink.

None of it mattered because your mind was spinning, your heart racing like you'd just stepped off a rollercoaster.

Brian had kissed you.

You stood in front of the mirror, gripping the edges of the sink to steady yourself as your reflection smiled back at you, wide and unabashed.

A soft squeal bubbled out of your throat before you could stop it, your hands flying up to cover your face as though you could somehow hide from your own excitement.

It didn't work.

A grin tugged at your lips anyway, spreading until it hurt your cheeks, but you couldn't stop it. How could you? Brian—the boy you'd been dreaming about since you were old enough to understand what a crush even was—had kissed you. He'd actually kissed you.

The memory replayed in your head like a favorite scene from a movie. The way his hand had lingered on your waist, the faint taste of his drink on his lips, the way he'd smiled at you before leaning in—it was perfect.

Everything about it felt perfect.

You leaned closer to the mirror, running your fingers through your hair to fix the strands that had fallen loose in your excitement. Your reflection stared back at you with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine what Tara would say when you told her.

She'd probably tease you about how long it took for Brian to finally get the courage, maybe roll her eyes and say, "Took him long enough."

You couldn't wait to tell her all about it.

So, with one last look in the mirror, you smoothed your hands over your outfit, took a deep breath, and turned for the door. The night felt like it was only just beginning.

The hallway outside the bathroom was crowded, a line having formed sometime during your moment of excitement.

You squeezed past a few impatient faces, murmuring quick apologies as you tried not to push too hard. The music from the party thumped louder now, vibrating through your chest as you re-entered the main part of the house.

The crowd had only grown, spilling into every corner of the space. People leaned against walls, danced in the middle of the living room, and sat sprawled on furniture with red cups in hand. It was warm and hazy, the air thick with a mix of sweat, spilled beer, and perfume.

You tucked yourself into the flow of the room, weaving between bodies as you excused yourself with a polite smile here and there.

Your head felt light, your steps unsteady—but it wasn't entirely from the alcohol.

At least, you didn't think it was. Was it the kiss? The way Brian's lips had lingered on yours, soft but sure, like he'd wanted it for just as long as you had?

Or was it the remnants of the few drinks you'd nursed earlier, finally catching up to you? You couldn't tell, and honestly, you didn't care.

A few familiar faces stopped you along the way, their greetings overlapping with the music. You smiled, exchanged quick hellos, and let their words pass without really processing them.

Your mind was focused on something else entirely—getting to Tara and Brian. You couldn't wait to see Tara's expression when you told her how the kiss had happened, how perfect it had felt.

You rounded the corner toward the spot where you'd left them just a few minutes ago, threading your way through another group of people. But when you got there, the space was empty.

The corner of the room where Tara had been leaning, arms crossed with her sharp smirk, was now vacant. Brian, who'd stood beside her looking effortlessly charming, was nowhere to be seen either. Your brow furrowed as you glanced around, scanning the crowd for any sign of them.

At first, you didn't think much of it. Tara and Brian probably went to grab another drink or stepped outside for some fresh air. Maybe Tara needed to use the bathroom after all, or Brian had spotted someone he wanted to say hello to. In your slightly drunken haze, every excuse you came up with felt perfectly reasonable.

Still, a faint unease bubbled at the edge of your thoughts, though you quickly brushed it away. There was no reason to overthink it. So, instead of lingering, you turned to walk to the dance floor.

You exchanged a few fleeting smiles as you passed familiar faces—people you recognized from school or other parties, their names blurred in the haze of your tipsiness.

Someone called your name from across the room, but when you glanced back, you couldn't place who it was, so you just offered a polite wave before continuing.

The crowd was packed tighter here, bodies moving in time with the heavy bassline that vibrated through the room.

You slipped into the mix, weaving your way through swaying shoulders and raised arms until you caught sight of a familiar face—Aria, one of your relatively close friends, standing near the edge of the makeshift dance floor.

Her dark curls framed her face, damp with sweat from dancing, and her eyes lit up when she spotted you. She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows in a teasing question as she motioned for you to come closer.

"Where the hell have you been hiding all night?" she asked loudly, her voice barely cutting through the music.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as you stepped closer. "Everywhere except here," you answered, your voice light.

Aria gave a short laugh, her shoulders shaking, before gesturing vaguely to the crowd around her. "You missed the fun," she teased, but her tone was warm, her teasing meant for banter, not criticism.

The moment felt light—like a reprieve from the chaos of the party—but something in the back of your mind nagged at you. Tara and Brian weren't where you had left them.

The question slipped out before you could overthink it.

"Hey, have you seen Tara or Brian?" you asked casually, scanning her face for any hint of recognition. "They were over there earlier, but now I can't find them."

Aria's smirk widened, and for a second, she didn't say anything, just let the music thud around you like she was holding onto some secret. Then, without shame, she leaned in, almost laughing as she said, "They're at it upstairs."

You blinked, leaning closer to her to make sure you heard her right. The music pulsed too loud, swallowing her words, and your mind tried to fill in the blanks. They're sitting upstairs? They're chatting upstairs?

It was almost funny—her tone, the absurdity of what she'd just said—so you laughed loosely, shaking your head. "What?" you asked, still grinning, your voice light, almost teasing.

She leaned back slightly, her expression practically glowing with drunken mischief, and repeated, louder this time, "They're fucking upstairs."

The smile fell from your face.

At first, the words didn't feel real. They felt distant, like they'd been said about someone else, not Tara and Brian. Not the Brian who had kissed you. Not Tara, your best friend.

You stared at Aria, blinking, waiting for her to break the joke. Surely, she was messing with you. Surely, it was just Aria being Aria, drunk and teasing.

"What?" The word came out soft, barely audible, trembling on your lips like it wasn't really yours.

It couldn't be true. Tara and Brian? Brian kissed you. His lips had been on yours, his hand on your waist. Just minutes ago, it had felt perfect—like something out of a dream.

You tried to rationalize it, to push the idea out of your head.

Sure, people had teased about Tara and Brian before, said they'd look cute together. But that was years ago, back when it was nothing more than an innocent observation. Not now. Not when Brian kissed you.

Aria, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you, kept going, her smirk growing even wider. She leaned closer, her voice teasing but louder, like this was all just harmless fun.

"What, you wanna go join them?" she joked, laughing lightly as she nodded toward the stairs. Her finger lazily pointed in their direction. "Because if that's the case, they went up there."

Her grin was huge, too wide, and you forced a laugh—tight and nervous—just to play along. But it didn't sound right, even to your own ears. Your lips twitched into a smile that didn't reach your eyes, and you felt your head buzzing, like there was a ringing in your ears, a static you couldn't shake.

Not from the music. Not from the alcohol.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true.

Your mind scrambled for reasons, for excuses. Tara would never do something like that—not to you.

You knew her, didn't you? She was loyal, maybe reckless when alcohol hit her senses, but not cruel.

And Brian? Sure, you didn't know him as well, not as deeply as you thought you knew Tara, but you'd grown up in the same spaces. You'd been close enough to see him on the field while you stayed on the sidelines, cheering from afar.

Your stomach twisted again, bile rising in your throat as you forced yourself to ask the question, the only question that might give you an out.

"Are you sure it was them?" Your voice was quiet, barely audible over the music, but the words came out steady despite the pounding in your chest.

You clung to the hope that Aria had been wrong, that she had seen someone else, that this was all some stupid misunderstanding.

Aria tilted her head at you, her expression slightly confused, as if she couldn't understand why you were asking. "Oh yeah," she said, her tone as casual as if she were talking about the weather. "They were making out in the kitchen too. It was pretty gnarly."

Her words hit like a second blow, stealing the breath from your lungs.

She didn't even seem fazed, just took a lazy sip from her red cup, her lips curling into that same amused smile.

The ringing in your ears grew louder, drowning out the music, the chatter of the party, the sound of your own breathing. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your body frozen between fight and flight, between storming upstairs and pretending this wasn't happening.

Because it wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

You scanned the room desperately, your gaze darting between the couples tangled up on couches, slipping away toward the stairs. People you didn't know. People who didn't matter. It could be anyone upstairs, couldn't it? There were so many people here, so many faces that blurred together in the haze of alcohol and sweat and flashing lights.

But the image of them—Tara and Brian, together, doing what Aria said—burned behind your eyes like a brand.

The bass of the music pounded in your chest, an unrelenting rhythm that only made the nausea clawing at your throat worse.

You couldn't stay in there. The walls felt like they were shrinking, the air thick and stifling as if every breath you took was doing nothing. Your chest was tight, your stomach turning violently, and the music was a cruel, unrelenting pulse in your skull. You felt like you might throw up, or cry, or both.

But you couldn't. Not here. Not in front of Aria, not in front of anyone.

You turned sharply, barely aware of the steps your feet took as you wove your way through the crowd. It was a blur of faces and noise, laughter and voices blending into a shapeless roar.

Your legs felt shaky, your knees unsteady, but you kept moving, forcing yourself toward the front door like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

The cool night air hit you the second you stepped outside, but it didn't bring the relief you were hoping for. Your breaths were shallow and fast, coming out in sharp gasps that did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

You stumbled down the steps, the wooden ground feeling unsteady beneath your feet, your hand brushing the railing just to keep yourself upright.

It was quiet outside, but not enough.

The ringing in your ears wouldn't stop, and it wasn't the music anymore—it was the words Aria had said, looping in your head like a cruel joke. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep going, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes as you moved further down the walkway, away from the house and the noise and the suffocating heat.

Tears burned at the edges of your eyes, blurring the porch lights and casting halos around the shadows. You blinked rapidly, trying to force them back, but it was no use. They slipped free anyway, streaking down your face in hot, silent trails.

Your hand shot up to your mouth, your fingers pressing hard against your trembling lips as if that would stop the tears, stop the shaking in your chest. You couldn't breathe—your lungs refused to fill no matter how hard you tried, and the ache in your throat only grew sharper with every failed attempt.

You leaned against the wooden railing at the base of the stairs, gripping it so tightly your knuckles ached. The nausea rose again, sharp and overwhelming, and you hunched forward slightly, gasping for air like you'd just run a marathon. The tears came faster now, hot and relentless, and you gave up trying to fight them.

Your mind screamed that it wasn't true, that it couldn't be true. Aria was drunk—she had to be wrong.

There were so many couples here, so many people sneaking away. She probably confused them with someone else. But even as you tried to convince yourself, you could feel the doubt creeping in, winding its way around your chest and squeezing tighter and tighter.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be Tara. It couldn't be Brian.

___

Tara laid on her back, staring at the ceiling, the hazy glow of the bedside lamp casting uneven shadows across the cracked plaster.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breath catching in her throat like a sob she wouldn't let out. The room reeked of sweat and stale alcohol, and every inch of her skin felt wrong—sticky and stifled, like it didn't belong to her anymore.

The air felt heavy and suffocating, the dull thrum of the music outside the door a distant reminder that the party was still going on. But in this room—in this bed—everything had gone horribly, irreversibly wrong.

She could still feel Brian beside her, his warmth radiating off the sheets they had shared, and it made her skin crawl. Every nerve felt raw, exposed, and the sweat slicking her skin wasn't from exertion or alcohol anymore—it was shame, seeping out of her pores and clinging to her like a second skin.

She sat up abruptly, the motion making her dizzy, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The room tilted for a second, and she dug her nails into the mattress to steady herself.

The sheet slipped down her shoulders, and she yanked it off like it had burned her.

She couldn't even look at Brian, couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She didn't need to; his lazy grin was practically tangible in the air, smug and satisfied in a way that made her want to throw up.

Her mind raced, fragments of the last hour playing on a loop she couldn't stop.

The way he had touched her, kissed her—none of it had felt like it was supposed to. It had been mechanical, hollow, every moment an act she had performed because she had to. Because she was the one who had started it.

She pressed her palms against her forehead, digging her fingertips into her temples like she could claw the memories out. She hadn't wanted him.

Not really. But she had kissed him first, hadn't she? She had leaned in when she shouldn't have, her lips brushing his in a moment of weakness, confusion, or something she couldn't even name.

And he'd kissed her back. Of course, he had. Because he was an idiot.

From there, it had spiraled—hands that didn't belong on her skin, whispers she didn't want to hear, a weight pressing her down until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

She had gone along with it, letting herself sink into the numbness because it was easier than facing the truth. She had laughed when he made a joke, arched her back when he touched her, gasped in all the right places like she wasn't dying inside.

Like she wasn't drowning in disgust.

But the truth was suffocating now, wrapping around her throat like a noose. She had let it happen. Worse—she had made it happen.

Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish as she stood and began searching for her clothes. Your shirt lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, but when she reached for it, her hand froze. She couldn't put it back on. It didn't feel right. Nothing felt right.

Your shirt. Tossed carelessly over the back of a chair in the corner, the one you had given to her earlier. Because you thought this night would be fun, for both of you.

You had wanted her to come.

The sight and thought of it sent a pang through her chest, sharp and unbearable, but she grabbed it anyway.

She pulled it over her head, the familiar fabric brushing against her skin, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like a lifeline. Like she could pretend this hadn't happened. That it wasn't real.

But the sweat was still there, sticky and vile against her skin, and no amount of fabric could hide it. It felt like it had seeped into her soul, tainting her in a way that no amount of scrubbing would ever erase.

Brian shifted on the bed behind her, and she stiffened.

"Tara," he said, his voice low and lazy, like he had just woken up from a nap. "What's the rush? Come back here.”

She didn't even look at him. Her jaw clenched as she yanked her skirt on, her fingers fumbling with the piece. The lump in her throat grew thicker with every second, threatening to choke her.

"Seriously, are you mad or something?" he asked, a hint of confusion creeping into his tone.

Her response was the click of the door latch.

The hallway felt brighter than it should have, the overhead light buzzing faintly as her bare feet padded against the cool floor. She could feel the stares the moment she emerged, the way the noise in the hallway quieted just slightly as people turned to look.

Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat as she caught sight of a group of guys leaning against the wall. One of them smirked at her, elbowing his friend, and she wanted to scream. She could feel their assumptions, their judgments, and the heat of their eyes burned into her skin.

Someone let out a low whistle as she passed, and her fists clenched at her sides.

She kept her head down, her hair falling like a curtain around her face as she descended the stairs. Each step felt heavier than the last, her legs trembling under the weight of what she had done.

The air felt colder when she reached the ground floor, the faint draft from the open door biting at her skin. She scanned the room automatically, her eyes searching for you, even though she wasn't sure she could face you now.

But you weren't there.

The corner where you had stood earlier was empty, the space where she should have been—where she wanted to be—gaping and hollow. Her chest tightened, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the music anymore.

She didn't know what she would say when she found you. If she would tell you the truth or if the words would choke her before they ever left her lips. But she knew she needed to see you. Right now.

Because this—this thing that had just happened—it wasn't who she was. It wasn't who she wanted to be. And it wasn't supposed to happen.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

Her breath hitched as her gaze swept over the empty space where you should have been. Her chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of your absence pressing against her ribs.

She lingered at the base of the stairs, her hand gripping the banister so tightly her knuckles turned white. The urge to turn around, to flee back up the stairs and disappear into the bathroom, was almost overwhelming.

Her hands moved to her hair, fingers threading through the strands as she tugged at the roots, trying to ground herself. Her mind raced with thoughts she didn't want to think.

The walls of the house felt like they were closing in, the noise of the party distorting and warping around her. She could still feel Brian's touch, still feel the sweat clinging to her skin, and it made her stomach churn violently.

She wanted to throw up. God, she needed to throw up. She wanted to purge every trace of him from her body, like vomiting would somehow erase what she'd done. Her body screamed at her to turn back, to lock herself in the bathroom upstairs and sob into her hands until the party was over. Until she could leave without facing you.

Because seeing you would mean telling you. And she didn't want to. She didn't want to tell you.

Her chest heaved as the thought of your face swam into her mind, unbidden and crystal clear. She could already see it—your wide, questioning eyes, the way your lips would part, trembling as the realization hit.

It would look just like it had when you were kids, back when Tara had lied to you about something stupid or broken a promise. The memory of it felt like a punch to her gut, and she nearly doubled over with the force of it.

She didn't want to see that look on your face again. She couldn't bear it.

But she had to.

Tara's legs felt rooted to the ground, her body teetering on the edge of a decision she didn't want to make. Her nails dug into her scalp, her breath quick and uneven as she fought the overwhelming urge to run.

Every instinct screamed at her to hide, to shove this moment into some dark corner of her mind and bury it where it couldn't hurt either of you.

But she couldn't.

She had to find you. She had to see you. Because no matter how much she didn't want to face what she'd done, no matter how disgusted she felt with herself, she knew that running wasn't an option.

Her feet finally moved, one step at a time, as if the very act of walking was a war against gravity. She let her hands fall from her hair, clenching them at her sides, and forced herself to keep moving. The knot in her stomach tightened with every step, but she pressed forward anyway.

Because she owed you the truth. Even if it destroyed her.

Tara scanned the dance floor, her eyes darting from one face to another, searching desperately for a glimpse of you. The flashing lights and shifting bodies blurred together, and no matter how hard she looked, no head turned out to be yours. The longer she searched, the harder it became to breathe. Panic clawed at her chest, her stomach twisting tighter with every passing second.

Then she saw Aria.

Tara didn't know Aria—not really—but she recognized her. She'd seen the two of you together before, laughing at something Tara hadn't been privy to. And now Aria was looking at her, eyebrows raised, her lips curled into an amused smirk that made Tara's skin crawl.

Before Tara could decide what to do, Aria lifted her hand, her painted nails catching the light, and pointed to the door.

Tara froze.

It wasn't the gesture itself that hit her; it was what it meant. Aria had caught her looking, and she knew. Whether it was some instinct, some unspoken understanding, or just Aria being perceptive, it didn't matter. She knew.

Tara swallowed hard, her throat dry. She didn't know why Aria was pointing, but she could only guess it had something to do with you.

Had you gone outside? Or had you left entirely?

Her feet moved before her mind could catch up, carrying her toward the door. If there was even a chance you were out there, she had to find you. She couldn't let you leave, not without telling you.

The knot in her stomach tightened, her pulse pounding in her ears as she pushed through the crowd. Tara didn't look back at Aria—she couldn't. Whatever silent judgment lingered in that smirk would haunt her later. For now, all that mattered was finding you.

So, she pushed through the crowd, the sweaty, swaying bodies pressing against her as the stench of spilled beer and cheap cologne filled her nose.

Her breaths came fast and shallow, the air in the house too thick, too stifling. She couldn't stop imagining what she'd see when she finally found you—if you were even still here. If you weren't, she wasn't sure she could handle it.

Her nerves twisted into something sharp and unbearable, clawing at her insides.

How could she look you in the eye? How could she possibly explain that she'd ruined everything?

Every step closer to the door made her chest tighten. She couldn't picture your face, not without picturing the moment it would change—when you'd realize what she'd done.

How your eyes would harden, your lips press together, and then your expression would crumple like it always did when you were trying not to cry. That was what would kill her. That look.

And then what? Would you ever speak to her again? Would you ever let her near you again? She'd ruined everything. All of it.

When she finally shoved her way to the front door and pushed it open, the cold air hit her like a slap. Her bare legs prickled, and the chill seeped into her skin, but it wasn't enough to wash away the sweat clinging to her body.

That disgusting, sticky sweat that felt like a mark of her guilt. She shuddered, her arms crossing over her chest as she stepped out onto the porch.

She looked around carefully, her heart pounding. The street was mostly quiet, save for the faint thrum of music from the house and the occasional passing car. For a moment, she thought you weren't there, and her stomach dropped.

But then she saw you.

You were sitting on the stairs, hunched over slightly, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to block out the cold. The soft light from the porch cast a faint glow over you, illuminating the curve of your shoulder, the tilt of your head.

Tara froze.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn't move. Couldn't think. She just stood there, staring at you, her hands trembling at her sides. The weight of what she'd done pressed down harder than ever, making her legs feel like they might give out beneath her.

You were right there. Right in front of her. And she had no idea what to say.

For a second, Tara wanted to turn around again. Her feet twitched like they might carry her back inside, up to that bathroom where she could lock the door and collapse on the tile floor. She didn't have to tell you. She couldn't tell you. She couldn't even look at you.

Her chest heaved, her breath catching as she stared at the back of your head. You sat there so still, so quiet, and she felt like an intruder just being here, like her very presence was an assault on whatever moment of peace you were trying to hold onto.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't tell you.

Her stomach twisted, the nausea bubbling up again, and she swore the sweat clinging to her skin got colder, thicker. The words she needed to say tangled in her throat, choking her. She didn't dare to move. Didn't dare to speak.

But then, before she could stop herself, before her brain could stop her body, her mouth opened.

And your name slipped out.

"Y/N?"

It was small, barely audible over the faint hum of the night. Raspy, broken, like it had been clawed out of her throat. It wasn't even a word, really—just a sound, raw and desperate, heavy with everything she couldn't say.

You flinched, your shoulders jerking upward like a startled reflex, the same way you always did when something scared you.

It was such a specific little quirk, one Tara had known since you were kids—how your hands would shoot up, brushing at your face as if shielding yourself from something unseen.

It almost made her smile. Almost.

But she didn't deserve to smile around you anymore. Not after what she'd done. The thought hit her like a slap, and whatever faint curve had started forming on her lips immediately dropped.

You didn't need to look back to know who it was. That voice was ingrained in you like muscle memory. It was the same voice that had yelled your name when the ice cream truck jingled down the street, excitement cracking through every syllable.

The same voice that had pleaded between gasps of laughter, "Y/N, stop! Please, I'm begging!" when you'd tickled her so hard she'd collapsed onto the carpet, tears of joy streaming down her face.

But you did look back.

And when you did, Tara's breath caught in her throat.

Your face was streaked with faint trails of tears—not many, just a few—but they were enough to break her all over again. Enough to twist that growing knot in her stomach so tight it felt like it would crush her from the inside out.

Your mascara was still perfect, though. Of course, it was. Everything about you always seemed perfect. You looked beautiful, even now, even when the evidence of your sadness glimmered faintly under the dim porch light.

But then there was the look on her face, the faint crease of her brows, the way her lips parted like she couldn't quite piece it all together. Why were you crying? Did you already know?

Or was it something else?

Had someone else hurt you tonight? Had someone been rude to you, said something that cut too deep?

Her chest tightened at the thought, an instinctive protectiveness surging up despite the shame gnawing at her. If someone had hurt you, if someone had dared to make you cry, she'd—

But then it hit her: it didn't matter. Whatever had happened, whoever had said or done whatever—it wouldn't erase what she'd done.

She didn't know what to say.

Her mind was blank, drowning under waves of guilt and shame that threatened to pull her under, her breath catching painfully in her throat. What was she supposed to say? How could she possibly say it? Every sentence she tried to form shattered before it could even reach her lips, the jagged pieces cutting deeper into her as the silence stretched on.

And yet, even as her chest heaved, even as her hands trembled, and every instinct screamed at her to speak—to do something—Tara stood frozen. She stood there, her entire world crumbling beneath her feet, unable to find the words that might save her from this moment.

But she didn't have to think.

Because you spoke first.

"Is it true?"

Your voice wasn't loud or sharp. It wasn't angry or demanding.

It was soft. Raspy. Raw, like it hurt just to speak.

And it was worse than anything Tara had prepared herself for.

The sound of your voice sliced through her like a blade, sharper than anything she had ever felt. Her stomach twisted violently, a sickening churn that made her want to double over. The cold night air wasn't enough to stop the heat rushing to her face, or the prickling sensation behind her eyes that threatened to spill over.

Her breath hitched, and for a second, the world around her seemed to stop.

Tara froze, her heart slamming against her ribcage as though it were trying to escape.

You knew.

The realization hit her like a freight train, leaving her reeling, unable to breathe, unable to think. You knew, and she hadn't even been the one to tell you.

Her chest constricted painfully, her shame deepening into something far more unbearable. Who had told you? Who?

The question burned in her mind, the thought of someone else's voice breaking this news to you making her stomach churn with nausea and fury. She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch whoever it was. To yell at them for stealing this moment from her, for forcing this confrontation before she'd had a chance to figure out what to do—how to fix it.

But then another, far more horrifying thought crept in.

Were you talking about Brian?

Were you talking about what she'd done with him?

Or was it something else entirely?

The flicker of hope—the desperate, irrational wish that this wasn't about what she had done—was crushed almost immediately under the unbearable weight of her guilt.

It had to be about Brian.

It had to be.

Her throat tightened, her mouth dry as the silence stretched on between you. She needed to say something, to explain, to beg you to forgive her. But she couldn't move, couldn't force the words out of her throat.

Her knees felt weak, her chest heavy, like she might collapse at any moment. All she could do was stand there, trembling and small, as the world continued to crumble around her.

"No," she said finally, the word slipping out too fast, too sharp, too desperate.

The sound of her own voice made her wince, the harshness of it only amplifying the crack in her composure. She swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she tried to reel herself back in.

"I mean..." Her voice broke, cracked open like a wound as she scrambled for some semblance of control. "What are you talking about?

Her words sounded weak, hollow, dripping with guilt so heavy she felt like it might crush her. She hated how obvious it was. How every crack in her voice betrayed the truth she was trying so hard to deny.

Her hands were trembling now, clenched into tight fists at her sides as if holding onto herself would stop her from falling apart entirely. But it wasn't enough.

Silence passed between you, thick and suffocating, wrapping around Tara like a noose.

She thought she heard you sniffle, a soft, broken sound that barely reached her ears but still managed to pierce her heart. It sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing down on her, nearly knocking the air from her lungs.

Her chest ached with the overwhelming urge to do something—to move, to reach for you, to fix this. She wanted to sit down next to you, to wrap her arms around you and hug you so tight you could barely breathe.

Like she always used to.

Like she had done every time you cried about the thought of never having Brian. How she would shush you, brush her fingers through your hair, and promise that no one would ever make you feel that way again.

But this wasn't like those times.

This wasn't her comforting you over some distant, unreachable heartbreak.

Now, you were crying because of her.

Tara's breath hitched as the thought echoed in her mind, her legs trembling as she fought the overwhelming instinct to fall to her knees in front of you, to beg you to tell her how to make this right. But the guilt—the shame—kept her rooted in place, her fingers digging into her palms as she struggled to keep herself upright.

She wanted to say something. To ask if you were okay. If you were mad. If you hated her.

But then you spoke, and everything around her shattered.

"Did you fuck him?"

Your voice was quiet, soft in a way that somehow made the question even sharper. It wasn't an accusation or a scream—it wasn't even a demand.

It was a plea.

And that made it worse.

Tara swore the ground beneath her feet disappeared, a sickening freefall that left her stomach in knots. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out, her throat tightening like a vice as the words refused to form.

She could barely breathe, barely think, as your question lingered in the air, heavy and unbearable. You didn't look at her as you said it, your head tilted slightly away, as though the very idea of meeting her gaze hurt too much.

And God, she wanted to fall apart right then and there. To drop to her knees and tell you everything. To grab your hands and promise you that she didn't mean for this to happen.

But all she could do was stand there, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as the question echoed in her ears.

Tara couldn't hold it in anymore.

Her hands felt clammy, trembling at her sides as tears blurred her vision, spilling over before she could even blink them away.

Her chest ached, heaving with shallow, panicked breaths that she couldn't seem to steady. And then, when she opened her mouth to speak, her voice cracked—fragile and uneven, the way it always did when she tried to talk through her tears.

"I'm sorry," she almost sobbed, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them.

Her voice trembled, heavy with guilt and desperation, breaking apart on the syllables like she couldn't even hold herself together long enough to say the words properly.

She felt her knees buckle, her legs trembling under the weight of everything she'd been holding in. It was too much, far too much, and she swore she was going to collapse right there in front of you.

She couldn't even pretend it hadn't happened. She didn't have it in her to lie to you—not to you. Not ever.

Not since you were kids, when you could always tell if she was hiding something. She could never play Mafia with you during those endless summer afternoons because she couldn't keep a secret from you, not even a small one. You always saw right through her, always caught her when she tried.

And now, you'd caught her again.

Tara's throat felt raw, her tears spilling faster now as her whole body seemed to betray her, shaking like she couldn't stand under the weight of her own shame.

You didn't say anything.

Tara couldn't even make out your body language—not with the way her tears blurred her vision, turning you into a hazy shape against the dim light of the porch. It made her feel even smaller, even more pathetic, knowing she couldn't even look at you properly. The space between you both felt impossibly vast, though you were so close.

Her sobs came in uneven gasps, too loud, too sharp, filling the silence like a jagged edge tearing through her. It was almost unbearable, the way the quiet stretched on, the way you didn't speak or move. It felt like you were waiting, like you were letting her cries settle into the air before either of you could do anything else.

And eventually, they did.

Tara's sobs began to quiet, the frantic hitching in her chest slowing to an uneven rhythm. She was still crying, though. The tears kept falling, one after the other, hot and relentless, dripping down her cheeks and onto the ground beneath her.

Her breaths were shaky, catching now and then like she might start up again, but the storm was beginning to fade.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, quieter this time, but no less desperate. She was clinging to the words like they were her last hope, like repeating them enough might somehow make them mean more, make them matter.

But the silence between you both pressed back at her, heavy and suffocating, and she didn't know what else to do.

Then you spoke.

Tara's breath caught at the sound of your voice, soft and filled with emotion, yet still unmistakably yours—the voice everyone loved. It was steady, even now, even when it shouldn't have been.

She could see it, imagine it, the way everyone at school hung on your every word during presentations. The way people complimented you, envied you for the way you spoke so clearly, so beautifully.

But now, it wasn't a presentation.

"It's fine," you said, so softly it almost sounded like a sigh.

Tara froze, her whole body stiffening at the words.

A brief silence followed, and she felt her heart pounding in her chest, each beat echoing louder in her ears. And then you continued.

"You could've told me you liked him, Tara... because I didn't know that you did."

You still weren't looking at her, but Tara could hear the strain in your voice. The slight quiver that betrayed you were on the verge of crying. She could picture it—the tears welling in your eyes, the way you'd blink them back like you always did, refusing to let them fall until you were alone.

And it shattered her.

Anger and sorrow crashed over her in waves, pulling her under until she could barely think, barely breathe.

Why would you say it was fine? How could you say it was fine? It wasn't.

It couldn't be fine.

Tara wanted you to spit in her face, slap her so hard her cheek stung, shove her down the porch stairs— anything to show her how much she'd hurt you. Anything to prove she hadn't ruined this for nothing. Anything to show that what she'd done mattered.

But she wasn't surprised.

You were a forgiver. Always.

You forgave the girl who spread rumors about you in middle school, the bus driver who skipped your stop in the pouring rain, Sam when she didn't make enough food for dinner when you were over and you had to go hungry. Every time, you brushed it off with a smile and moved on.

And now, even this.

But Tara couldn't take it. She couldn't stand that you thought she liked Brian, even for a second.

Liked him? She despised him.

She hated him so much it burned, hate so deep it made her sick to her stomach. She hated the way he smirked, the way he touched her, the way she could still feel his hands on her skin if she thought about it too long. She hated his voice, his eyes, his existence.

How could you not see that? How could you not understand that you were the one she wanted? That it had always been you.

"I..." Her voice cracked as the words clawed their way up her throat. "I don't like him."

It was barely audible, so soft and stammering that she wasn't sure you even heard it.

But she couldn't say more.

She wanted to. The words were right there on the tip of her tongue—I like you.

But she couldn't say them.

Of course, she couldn't.

Tara didn't know if you'd heard her. She couldn't tell, and she wasn't sure if it even mattered. It wasn't like she could confess that she'd loved you since the day you two were each other's first kiss at ten years old.

Even then, it hadn't been serious—just a joke, a silly little "practice" kiss to prepare for middle school. But Tara had carried it with her ever since.

She watched as you stood up from your makeshift seat on the stairs, brushing off your dress—the dress you'd worn to impress Brian. It was pretty on you, almost too pretty, and Tara hated how much she loved the way you looked in it.

When you turned to face her, the dim light caught your face, and Tara's heart sank at the sight of your teary, bloodshot eyes.

She couldn't tell if they were red from crying or from the alcohol you'd been drinking, and that thought filled her with an ache she couldn't describe. She didn't know how much you'd had to drink after you left the bathroom and disappeared into the party, alone.

But it didn't matter.

You didn't acknowledge her quiet confession.

Instead, you said, "I really don't want to talk to you right now... so I think I'm going to leave."

Your voice was steady, even soft, but it held a distance that made Tara's chest tighten.

You turned away, muttering something about how "it's getting boring anyway," and that was when Tara realized what you were planning. You were going to leave. Alone.

You'd promised to leave together.

Tara had come to the party for you, to take care of you, and now you were walking away.

She saw it before it happened—the way your steps faltered on the stairs, your balance tipping as if you might fall.

Tara was moving before she could think, catching you, her hands gripping your arms tightly to steady you. She felt the panic rise in her throat, her breath hitching at the thought of you stumbling home, drunk and vulnerable, without anyone to protect you.

"I'll call Sam," she said quickly, nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear. Her voice wavered, soft and hesitant. "She'll come pick us up."

But you pulled your arms free from her grip, stepping back.

"I really don't want to be anywhere near you right now," you said, your voice quieter now, but just as sharp. "I'll walk. It's fine."

Tara scrambled for another option, her words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush. "I—I don't have to go with you! I'll call Chad, or Mindy—they'll take you home. Please."

You were already heading down the outdoor stairs, your steps uneven but determined.

"I said it's fine, Tara," you said, your voice cutting through her rambling. You didn't stop, didn't turn to look back.

"I'll walk."

Tara instinctively began to follow you. Her feet moved on their own, driven by the thought of you wobbling down the dark streets, vulnerable in the cold night air. But she stopped herself after a few steps, freezing in place as her guilt pulled her back.

She'd done enough already.

Sleeping with Brian—your crush since you were five—was bad enough. Chasing after you now, invading the space you clearly wanted, would only make things worse. She had no right to follow you, no right to protect you after what she'd done.

So she stayed rooted where she was, watching you disappear into the night. Your steps were uneven, your shoulders hunched against the cold, and Tara could see you trembling. She didn't know if it was from the icy air or the tears she could still hear in your voice, but the thought of either made her stomach twist.

She wanted to help you. She wanted to run after you, throw a jacket around your shoulders, and walk you home, just to make sure you were safe. But she didn't. She couldn't.

It was a long walk to your house from here. Tara knew the streets you'd have to take, how dark and empty they'd be at this hour. The thought of something happening to you made her chest ache, but the weight of her guilt held her back. She couldn't follow you—not when you'd made it so clear you didn't want her there.

Instead, she turned back toward the party, the sounds of music and laughter filtering through the air, mocking her.

She stepped inside, the warmth of the crowded room doing nothing to ease the cold settling deep in her bones. Without you, the party felt hollow. Pointless. She couldn't even remember why she'd agreed to come in the first place—oh, right. You.

Tara lingered near the door, scanning the room as if looking for someone she knew. But no one else mattered. Aria, not Brian, not anyone else who might've offered a distraction.

You weren't here.

And without you, she couldn't stay.

___

friday (11:24pm)

im so sorry y/n

can you text me once you're home so I know you're safe?

11:56pm

did you get home safe?

pls answer

saturday (9:15am)

can you please just text me back?

im sorry. im so sorry.

2:42am

how are you? are you okay?

can i come over so we can talk? please?

2:56am

i don't know what to do... just please answer me. i just want to make things right.

sunday (10:31am)

are you coming to school tomorrow?

1:25 PM

if you want, me and sam can give you a ride. we'll pick you up, i promise.

5:58 PM

please don't shut me out like this.

Tara's eyes were glued to her phone as she pushed through the school doors, her thumb scrolling through the unanswered messages she'd sent over the weekend.

One after another, each one a desperate attempt to reach you, to say something—anything—that might make things better. But the blank screen staring back at her was the only response she'd gotten.

At first, when the silence stretched into the early hours of Saturday, Tara was terrified. She couldn't shake the thought that something might have happened to you.

Her imagination ran wild—someone approaching you while you were walking home, dragging you into the shadows. Her chest tightened every time she pictured it, and no matter how tightly she wrapped herself in her blanket, she couldn't stop shaking.

It wasn't until she remembered Life360 and checked your location that she finally exhaled. You were home. Safe. She stared at the little pin marking your house for what felt like hours, the relief flooding her body so quickly it made her dizzy. But the relief didn't last long.

The rest of the weekend was a haze of disgust and self-loathing. Tara couldn't eat. Every time she tried, her stomach twisted, and she had to stop before she threw up.

She spent most of the time curled up in her room, alternating between clutching her phone and pacing like a trapped animal. The guilt was unbearable. Every second she replayed the night in her head, wishing she could take it back, wishing she could erase the hurt she'd caused you.

Now, walking through the school hallways, the weight in her chest felt heavier than ever. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to face the stares, the whispers she knew were waiting for her. It felt like everyone could see through her, like they all knew what she'd done.

But to her surprise, the whispers weren't as loud as she'd expected—if they were there at all.

A few people glanced her way, and while some looks were judgmental, others seemed... impressed. Tara's stomach churned at the thought. She didn't want their admiration, their approval for something so vile.

She made her way to her locker, her steps dragging with every step closer. Your locker was right next to hers, and she'd been bracing herself to see you there, to finally face you in the harsh fluorescent light of the school hallway. But when she arrived, the space next to hers was empty.

Tara stood frozen at her locker for a moment before typing a quick message, her fingers moving faster than her thoughts. She wasn't expecting an answer—she hadn't received one all weekend—but the hope still lingered as she sent it anyway:

are u not coming?

are u really going to put me through history with mrs. johnson alone?

She stared at the screen for a few seconds, almost willing the writing bubble to appear. It didn't.

Sighing, Tara grabbed her books slowly, dragging out the process as if that would somehow make time pass faster—or maybe just delay the moment she'd have to admit you weren't coming.

When nothing changed, her frustration bubbled up. What else could she do? She'd apologized, begged, and explained everything she could think of.

And yet, you still weren't here, still weren't answering. With a sharp slam, she shut her locker harder than she meant to, the sound echoing down the hallway and turning a few heads. Tara didn't care.

Clutching her books against her chest, she walked toward her first class, her eyes darting to her phone every few steps. Maybe this time, the bubble would be there.

Maybe this time, you'd reply. But the screen stayed empty, and the knot in her stomach tightened with every passing second.

As she rounded the corner, her head down and shoulders tense, someone grabbed her forearm.

The sudden force pulled her off balance, dragging her closer to them in one quick, fluid motion.

Her heart skipped, and for a split second, she thought it was you. The possibility almost made her legs give out. But as her eyes darted up, the hope drained out of her when she saw who it really was.

Brian.

Her stomach twisted violently at the sight of him, and her body tensed as she tried to pull her arm free.

Brian let her arm go as quickly as he had grabbed it, holding his hands up slightly in mock surrender. "Whoa, didn't mean to scare you," he said, his voice softening. He must've seen the tension etched into her face—the way she couldn't even hide how much she didn't want to be there.

He shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Look, I know we didn't exactly leave things on the best terms..." His words trailed off, and then he let out a nervous laugh. "You know, after you left me alone just minutes after we, uh... finished."

Tara's stomach churned, her jaw tightening. She avoided his gaze, but her silence only seemed to encourage him to keep going.

"I guess I'm just a little confused," Brian admitted, his tone dipping with hesitation. "I mean, you left like... like it burned you or something."

It did, Tara thought bitterly, the memory flashing in her mind like an open flame she couldn't put out.

"But..." he continued, stepping a little closer, "I really liked it."

Tara flinched at his words, the knot in her chest tightening with every syllable.

"And I think you're a great girl," Brian added, his voice soft and earnest, like he thought he was paying her some grand compliment.

She nearly scoffed. A great girl? The thought made her want to laugh or cry—or both. She wasn't a great girl. A great girl wouldn't have lost her best friend over a guy she didn't even want. A guy who was now standing in front of her, completely clueless to the destruction he'd unintentionally helped cause.

And then he said it.

"So... I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me?" He paused, his eyes hopeful. "You know, just try again?"

Brian looked sincere as he waited for her response. Nice, even. Of course he was—he had to be. You wouldn't fall for a prick.

At first, Tara wanted to spit in his face. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell him that she never wanted to see him again, let alone entertain the idea of going out with him.

As if sleeping with him hadn't been enough to upend her entire world.

Why wasn't he asking you out? That question burned in her mind. He'd kissed you first, flirted with you first. He'd made you feel special. So why was he standing here, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered? Why wasn't he chasing you?

Her chest tightened as anger bubbled just beneath her skin, hot and unrelenting. But then, as she looked at him, something shifted. His face wasn't smug or calculating—it was sincere. He looked like he meant it, like he actually wanted this, and the fire in her chest began to dull. Her expression softened against her will.

Did he really want to be with her?

The thought felt impossible at first, but the longer she considered it, the more it began to make sense. Or at least, she convinced herself it did.

Because you weren't coming back to her. That much was clear. You hadn't answered a single text, and you weren't waiting at her locker like you always did. You didn't even want to look at her, let alone talk. And why would you? She'd ruined everything.

The ache of losing you hit her again, sharp and suffocating. You were her best friend—her only true friend. And now? She had no one. Sure, there were Mindy, Chad, and Anika, but they didn't share the same schedule. She didn't see them enough to cling to them like she clung to you.

So what else was she supposed to do? The least she could do was try to fill that void with something. With someone.

And Brian... well, he was here. He wanted her—or at least, he seemed to. Maybe this could go the right way. Maybe this could be enough.

Tara swallowed hard, trying to steady her thoughts.

It wasn't about replacing you—not really. Nothing could. But if you weren't coming back, if you weren't going to forgive her, what was she supposed to do? Sit alone, wallowing in her mistakes while you moved on without her?

The sincerity in his voice and the way he looked at her—like she wasn't the terrible person she knew she was—made it easier to rationalize. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. He wasn't a bad guy, after all. He was sweet in his own way, and clearly, he liked her. That had to count for something, right?

You wouldn't even care. The thought stung, but it came unbidden. You were probably glad to be done with her. Maybe she was the only one left mourning what you'd had.

So Tara forced herself to take a deep breath, her gaze softening completely as she met Brian's eyes.

"Sure, I'd love to."

#jenna ortega x reader #mabel x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #ask #sam carpenter x reader

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intheupside · 13 days ago

Text

Had to ask about a very pressing issue at the Penguins' morning skate on Saturday -- the locker room DJ situation. For those not aware, P.O Joseph was the DJ after Brian Dumoulin left, then Kevin Hayes succeeded Joseph as DJ this year. Well, now that Joseph is back, does he reclaim his spot? Or does Hayes keep the title?

"No, no, no," Joseph said with a laugh when I asked if he was the DJ again. "We're fighting, Hayes and I right now, who's going to be the DJ. There's only gonna be one, so I'm letting him to do the job.

P.O Joseph is one of the guys on the team who is especially close with director of security Ed Joyner. He loves messing with him too -- though maybe not as much as Evgeni Malkin does. I asked Joseph just how much he missed Joyner while he was in St. Louis.

"I feel like he missed me more than I missed him," Joseph quipped. "The smile on his face when he saw me, I feel like it says a lot. But honestly, we've had a really good connection the last couple of years, and he's been great. So it was fun to see him again."

After hearing Joseph's comment, Joyner claimed Joseph was so excited to see him post-trade that he leapt into his arms and wrapped his legs and arms around him for a hug. Joseph claimed it was the other way around, and Joyner jumped into his arms. I'm not saying I believe Joyner, but if you've ever seen how big he is ... I definitely don't believe Joseph here.

😂 from taylor

#pittsburgh penguins #po joseph #kevin hayes #evgeni malkin

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incognitonoggin · 10 months ago

Note

Hi wondering if you could do them together? If not do separate and what you feel comfortable with 🙏🏼

Yan proxies with an s/o that tried escaping and failed-nsfw if you can-again only if ur comfortable

SJSHSJEHEH ANON I LOVE YOU TY FOR THE ASK!!

YANDERE PROXIES WITH A S/O THAT TRIED TO ESCAPE

NSFW . MINORS DNI

GN! READER

Includes: “Ticci” Toby, Masky/Tim, Hoodie/Brian

TOBY

• You seriously thought you’d get away? How cute.

• The second you had kicked ‘em off of you and began to run, he was quick to yank your arm back and have you shrinking under his gaze.

• You could immediately tell he was kind of pissed, but you’re his sweetheart! He has to be patient with you.

• … Doesn’t mean he’s going to be gentle though.

• Will drag that same arm to the nearest flat surface (be it a wall for Christ’s sake) and off to pound town you go!

• Sex will be full of.. I guess.. Claiming???

• He’ll go on and on about how you’re his and how your hole(s) belong to him and how you’ll never amount to anything without him and you’re better off stuck with him (in a positive way, I suppose…)

• You’ll be left with dozens of marks afterwards and he wont hesitate to be passive aggressive and rough😭

HOODIE

• Have fun with this man!

• He’ll pull you back tightly by the waist, and drag you on into his lap

• Will yank your pants off right then and there, just barely giving you the time to process everything.

• “You want to leave? Really? How about we change that.”

• As i said in a different fic, he will be silent but you can tell by his never ending glare that if you fuck up he will NOT hesitate to get violent.

• Very fast and roughly paced. Gonna have your eyes stinging and your lips moving in a repetitive motion as you mumble your pleas

MASKY

• Why would you run away from this man WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU /HJ

• He’s running up behind ya and covering your mouth with his hands like he’s got chloroform or something on them

• It’ll feel suffocating at first, but similarly to Brian, he will just throw you down and start fucking torturing you 😔

• It’s worse compared to the others, he’d be VERY cocky (ha, get it?) about it and mock you whilst you beg.

• Lord, the repeated slamming into your hole while he yanks your hair back (damn near breaking your neck) must be so violating 😟

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veaspo · 7 months ago

Note

heyy can u write hcs for ej , brian , liu and bloody painter with a s/o who seems rlly innocent and sweet but when they do the dirty shes a freak ?

imma try my best, trust🙏🏼

-------

•SLIGHT NSFW IN EVERY CHARACTERS HC .

CREEPYPASTAS WITH AN "INNOCENT" S/O

EYELESS JACK

- In Jacks "eyes", you were perfect. Innocent, Caring, Loved him for who he was even after the whole demon thing.

• or so he thought...

-He came back from a mission one day, eager to get to bed and go to sleep with the comfort of his lover.

• When he walked into the shared bedroom, he was met with you fucking yourself with a dildo.

-He was just standing there staring, waiting for you to notice him.

•Once you did finally notice him, he just smirked under his mask and walked out. Allowing you to finish.

BRIAN/HOODIE

-Brian was out recording nature and things of those sorts.

•Then he ran out of storage on his SD card, so initially he had went back to your guys' house to transfer them to his computer.

-Before he put them all on there he had looked to see if there was any he didn't want.

•Then he came across this certain one.. 🙊

-It was you. Recording yourself as you were humping a pillow 🙀.

•He stared in shock for a few minutes but then Brian then went to the kitchen where you were cooking lunch. He proceeded to fuck the life out of you.

- and the rest is history .

HOMICIDAL LIU

•Liu was writing poetry at his desk you guys had found.

-He was getting thirsty, so obviously he went into the kitchen to grab him something.

•You were on the couch with your headphones in, oblivious to him coming downstairs.

-Liu grabbed a water from the fridge and he had noticed you on the couch and had called your name out. You didnt respond so he decided to sneak up on you.

•When he did, he noticed you were watching something. He looked over you shoulder and was met with you watching porn.

-He didn't want to embarrass you (although he would tease you about it later) so he just smirked and went back upstairs.

BLOODY PAINTER

•Helen was in his studio painting. (obviously)

-He was missing his lover so he had quickly left his studio room.

•When he walked into the shared room and was met with you taking pictures in lingerie that you most likely would put under his pillow... (yall i just found out theres male lingerie🤕)

- or hide in his studio somewhere later .

•He stood frozen in shock but then leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. Staring at you take pictures that he knew would be all for him.

-You had noticed him in the camera and quickly turned around and grabbed your robe from the bed to cover yourself.

•Helen walked up to you, "Don't cover yourself baby, I was enjoying it." he said as he walked up to you.

-He basically tore the robe off your body.

•Im gonna leave the rest to your imagination 😣

----------

i was struggling with this guys🙏🏼

but trust, i got the job done😝

----

Feel free to leave requests and tips!🩷

#fanfic #x reader #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x reader #smut #headcanon #fanfiction #veaspo #creepypasta x you #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #brian thomas #brian thomas x reader #hoodie #hoodie x reader #homicidal liu #homicidal liu x reader #bloody painter #bloody painter x reader

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warping-realities · 1 month ago

Text

All For The Family - Part I

That was the only part of his job that Brian dislike, even though it was necessary. To justify what he had to do, he told himself those folks deserved it, that they should’ve been more careful with their own bills and the loans they took out, and paid their mortgage right. It wasn’t his fault. He was just there to deliver the truth they were probably expecting anyway. He tried to adopt a “don’t shoot the messenger” attitude while also showing he felt for their situation, even though he still had to do his job. That rarely worked in the two years he’d been doing that gig, and this time was no different. The blonde 24 years old man, rockin' a sharp suit that fit him like a glove on his skinny frame paired with his glasses, he was supposed to look classy and confident. Which clearly didn’t have the intended effect on the crowd he was facing. Standing in front of him with his arms crossed and a look on his face like he just sucked on a lemon was the biggest man Brian had ever seen in his life.

“You gotta understand, Mr. Abernathy, that the promissory note’s overdue again. If you don’t cough up the cash, the bank won’t have any choice but to foreclose and take your land to auction.”

“I get it, kid, but it seems like you’re the one refusing to understand. Tomorrow, I’m getting another hand to help with the harvest, and we’ll pay up all the back dues and even get ahead on a few!”

“Mr. Abernathy… Roy, can I call you Roy?” Brian asked with a smile he hoped was friendly and not showing the frustration he felt at that moment.

“My friends call me Roy, kid; you ain’t my friend.”

Brian let out a sigh at that response and decided to drop the pleasantries, taking a more hard-nosed approach.

“Well, Mr. Abernathy, I hate to break it to you, but if that promise of yours doesn’t pan out, I’m afraid that come the first of next month, you and your family are gonna have to vacate this property.”

“Save your worries for yourself, kid, while you hightail it off my land, ‘cause for now, I’m the one who decides who comes and goes around here.”

“If you weren’t planning on negotiating at all, why’d you make me drive all the way out here?”

“‘Cause there are some things that need to be said and done face-to-face, son.”

“Well, next time, just call me if you got something important to say!”

With a huff, Brian turned his back on the older, muscular man and headed toward the sports car parked behind the big barn that flanked the simple but well-kept farmhouse.

As he watched the kid walk away, unaware of the wave of golden sparks emanating from him, Roy murmured to himself, “Next time we talk, you’ll take whatever I say as important, boy!” He said, flashing a wide grin before turning to a figure that was approaching. “Is it done?” he asked, his smile widening at the answer.

That spat with the Abernathy family patriarch left Brian pissed off. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought that it might be through his work that those folks would lose everything. At the same time, he knew that if it were his older brother knocking on that door, dressed in his cop uniform, the treatment would’ve been a whole lot different. Of course, he could never pull off Lucas's job. Lost in those gloomy thoughts, he took a while to realize that the gas tank he filled up that very morning was nearly empty, and it was only when a beeping alert rang out that he noticed.

“Damn, how is this possible?” he exclaimed to the empty car as he pulled over to the side of the road and weighed his options. Looking at his cell, he found he was out of signal. The nearest town was miles away. The only option left...

“Damn!” he yelled again, getting out of the car and shrugging off his suit jacket, heading toward the Abernathy’s place, wondering what kind of reception he was gonna get. No matter how much empathy he might have started to feel for those folks, it surely wouldn’t be mutual. Halfway to the farm, the already bad situation took a turn for the worse when rain started pouring down, soaking Brian's expensive clothes.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he was being punished by some higher power for doing that job, and he was sure of it when he ran smack into the person he needed but didn’t want to see: Roy Abernathy in all his bulk! He was standing in front of an old Ford pickup, arms crossed again, but this time with a grin that Brian would’ve usually taken for some petty celebration, but at that moment it seemed to him to have more sincerity than he was used to seeing from “clients.” The man was with someone who could only be his son, given the huge resemblance between the two. Those behemoths made for a frightening sight for Brian, leaving him speechless. However, he didn’t even get a chance to speak, as Roy started the conversation for him.

“Looks like you need a little help, son. Where’s your fancy car?”

“I… the gas…”

“Oh, I get it; it’s real reckless to be out here with an empty tank.” The man said, still grinning, and Brian initially felt like he was just saying that to mess with him. But quickly, a small voice in the back of his mind disagreed; the Abernathys weren’t stingy like that. That new, dissenting voice made him hold his tongue and respond more calmly than expected.

“I don’t know what happened; I left town with a full tank. And… I… um… I’ll need some help, yeah.”

“Sorry, son, what was that?”

“I said I need help, if you could… please?!” He replied louder, though he was pretty sure the man heard him.

“Of course I can help, son. Out here, we all pitch in, no matter who you are.” Another jab, and once again something made Brian hold back; he deserved that treatment, the little voice said, and he would take it like a man, like the man he was. Roy smiled again, apparently noticing that the young man was holding back from snapping back.

“Thanks, sir. Now, if you could just follow me to the car and get me some gas…”

“No, son, you’re soaked through. Let RJ and me take care of that; you go to my house and talk to my wife; she’ll get you some dry clothes and a hot meal.”

“I’d rather go to my car…”

“No arguments, kid; do what I said!” Roy replied, his face turning serious.

“I… I… fine!” Brian said, biting back his anger and trudging down the road.

“That one’s a bit rough around the edges.” RJ commented to his dad as he watched Brian walk away.

“Oh, but he’s starting to behave, and there’s nothing wrong with him being a little rough, son, as long as he uses that attitude in the right way…”

“Dad, are you sure? This mumbo jumbo sounds crazy… and the risk we took, messing with that guy’s car. What if he noticed?”

“What are the odds a guy like that knows how to handle a car, Junior? At least for now.”

“Dad, what you’re talking about doing… it’s impossible…”

“Son, you’re gonna have to trust me on this; believe me, it’s already started. Tomorrow at this time, we’ll have the help we need and one heartless drone less in the world.”

“But how? How can you be sure? Have you done this before?” The young man asked.

“No, Junior, I haven’t.” Roy replied, looking quite uncomfortable and avoiding eye contact with his son. “But since you apparently doubt your old man’s word, maybe you should trust your own eyes; take a quick look now, and you’ll see something unique.”

“What the hell? What is that, Dad?” The boy asked, seeing the golden sparks surrounding the man who walked, seemingly unaware of anything strange.

“That, my boy, is the solution to our problems; now hurry up.”

As father and son climbed into the old pickup, an oblivious Brian, unaware of their plans for him, arrived at the farmhouse door. The moment he raised a hand to knock, the door swung open suddenly, and he found himself facing a beautiful woman with bronzed skin and black hair streaked with gray, whose age he couldn’t quite pin down, though he knew she was Abernathy’s wife. The woman looked at him with a warm face that, for some unknown reason, sent a shiver down his spine.

“Well, well, what do we have here? A lost kitten? How can I help you, sugar?”

“Um… I’m sorry, ma’am. I… Mr. Abernathy told me to come here and… hum… change clothes while he looks at my car.”

“You’re soaked, poor thing! Come on in, come on in. I’ll ask Debra to get you some of RJ’s clothes. Be a good boy and wait right here; I don’t want my carpet all wet!” The woman said in a whirlwind, pulling him inside the house and leaving him standing at the threshold. Brian, for his part, had to control himself not to run back out into the rain, as something urged him to get out of that place as fast as possible. Holding himself back, he waited until the woman returned with a young girl about his age, just as pretty as the mother, in a floral dress.

“Debra will take you to RJ’s room; you can dry off and wear some of his clothes until the boys bring your car back. Meanwhile, I’ll whip up some dinner; a big boy like you must eat as much as my husband and son!”

“I… actually…” Brian started, but he gave up announcing his intention to leave as fast as possible upon receiving a look from Mrs. Abernathy that simultaneously showed expectation and reprimand. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Great, now let’s go, let’s go! You’re soaking my carpet!”

Brian followed Debra up to one of the rooms on the second floor of the house. Upon entering, he was surprised to find it was a double room. Did the Abernathy kids, brother and sister, share the same room?

“I’ve set aside some of RJ’s clothes for you; they might be a bit big, but at least they’re dry.” The girl said, smiling between the two beds in the room. Brian couldn’t help but ask.

“You sleep here with your brother?”

“God, no, eww! That bed’s for my other brother!”

“I didn’t know that… wait… there’s no record of the Abernathys having another kid in the paperwork given to the bank!”

“Shhh… relax; there’s no need to stress about that, it’s not important. You city folks with your data, your records, your… contracts. Life is so much more than that, you know? So why don’t you chill for a bit, dry off, and head down? Dad’s gonna want to talk to you.” The girl replied and left the room, leaving a very confused Brian behind. He was still pondering the family’s strange behavior as he undressed and wondered what the hell Roy Abernathy would want to talk to him about. He wasn’t fooling himself thinking it could be something good for his job, not after the confrontation they had just had.

After drying off and getting ready to put on RJ's much larger clothes, the little intrusive voice invaded his mind again. Whatever Roy had to say was important, and he should listen and obey, just like he always had. Before his mind could fight back against that, a beam of golden sparks emanated from his body, and both the intrusive voice and the need to resist it vanished from Brian's mind. In fact, all thoughts disappeared. He couldn't tell how long he stood there, just breathing, with his mind blank of thoughts or worries.

He only returned to reality when someone caught his attention.

“What are you doing just standing there, brother?” A deep voice asked, startling him awake. Turning quickly, Brian found himself face to face with Abernathy’s son, RJ. He’d only seen him briefly on the road, but now he was just a few inches away. RJ lacked the bulk of his father, but that didn’t mean he was small. On the contrary, he was a strong guy, a year or two older than Brian, with a muscular, hairy chest on display. Looking at that figure, Brian felt a strange sensation wash over him, a kind of bond between him and this stranger; it wasn’t sexual, it was something… brotherly, maybe? He knew he’d felt that before, but couldn’t remember when or with whom. As absurd as it was, it was like this guy in front of him was someone very important.

“Earth to you, bro! Get some clothes on and let’s eat; Dad’s waiting.”

“I… uh… yeah.” Brian replied, hurrying to put on the clothes that were lying next to him.

“You coming?” He asked, wanting to stretch the time spent with the other man, even though he didn’t know why.

“Nah, I already ate; I’m gonna crash here. We’ll talk later and figure out how to fix your car!”

“Car?”

“Dude, you really are in another dimension, eat your food, talk to dad, I’ll be waiting!”

Brian headed downstairs and made his way to the kitchen, not even questioning how he knew which way to go, while trying to pin down that feeling of connection to someone he’d just met. As he reached the kitchen door, he found Roy Abernathy sitting alone at a large dining table piled high with food, looking serious and pensive. Brian instinctively stopped at the door, watching the older man. Strangely, all the animosity he’d felt toward the man had vanished, and revisiting his feelings, even the fear he refused to admit existed was different now; it wasn’t fear of violence, but a hefty dose of respect, with a healthy hint of dread. He didn’t even have time to try to figure out what had changed, as Abernathy spotted him and broke into a smile.

“Come on in and grab a bite, son, don’t just stand there like a deer in headlights!” The man said, and while part of Brian’s mind told him he should be anger by that comment, a now dominant part made him smile shyly and head over to the table.

“Excuse me, sir!” He said politely and respectfully.

“Sure thing, son, make yourself at home; things here are simple but done right.”

“Thanks, sir.” Brian replied, serving himself a bit of everything on the table, ending up with a plate piled high, which seemed to please his host.

“That’s a plate fit for a real man!”

“Sorry, Mr. Abernathy; it all looks so good and…”

“No need to apologize, son; that’s a compliment you’re giving my wife’s cooking. And you can call me Roy. That’s what my friends call me.”

Hearing that sparked something in Brian’s mind, some kind of half-forgotten memory, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall it… if he can’t remember it must not be important, right? So, he opted to eat all that delicious food, smiling, again oblivious to the shower of golden sparks surrounding him. But Roy Abernathy couldn’t help but notice, making his smile grow even wider.

Brian devoured the food like he hadn’t eaten in days, time slipping by without him realizing it. He only stopped eating when his belly stretched the elastic of RJ’s shorts, which was no small feat since the man was much stronger than him. Satisfied, he let out a loud burp.

“Burrrpp… sorry, Mr. Abernathy.”

“Once again, that’s a compliment to my wife’s fine cooking, kid; and I already told you, my friends call me Roy.”

“Thanks, Roy… you… you all didn’t have to do this for me, not after… after…”

“After what, son?” Roy asked, with an apparently innocent look.

“After… after…” after what? What did I do to Abernathy? I can’t remember… something about work… my job. “… my job.” Brian mumbled.

“Kid, just ‘cause you’re gonna work for me doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop treating you like a guest.” Roy replied with a smile, sending a shock through Brian’s mind. That information couldn’t be true… or could it? He tried to remember his job, but nothing came to mind; he had gone to college and studied… what? He couldn’t recall. But he knew his job had given him the means to buy the clothes he liked and the car… yeah, his car! There was something about his car.

“And my car…?”

“Oh, right, tomorrow you and RJ can figure out how to fix it. But I gotta tell you, son, there’s only so much an old car can take!”

“Old…? no, no!”

“Oh, I know young folks prefer the term classic, but still… anyway… if I were you, I’d save up for a good reliable pickup, kid! Now head on up; I’m sure you and RJ will want to talk before bed, but tomorrow the day starts bright and early around here.”

“I… I… Roy… there’s something… something…” Brian started as he stood up and headed for the door, unable to finish. He wanted to say there was something weird, something wrong, but he couldn’t.

“Something you wanna tell me, son?”

“Yeah… Mr. Abernathy… Roy…” He struggled to find the right words to express how he felt. “… thanks again!” That was what he finally said, with a fresh wave of golden sparks surrounding him, and any doubt about what he was doing there vanished.

“Thank me with hard work, son; now go to your room.”

Feeling a bit dazed, Brian climbed the stairs and reached the room he shared with RJ. The other man was lying down, apparently asleep, which left Brian feeling a bit down.

He couldn't say why, but he felt the urge to talk to RJ; somehow, he felt like the other man was a special friend he hadn't spoken to in a long time, though that didn't make any sense. He hardly knew the guy; they had barely exchanged words since they met that day... or was it the day his father hired Brian? And when was that? Brian sat on the bed, trying to sort out his thoughts and calm the strange feeling that had taken over him since his car broke down on the road. And why was he on the road if he had gone to the Abernathys to work? He couldn't get very far with those thoughts, as apparently, his movements had woken RJ, who quickly sat up in bed.

“Hey, brother, why didn’t you let me know you were in the room?”

“I didn’t want to wake you; didn’t wanna bother you…”

“Man, it ain’t no bother! We gotta talk about your car, figure out what we’re gonna do!”

“Your dad thinks I should sell it and save up for a pickup!”

“Bro, no way! Dad’s a great guy, but for him, if something ain’t useful for work, it ain’t worth a damn. He’s forgotten what it’s like being a guy our age. And selling a 1969 Ford Mustang? The king of American muscle cars? Only if you’re crazy! I figured with a car like that, you’d know how to appreciate a classic!”

“I… uh… I just didn’t wanna offend your dad, with him being my boss and all…”

“Dude, just be straight with him, and he’ll get it… and forget about the boss stuff… you’re sleeping in his son’s room; you can bet he sees you as more than just an employee.”

“Thanks…” Brian replied awkwardly.

“Come on, enough of that; you’re gonna work with me, hell, you’re sharing a room with me, brother! No need for all that formal junk.” RJ said, grinning before giving Brian a scrutinizing look and asking, “Bro, do you lift?”

“Uh, no… I’ve never been much for working out…”

“So how you ended up working on a farm??”

“Uh… I… went to college… I think, and… I don’t remember…”

“Chill out, brother, I’m just teasing you!But seriously, if you wanna work around here, you gotta pack on some serious muscle.” RJ said, casually scratching his powerful pecs and biceps, making Brian, who had never cared about that kind of thing, feel mesmerized.

“You think… you think I can get as big as you or your dad?” Why was he asking that???

“Ha, dude, nobody’s as big as my dad, and getting to my size is a good journey, but the beauty of the thing is just that, brother; you never settle for the size you are, and I bet with the right training and all the farm work, soon you won’t even recognize yourself.” Hearing that reply filled Brian with a level of contentment he never thought possible.

But before he could try to understand why, RJ went back to talking about cars, and soon the two were discussing their favorite classic models and what they’d do with Brian’s old Mustang. Their conversation flowed like they’d known each other for years and was only interrupted when a very serious Roy Abernathy opened the bedroom door and told the two to hit the hay already, like a couple of mischievous kids being schooled by their dad. Somehow, that thought was comforting to Brian, who quickly fell asleep after Roy turned off the lights and left the room.

He was in a strange place; it looked like a gym. There was a young, skinny but strong guy, as blonde as he was, staring at him. After a few seconds, he realized he was standing in front of a mirror and smiled.

As he dreamed of that, Brian smiled in his sleep on the bed in Roy Junior’s room, his shirt pulled off during the night without him realizing, and golden sparks surrounding him as he moved around happily, unaware that someone was watching him.

“Sleep tight, little brother, ‘cause tomorrow’s when things are really gonna get interesting!”

#male tf #mind change #reality change #mental transformation #musclegrowth

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lordprettyflackotara · 7 months ago

Text

hitchhiker || chapter one || the proxies

tw: mentions of murder

<— prologue

Brian frowned as he picked up a can of soup, examining the label.

Grocery shopping is pointless.

He sighed as he put the can in his shopping cart. His gaze didn’t stray from the shelves, searching for his favorite. Tomato soup.

Not like we stay in one place long enough to really eat all of this shit.

Brian pushed his shopping cart forward, grumbling to himself. Since your meeting the proxies, they had done everything to avoid you. He cringed at the thought of Tim’s weakness. For the first time in years the roles were reversed, Brian the harsh one and Tim the blind softie. He reached forward to grab a can of chicken soup, his cart ramming into something.

His eyes flickered over to the hard stop, shock washing over him like a brutal wave. There you stood, a tiny red shopping basket accompanying your arm. In your hand sat a can of his beloved tomato soup. “Holy shit, Brian?” You asked. No no no no. What the actual fuck were you doing here? Brian awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. They had driven outside of the city to avoid you and here you stood.

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else-” Brian began. An overly optimistic Toby popped over his shoulder, dropping a container of oreos into the chart. His face lit up at the sight of you.

“Hi Y/n!”

Goddammit.

This reminded Brian why he thought Toby was a liability a smooth eighty percent of the time. The other twenty was Hoodie being impressed someone as slender as Toby could chop up a body so fast. You grinned as you walked around the shopping cart. “I didn’t realize you guys lived so far away from the city, I would’ve driven you closer,” You say. Brian admired your sober look, your face flushed with more color and your words no longer slurred.

“We work out here. Just grabbing some groceries on the way home,” Brian answered. Toby pranced around behind you, peaking over your shoulder. “T-t-tomato soup is H-, Brian’s favorit-te,” Toby said. Brian sighed, silently wishing Hoodie was fronting so you couldn’t see his face. You held out the can to him. “You can take it, it’s the last one,” You say, offering him a small smile. Brian hesitated, before remembering how much he enjoyed tomato soup. He reached his hand out, grabbing the can. His fingers brushed against your soft skin, which was radiating a comforting warmth.

You were like a bundle of touchable joy.

Oh fuck he was becoming soft.

“Thank you,” Brian mumbled, placing it in the cart. You eyed the cart suspiciously, noting the lack of substantial food. “I know you guys are middle aged men, but shouldn’t you have some real food in there?” You asked curiously. Not exactly like we have a lot of time for cooking. “We burn a lot of calories when we-” Toby started. Brian sent him a look so viscous he was surprised the kids head didn’t explode. “When we’re a-at work,” He finished. You raised an eyebrow, exchanging glances between the two. You were about to question the men’s relationship, the faint sound of static causing you to close your mouth.

It was overwhelming, the sensation making the left side of your temple throb. Brian was about to excuse them from the situation, a familiar voice interrupting his saving face. “Hey what’s taking so long?” Tim asked. His eyes nearly popped out of his head at the sight of you. “Hi Tim,” You greeted. It was interesting to you that not only had you ran into them again, you had managed to run into all three of them. Your drunken night had wiped away the awkward moments during your interaction.

Tim had thought you would’ve forgotten them entirely, but it was the rather opposite effect than he wanted. Instead of forgetting them, you only forgot the awkwardness and tenseness of the car ride. “Hi there,” Tim greeted. Brian could practically feel Tim’s flusteredness. Over the years they had slaughtered many women without a second thought, including attractive ones. And sure, the three of them hadn’t had intimacy in God knows how long. But Brian just couldn’t understand Tim’s infatuation with you. You were just a girl.

“So um, about dinner,” Tim continued. Brian refrained from visibly showing his distain. There was always the possibility you would’ve forgotten about the dinner proposal. What the fuck was Tim’s problem? It wasn’t as if Brian wanted them to all die practical virgins, it just wasn’t logical. Having any form of relationship would only result in a tragedy. Brian had racked his brain about it long ago, back when his freedom was first stripped away from him. What could he say? He was a horny motherfucker whose potential lovers would be slaughtered or tortured.

“Yeah?” You say. Brian could tell you were getting excited. You were practically bouncing on your heels. Man, maybe you’d make a good match for Toby. Brian shoved the the thought out of his head, looking away. “Why don’t we go grab some burgers or something tonight?” Tim suggested. Brian noticed the slight raise of your left eyebrow. Tim must’ve too, clearing this throat before following up with, “All of us. Our treat.”

You couldn’t have put on a bigger smile even if you had wanted to. “That sounds great. How about the corner burger joint on twenty eighth avenue? It’s near my apartment,” You suggested. Brian watched in horror as Tim grinned, giving you a confirmative nod.

“It’s a date.”

Brian couldn’t usher the three of them out of the store fast enough. Once comfortable in the car, Brian turned towards Tim. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You practically gave her a headstone with her name on it,” He spat. Tim rolled his eyes, digging in his pocket for his faithful box of cigarettes. “One dinner is harmless, isn’t it kid?” He asked, glancing at Toby in the rearview mirror. Brian sighed as the younger man nodded excitedly. “M-most interaction we-ev’e had with another human in a longgg time,” He agreed, his neck twitching to the side again. Brian pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Don’t weaponize Toby against my argument. We both know this is a terrible idea,” He said flatly. Tim started the car, driving past a fallen over shopping cart on the overgrown field. “If the Operator gets interested in her for even a split second-” Brian continued. Tim rolled his eyes, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Thats not going to happen, we’d never bring her to him. Besides, she’s just a girl. What’s the worst that could happen?” Tim answered. Out of the seven years they had been partners, Brian had never heard Tim be more nonchalant.

“O-one of us could g-get laid for once,” Toby added. Brian frowned as he reached into one of the grocery bags, pawing away to find the oreos. “Yeah we won’t bring her. But you know they will,” Brian pointed out. The sound of Toby crunching on oreos and the smell of Tim’s cigarette smell overwhelmed Brian’s senses. “They have no reason to be interested in her, nor do they have any reason to front tonight. We already took care of our mission for today. Boss gave us an easy target,” Tim reminded him. It was true, the latest assignment one that would begin easy.

In the trunk of their car sat a corpse of a middle aged man, one who was a detective. He had been investigating the proxies symbol and the various murders they had committed. He was putting all the pieces together, something that led him to a dangerous fate. It was the proxies responsibility to conceal the identities of all creeps. It was their literal job to clean up the messes the Operators mansion residents had made. It became more than personal though once someone began looking into their lives more than they should.

After all, Toby was still considered wanted. Tim and Brian were considered missing. Brian folded his arms, frowning as he looked out of the window.

“Oh yeah that reminds me, how the fuck are we going to discard of the body before dinner?”

You held your phone to your ear, navigating through the whimsical rack of your closet. Your closest friend Nova was on the other end, helping you choose an ensemble for your dinner with the boys.

“Who are these guys again?”

Her voice was laced with concern. You held up a black dress to your figure, analyzing every last detail. “I met them on Halloween. Just a couple of hitchhikers,” You replied. You tossed the black dress aside, grabbing a white one instead. “I read cases of hitchhikers being cannibalistic murderers almost daily you know,” Nova replied. You had grown up with Nova, the two of you remaining close friends into adulthood. Despite the two of you having gone two separate waves career wise, you always made time for each other. She had chosen to be a detective. Despite her constant complaining, her passion was truly driven to seek justice for the victims of psychopaths.

You on the other hand, had made a more reckless choice. Your childhood dreams of being an actress had traveled over into adulthood. Leading in your long term employment at the Steak and Shake as a waitress. “Not all hitchhikers are crazy Nova. Besides, these guys seem nice. You’re the one who’s been telling me to get out there again,” You reminded her. After your nasty breakup with your ex boyfriend, you had become a bit of a reclusive. Halloween was the first time you had been out in months, Nova leaving early with her hookup of the night.

“Yeah but there’s three of them. They’re going to make you pick one,” She informed you. You rolled your eyes. You set your phone down on your dresser, putting it on speaker. “You know with how woke you are i’m surprised you don’t believe in being polygamy,” You said. You shoved your jeans down to your ankles, stepping out of them. You glanced up at a photo of you at graduation, Nova occupying your side. Her caramel skin was always polished and soft, her soft brown eyes always lit up in a smile during photographs. Her hair framed her face just right, giant curls practically bouncing in the picture.

“It’s not that I don’t, I just don’t see you being the polyamorous type,” Nova told you. You shoved off your shirt, tossing it aside carelessly. “If you’re so worried why don’t you go with me?” You suggested. You knew Nova would immediately decline, you just wondered what excuse she would come up with this time. The two of you ran with two very different crowds. Hers more professional, yours more wild. “You know I don’t have time for that right now. Winston just disappeared. Godwin couldn’t wait to throw this case in my lap,” She sighed. You began putting on the dress, struggling to put your arms through the complicated arm holes.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” You asked, trying to sound out together as you put your neck through the wrong hole. You awkwardly shifted on your feet, questioning why you bought this dreaded thing in the first place. “There’s a bunch of murders he thought were connected by some weird symbol. All of them have been gruesome. The chopped up bodies have all been dismembered the same way,” Nova informed you. You grinned as you finally managed to maneuver the dress, admiring yourself in the mirror. “Dude i’m going out to eat in like fifteen,” You reminded her.

“Yeah yeah my bad. I forget regular citizens don’t interact with this kind of stuff,” She said. You refrained from rolling your eyes, reminding yourself she wasn’t being egotistical. She just lived in her own world a majority of the time. You picked your phone up off of the dresser, taking her off of speaker before putting the phone up to your ear. “Well do you think Winston was onto something?” You suggested. Nova seemed to ponder it for a moment before responding. “You know I thought he ran away with his mistress but you’re onto something. He must’ve been on the right track,” She said.

“Most detectives don’t disappear overnight with their wallet still at home,” You reminded her. News headlines had been broadcasting Lewis Winston’s disappearance all morning. “Look at you becoming a little detective. You gotta get your degree so we can become partners,” Nova chuckled. You smiled, pulling on a pair of shoes. “Let me star in at least one blockbuster hit before you force me to change career paths,” You replied. You admired yourself in the mirror, ignoring your antsy nerves. How long had it truly been since you had been out on your own?

“You know i’ll be in the front row of the premiere. Maybe your hitchhiker boyfriends will be there too,” She laughed. Nova meant it as a harmless joke, but the idea alone made you incredibly flustered. “Yeah yeah very funny, i’m going to go have dinner with my hitchhiker boyfriends now,” You told her, guiding the conversation to end.

“Uh huh. Call me if your hitchhiker boyfriends are killers!”

You took your friend’s warning as a joke, but looking back, you should’ve taken her advice.

—> chapter two

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mothdruid · 1 year ago

Text

Losers Prize

pairing. Brian O'Conner x afab!reader

word count. 1k

warnings. this is a 18+ work, minor's buzz off. smut, fluff, oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex.

author's note. I told all of you it was coming. i just needed to get this out of my system. so like, here's my Brian O'Conner smut fic. and i guess for reference, this is like during the second movie when Brian is in Miami. k bye.

This wasn't how the night was supposed to go. Not one bit.

You were supposed to race, win, then go home with your cash.

What wasn't supposed to happen was the fourth not showing up. What wasn't supposed to happen was Tej calling Brian O'Conner. What wasn't supposed to happen was Brian winning the damn race. And what definitely wasn't supposed to happen was you going home with Brian.

But here you were, head thrown back as Brian was eating you out. Blonde locks threaded in between your fingers, tugged on periodically. Moans were pouring from your lips, Brian not letting up no matter how hard you pulled.

"Fuck, Bri," you whimpered.

He was staring up at you, bright blue eyes locking with yours. A flick from his tongue had you breaking eye contact, rolling your head back. The barely comfortable sheets were tight in your free hand. Brian's arms were under your legs, hands on your hips to hold you in place. The thick Floridian air was making sweat permeate on the both of you.

"Tell me what you want," Brian said before lapping at your cunt again.

"What I want is for you to fuck me," you replied with a bit of bite.

Brian rolled his eyes while he sucked on your clit, hard. Your hand tightened almost painfully in his hair. You propped yourself up with one elbow to watch Brian. The tightness in your abdomen was becoming unbearable. This slinky racer had you on the edge of pleasure, giving you just enough to keep you there and not push you over.

"Come on, Brian," you whined.

Brian smirked against your cunt and decided to give you what you wanted. His tongue worked over your clit feverishly. The feeling made you drop your head back, knowing this was it.

The tightness in your abdomen snapped, pleasure washing over you. Brian's hands held your hips in place, stopping them from pressing against him too hard. Moans were falling from you, head rolling back and forth on the bed. Brian tongue didn't seem to stop, making your legs start to quiver.

"Brian, please!" You yelped, the sensations becoming too much.

The plea did its job. Brian removed himself from your lower half. He climbed up your body, diligent placed kisses on your skin the whole way up. You smashed your lips to his, tasting yourself on his lips. A moan left you while your tongue roamed his. His hair was tight between your fingers.

"That enough for you?" Brian smiled against your lips.

A hand came up to cup your jaw. You opened your eyes after he broke the kiss. Your hands had moved to his shorts, unbuckling them as quick as you could. Brian let out a soft chuckle, resting his forehead against yours.

"And here I thought you didn't want to see me tonight," Brian kissed you again.

"I didn't," you started pushing his shorts and boxers down, "plan on losing either."

Brian groaned when you took him in your hand. Each stroke had him placing a kiss to your skin. Your neck, cheek, shoulder, chest, it didn't matter what body part. Brian just needed you, craved you.

Neither of you could wait anymore. You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him closer to you. Brian groaned when his cock rubbed your cunt. The spit and cum from him eating you out made the perfect lubricant for him. The head of his cock would periodically catch against your entrance as he rutted his hips.

"Brian, if you don-" The head of his cock slipped into you, stopping your words mid sentence.

"If I don't what?" Brian asked with a smirk.

All you could respond with was a moan as he pushed deeper into you. Finally his hips were completely flush with your own, cock completely shoved inside of your cunt. You clenched around him, eliciting a groan from him. Eventually his hips started moving, thrusting in and out of you.

The rhythm was sensual yet quick. He was hitting the perfect spot inside of you, the one that had your whole body clenching. Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, keeping him close while he rammed into you. His hands were kneading your ass and sides. You couldn't keep your mind straight, thinking about all the different sensations.

Brian was nuzzled into your neck, placing soft wet kisses where ever he could. The occasional nip had you moaning loudly. He pulled back for a moment, looking down at you. One hand came up to your face, cupping your cheek as he went in for a bruising kiss. During the kiss his thrusts became more powerful, pushing you over the edge.

He kept thrusting in and out of you, keeping your orgasm going for as long as he could. Once it subsided, he thrusted only a few more times only to pull out and come on your stomach. The groans that he produced while coming were gorgeous. He held you carefully, trying to keep the cum from getting on himself.

Eventually, he got up and searched down a hand towel to clean you up with. He wet it before giving it to you, letting you clean yourself up. He knew that's what you preferred to do anyways, no matter how many times he tried to be gentlemanly about it. Brian found an old pair of basketball shorts on the floor, putting them on before searching a clean t-shirt for you. You happily accepted the t-shirt, slipping it on then finding your underwear to put on.

"I take it you're staying then?" Brian asked as he got on the bed next to you.

"You did take my money tonight, the least you can do is let me stay," you placed a kiss to his cheek.

Brian smiled at you.

"Hey, a race is a race," Brian playfully argued.

"I never disagreed with that," you said while cuddling into him.

"Isn't this enough of a prize?" Brian joked while gesturing to himself.

"Are you calling yourself the loser's prize?" You questioned, quirking an eyebrow up.

"Only if you're the loser."

#brian o'conner #brian o'conner smut #brian o'conner x reader #brian o'conner imagine #brian o'conner fanfiction #fast and furious fanfiction #i'm so sorry but yet not sorry at all #okay bye forever

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gunpowderdtim · 10 months ago

Text

It's no wonder Out happened when you really think about it. Nastya doesn't like organic life because it's complicated, it can break, sometimes it's even unfixable.

quote from gender rebels

Nastya is in love with Aurora, and in saying that she is saying "you are not organic life, I can deal with you because you are metal and algorithm and predictable" - we can see this in bedtime story when she says she'll tweak Aurora's story creation algorithm

screenshot from A Bedtime Story

Aurora is not inorganic. She is not ai. She is a space moon made of flesh and blood and teeth and bone. She is not an ai. She is a body that was taken and stripped of autonomy, of the right to self identify, of the right to think- to be imperfect and organic.

The metal is a veneer that hides how messy and traumatized and unfixable she is. From the outside she is a starship. From the inside she can still bleed.

And this makes them fundamentally incompatible. But yet, they are in love.

And really, it's no wonder Nastya fell in love with Aurora. Let's take a look at Nastya's home planet, or at least home society:

"Terminals were scattered across the planet. There was one on every street corner, one beneath every lamppost and one in every commune block." "The midwife-machine performs a series of programmed manœuvres to quieten [the baby]. It cradles it and hums at several pitches until it finds one that seems most soothing. Mechanical arms stroke the baby’s flesh even as others start the process of implanting augmented reality interfaces into its nervous system." "The Czar an atrophied frame, never present in the real world and worn to dust by the chemical compounds that kept his brain alive so it could live forever in a perfect virtual paradise. The Rabotnik a copy, a mind preserved unchanging in the instant before its death and placed in an everlasting metal frame." (Cyberian Demons)

Its safe to say the world Nastya was born into, from the very minute she was born, was ridden with technology. She has augmented reality interfaces inplanted into her from birth. It would stand to reason that being taken from this society, wherein technology is everywhere, inside and out, would stand for a bit of a shock.

Aurora too had been augmented by the Cyberia.

While it is stated that the last time Nastya had used the ports themselves was directly before her death — "The last time she had used the ports, her tutor had ripped them out of her as the rebels stormed the palace" — Aurora is laced with Cyberian technology. I'd imagine she has something of a 'bluetooth wireless connection' with Aurora, rather than the physical data transfer of files between the ports and Nastya, it may as well be similar enough.

Imagine being Nastya, going from Cyberia, wherein there is augmented reality contantly, transplanted onto a ship with metal blood, a jonny, and a vampire. To Aurora, where the only bits of augmented reality run through Aurora.

Of course she'd fall in love with her. Aurora is familiarity. Aurora isn't organic. Aurora isn't human.

And of course when the undeniable part of aurora that is organic, that is a flesh moon plated in metal with her brain hooked to machines, when so much has broken and been replaced, when, presumably, aurora is less of an algorithm, nastya leaves with the brand cyberia left on her.

Because Aurora healing, becoming more of herself and less of a starship, is messy, and organic, and human.

and hard for nastya.

‘Think how long she’s been flying you around. Think how many bullet holes you’ve punched through her and how many atmospheres you’ve dropped her through. Think how many alterations and improvements we’ve made, Tim to her guns and Ashes to her storage and Brian to her engines and the Toy Soldier to who knows what. How much do you think is left of her after all she’s brought you through?’ Nastya held up the ancient, battered piece of hull plating. Just visible under the grime and scars of particles of space junk was a fragment of the Aurora’s original logo and serial number. Jonny honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a version that hadn’t been painted by the Mechanisms themselves. ‘So she’s free, now.’ Nastya gestured around at the spaceship they were standing in. ‘This Aurora can take you where you want to go. I’m going to take my Aurora somewhere else.’

Aurora was ship of theseus'd. Aurora was improved. Aurora was no longer cyberian. (both literally, and metaphorically)

So nastya left.

#is this anything guys #nastya #aurora #nastya rasputina #aurora the mechanisms #the mechanisms

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yummymitzy · 5 months ago

Text

No one noticed

Summary: You loved undercover missions, they were a breeze, but what you encounter afterwards definitely switched up your mood. What happens when that encounter sends you back into an old habit?

WC: 5,205

A/N: Slightly inspired by the song, but I didn’t know how to go about it😞 ANGSTY?

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Pyrokinesis! Reader

————♡————

Receiving the chance to be an Avenger was incredibly shocking, not expecting such an offer for somebody like you. Not like you were poor or anything, you had a crap ton of money, but you didn’t necessarily have a clean record.

You partook in street racing, that was definitely one thing that didn’t make your record any cleaner. Having also helped your friend, Brian O’Connor, while he was on the run from law enforcement. You both raced together, the two of you were reckless, inseparable, always feeling the need to do dumb shit.

You weren’t so sure what he’d gotten himself into that led him to evading law enforcement, where he used to work. But later on, you assumed that the situation was brushed aside as he was recruited into the FBI. You were proud of him.

You always admired Brian, he was always so focused on the task at hand but always left enough time to do stupid things with you. You eventually started assisting him with his tasks assigned by his peers, the both of you catching fugitives as you raced.

You told him everything, there wasn’t any filter between the two of you. He even knew about the fact you were enhanced, and yet his attitude towards you never changed one bit. As a kid, you were transferred from multiple foster parents, which lead you in the hands of one couple.

They looked nice and sweet, pretty old, but once they knew got a good impression with you, they started experimenting on you. They even started sending you to their other scientist friends to use you as a lab rat.

One day, one of the tests pushed you so far, you don’t remember much from that day. You heard screams, your screams specifically, but then you went unconscious. Once you woke up, the room was charred, the scientists nowhere to be found other than their black fragmented lab coats.

You insanely thankful for that part of your life being over, especially to the couple that took you in right after. The couple that you now call your parents, they helped you thick and thin and always understood you.

Since you were always traded around throughout foster homes, you taught yourself to be more behaved in an attempt to stay in that home. Not like those cases where you say “you don’t cry,” because you do, everybody does, you just were more silent.

You always shut down whenever you had a lot of shit going on, long periods of silence as your mind raced. The couple were the ones that you found solace in when you first discovered your powers.

They were panicked at the first glimpse, but immediately consoled you, soon calming down the once bright flames that cascaded up your arms. They helped you stay on the low, it practically made you tear up with how kind they stayed with you.

But after college was when you really got into street racing, you met Brian. But there was one specific race that didn’t go well, there was this one irritating drug lord that you decided to track down with Brian.

Trying to reason with the drug lord really didn’t end out well for you two because a fight broke out. The fight was nasty and blood was shed, the drug lord brung out guns that you or Brian didn’t even expect he’d have in his grasp.

You were shocked to say the least when he pointed the barrel of his gun towards Brian, but that quickly wore off. And like the brawn you were, bright flames flared up your arm, your eyes a golden hue as you lunged at the man.

It was as if the fire was dancing as it burst away from your arm, traveling to the other men in the room, engulfing them in the fire while you rushed towards Brian.

That was the first time you had ever killed someone, hell even a gang. It was dreadful, the memories clouded in your mind the next few weeks after the incident. But you knew one thing, you’d do it all again if it was for Brian.

————♡————

All of that brought you to where you stood today, an Avenger and street racer. A lot has changed once you got settled in the hero life, you even more proud to say that Natasha Romanoff took an interest to you.

It was embarrassing to admit that you admired Natasha ever since you joined the Avengers. She was incredibly wary of you the first few weeks, but quickly warmed up to you. In her words, you were like a “golden retriever puppy,” you weren’t honestly sure if it was a compliment or not.

That friendship that you built with Natasha blossomed to be more, and soon enough, you found yourself to be at her doorstep. A bouquet of flowers grasped tightly in your hold as your other hand held a neatly wrapped gift bag with her favorite perfume.

You were so glad Natasha took an interest in you, because that first date turned into three, soon with you two becoming official. You two obviously wanted to take it slow and learn the grasps of a relationship together.

That was three months ago, you and Natasha are still together happily. You were proud to say that you loved her, she knew stuff about you that you would never dare to tell a soul. Same with her, she confided in you about her past in the redroom, especially with her nightmares.

Natasha was the sweetest soul you could have ever came across, she has a hard exterior, similar to a rock. But have the right tools and it will crumble into pebbles, that’s what you loved about Natasha.

Were you rambling too much? Hah, maybe.. You were sent out on a solo mission just a few hours ago, the details of the mission in your lap as you read through them. Don’t worry, the jets on autopilot, why would they send you on a mission if you’d crash the quinjet?

The objective wasn’t difficult for you to complete, it was a simple undercover mission, you could probably do it with a blindfold on. You were supposed to get a hit on a man named John Adams.

His files could be written as a book with the amount of felonies he had under his name. You couldn’t really care less, who were you to let your emotions get in the way of your objective?

The files stated that he would be attending an auction, buying off a very illegal weapon. Statements show from his recorded phone calls that he had specific plans to enhance the weapon, making it more “deadly.”

Well that was a very lovely file, wasn’t it? Setting down the folder, you stood up, grabbing your duffel bag as you walked over to the medical bed. You unpacked a very revealing yet elegant dress, it was your favorite color.

Well actually your favorite color to wear, not actually your favorite color, you get it? Yeah. You stepped out of your skin tight suit once you had unzipped it, the freezing air of the jet causing goosebumps to form on your arms.

The moment you got the dress on, you took a few steps in front the mirror, actually taking a closer look at the dress. It had a deep V cut as the slit of the dress was incredibly high on your upper thigh.

You squirmed of the thought of having to be all over the man with this revealing dress on, but you really did have no choice, plus you didn’t pack any other dresses. Rolling your shoulders, you head back towards your duffel bag, pulling out a small makeup bag and setting it down near the mirror as you unzipped it.

Doing your makeup was like a fun hobby for you, you didn’t know how to describe it. You just really like doing it when you’re bored, but this is different since it’s for a mission.

You don’t know how long you took on your makeup before your phone dings, the familiar ring echoing the jet as you rushed over to your phone.

Flipping over your phone, the time immediately greets you. 6:45, the party starts at 7, but you need to be early in order to spot John. Skimming through the notifications on your lockscreen, one in particular catches your eye.

Natty🤍:”Goodluck on the mission, detka.”

The first one said, it was sent a few minutes after you boarded the quinjet a few hours ago.

Natty🤍:”I miss you already. I’ll be waiting when you get back. :)”

Your eyes drift toward when the message was delivered, an hour after her first message.

Awe. Her smiley faces were so cute. You quickly unlocked your phone and darted to Nat’s messages with you, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed up a quick message.

Y/n/n🔥: “Miss you too, baby. Movie night when I get back?”

Your attention quickly caught when you felt the quinjet land, you instantly shoved your phone in an extra holster you had on your thigh.

What? It’s a perfect fit. Plus you’re wearing a dress with no purse, and you were practically forced to keep your phone on you. Fury always made sure to text everybody ominously.

You rush over to the other side of the jet, where the weapons were held. You pause briefly to browse through the weapons before your hands instantly grab what you wanted.

Yeah, you had powers, so why would you need a weapon? Well the short answer to that would be incase he was aware that you would be attending, even more aware about your powers. So you weren’t going to take any chances.

The weapon that was held gently in your grasp was a ridiculously sharp sword, it was your favorite. If you had the chance, you would be rambling on and on about this exact sword.

It was retractable, easy to conceal if you were undercover, but your favorite part was that it didn’t melt from your flames. But, that wasn’t the only thing it could do, it isn’t a one trick pony.

Since the blade doesn’t melt from your flames, it bursts into flames, as if it were another part of your body. You found it fascinating because it truly was. It takes you back to when Bruce called it boring, you quite vividly remember telling him to fuck off. He did have it coming, didn’t he?

You retracted the blade and gently placed it into your other holster as you walk back over to the medical bed, slipping on your heels as you spritz generous amounts of perfume on your neck.

Swiftly pulling out your phone, you check the time, 6:50. Damn, only five minutes passed by, you assumed it had been ten. Shoving your phone back into its holster, you check yourself once more as the ramp starts to lower.

Walking out the quinjet, you look over your shoulder once more and watch the jet conceal itself. You’ll honestly never get over that.

It took you a quick minute to find the fire escape stairs but soon enough you found yourself in the alleyway next to where the auction was supposed to be held.

You straightened your dress again as you began to strut towards the very obvious entryway of the auction. This looks like it would be a very easy mission.

You huff to yourself as your gaze meets the bouncer, his gaze scanning you as he crosses his arms over his chest as his posture straightens up.

“Danielle Jones.” The fake name flowing out of your mouth with a silky tone as you show him your fake id. Your other hand lands on his bicep, slowly rubbing it as he immediately handed you back your id, his face flushed a deep red.

Your fingertips trail up to his shoulder before pulling away as you stepped behind him and into the auction. The place was alive, there was a ton of people dressed beautifully, some clad in masquerade masks.

You walked straight over to the bar, yeah, it was bad drinking on the job. But you desperately needed to blend in, and it wouldn’t make your case any better if the target saw you just wandering.

As you were scanning the area, your eyes snap to a familiar figure slumped at the bar nursing a drink. Dirty blond, curly hair, well you’ll be damned.

You huff out a laugh as you approach, your hand gently resting upon his shoulder as you called out to the bartender for a whiskey.

“Hiya, Brian. What’cha doing here?” You smile at the bartender as a thanks once he handed your drink before turning. Your back leaning against the counter as you sipped your whiskey, your eyes trained on Brian.

“Meeting a friend.” His blue eyes travel from his glass towards you, meeting your stare.

“Cut the shit, Brian. You’re here for the auction, aren’t you?” You raise an eyebrow at him, a smile tugging on your lips as you took another sip of your whiskey, setting it down on the counter behind you.

“You aren’t? The cars they got are practically calling our names.” He smirks as he leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his curls.

You roll your eyes as you leaned back further into the counter, before your eyes snap towards him once more, a smile played on your lips.

“What’d you say for another task?”

“I’m listening.”

“John Adams, drug lord, wants to do stupid shit with one of the weapons being sold here.” You mumble under your breath, your eyebrow raising in question to confirm that he heard.

Seeing his slight nod while he processes the information, your eyes trail away from him, spotting the target across the room from you two. The sight making you nudge your knee against Brian’s.

Brians eyes shoot up towards yours, before he slowly turns around to look in the direction you’re looking in. You assume he got the memo as he downs the last of his drink, his fingers slightly grazing the gun on his belt to make sure it’s in place before he gave a subtle nod to you.

Your gaze doesn’t break from John as you made your way across the room, rounding through the tables that stood in your way. As the distance closes between you and John, you whisper underneath your breath, enough for Brian to hear.

“Wait for me at the door of the bathroom, have your gun ready.” Before he could respond, you were already off towards John, your hips swaying slightly as the golden hues hit you.

The moment you passed by John, you heard a gruff voice call out to you. You smirk slightly before turning around, John was turned around in his chair as his arm was outstretched towards you slightly.

“Hey! You! Yeah you, come ‘ere, darling.” Your nose crinkles slightly at the pet name, you didn’t mind it. But you definitely didn’t like it when it came out of his mouth.

You walked towards the chubby man, your hips swaying more noticeably. Once you were stood right in front of him, his hands shot up to rest on your hips. The action made you clench your jaw in disgust.

“You’re such a pretty ‘lil thing. Did you come here with anybody?” His words came out slurred as you could practically smell the stench of beer flowing out of his mouth.

“No, I came alone.”

“What’s your name, pretty girl?” His grin grow by the second as you feel his hands traveling from your hips to your waist.

“Danielle.” You husk out, the disgust washing over you, but you brush it aside. It’s for the mission. You repeated in your mind over and over.

You move forward a step from where you stood, your hands resting on the armrests that resided on either side of the man. You feel John’s hands slowly tracing down your waist before harshly groping your ass, making you gasp.

“Well, Danielle. What’d you think about coming back to mine?” He purred, his hands now massaging the flesh of your ass, your face contorting into a subtle wince.

“I can’t just go home with you. I don’t even know your name.” You husk, your face turning into a slight pout, one of your hands raising to trace his sternum.

“John, John Adams.” You felt one of his hands trailing up towards your lower back, attempting to push you down onto his lap.

You grab his hand before tugging him up from his seat, leading him towards the bathroom. You can feel the harsh stare he has on your ass while the two of you walk there.

Once the bathrooms come into view, it took you a second you to Brian hiding in the room across the bathroom, the door slightly ajar.

The two of you finally reached the door of the bathroom as you wrapped your arms around the mans neck in a hug. As you felt one of John’s hands holding you back, the other fiddling with the door, your eyes met with Brians.

Brian got the hint and you soon saw the barrel of his gun poke out slightly through the gap of the door. A muffled shot rung out at the same your flames burst out your hands, burning the flesh of his neck. You felt John’s body slump against yours, his hands falling down to his sides.

You grunt as you shove him off of you, rolling your eyes and smiling as you saw Brian pop his head out before he opened the door fully and stepping out.

“That was quick.”

“Wish it was quicker, he was irritating.” You hold the bathroom door open as Brian swiftly kicks John’s body into the bathroom. As soon as you two quickly clean up the area, the two of you find yourselves back into the alleyway, making your way to the quinjet.

“Anyways, what’re you thinking for a snack. Shawarma?”

————♡————

You and Brian were approaching the door that lead to the living room, where FRIDAY told you Natasha was. You didn’t plan on texting Natasha about your arrival, deciding that it was better as a surprise.

The two of you hushed each other once you were finally stood right in front of the living room door with Shawarma takeout in your hold. But a precious sight graced itself the moment you both opened it.

Another presence FRIDAY forgot to mention was Bruce. Your shoulders slump slightly as your arms tense at your sides. From the corner of your eye, you could see Brian’s jaw tightly clenched.

Brian was very fond of Bruce Banner, he really had it out for the scientist, even if Bruce wasn’t aware of that fact. During one apparently small mission, Bruce happened to be in the same place as Brian.

And you could practically guess what happened, Bruce turned green. You don’t know what the hell pissed him off but you didn’t give a shit. Hulk was destroying building after building in a tantrum, soon enough he reached the streets where Brian, you, and the rest of your friends were.

Like expected, he demolished your cars, he was honestly so lucky he didn’t hurt your friends or you would have honestly blasted his brains out. But that wouldn’t change the fact that every single one of your cars were crushed, nothing to preserve.

To this very day, Brian still has a terrible grudge against Bruce, and you understood. Because not only did those cars that he crushed help you get money, they costed a crap ton to even own.

But this sight of him perched on the couch with Natasha was not pretty, at all. What made the scene even uglier was what you noticed to be Natasha’s hand on his chest, leaning her whole body into his side, practically cuddling into him.

You didn’t notice your flames flaring up the length of your arms before you felt Brian nudge you, the action making you glance at him. He sent you a subtle shake of his head, mouthing the words “It’s not worth it.”

As your eyes were trained on Brian, you heard a familiar giggle echo throughout the room, the both of your heads snapping to the origin of the sound.

Natasha’s other arm was now wrapped around his neck, the both of her arms now encasing Bruce in a hug. Your eyes trail down towards her phone, next to the arm of the couch, discarded. From your place at the door, you could see your last message on her lock screen.

That’s why she didn’t reply to your message. Damn. She could have at least read it, or hearted it. Your heart ached, yearning for comfort, comfort from the person that was sat a few feet from you.

Your eyes glance towards Brian once more, his eyes now hardened, before he nods to you, giving you the affirmative.

Taking quiet steps behind the couch, you were now stood behind the two cuddled individuals. Your eyes gleaming a dangerous gold as the veins in your forearm shone a deep red, sparks threatening to blow.

“Uht. Uht. What the fuck is this?”Your eyes narrowing as the two individuals before you jumped from their place, scrambling away from each other once they saw the golden hue within your eyes.

“It’s not what it looks like, milaya.” Natasha struggled to get up as her knees buckled from beneath her, before she shot up, rounding the couch with her arms outstretched to you.

“Cut the bullshit, I’m not dumb. Cuddled up with Banner while you couldn’t even think to text me back?” You hissed, the glow in your eyes intensifying as you can hear the springs of the couch springing back into place as Bruce attempted to stand up.

From your peripheral, you could see Brian unholstering his gun from his waistband, immediately holding the barrel to Bruce’s forehead in warning.

“Everybody else was called on a mission, we were just passing time until you got back.” She pleaded as her hands reached out to cup your face, to which you immediately recoil and drop the takeout.

“You’re funny. You call that passing time? Might as well fuck if you were just “passing time.” You laughed as you leaned back on your heels, your face hardening once more, arms crossing over your figure. An attempt to cover up the fact that tears were slightly welling up in your eyes.

“Listen, I’m not up to hearing your excuses, especially when I just got back from a mission. Just...” You sigh, your knuckles popping as your hands formed into tight fists, crescent moon shaped marks taking shape on your palm with how tight your grip was.

“Just..Make up your damn mind, alright? Come back to me when you do.” You take a deep breath, the glow in your veins dispersing once you composed yourself.

“But I choose you! Y/n, it’s you..” She pleaded once more, her voice hushing into a whisper as she takes in the reality of the situation.

“So all we’re doing is just telling jokes today, huh? If it really was me, then you’d still be waiting for the movie night, and not be on the couch with Slimer from fucking Ghostbusters.”

“I promise you-“ “Don’t. You wanna tell jokes? I got one for you. How about…Hm.. That green booger almost fucking ruined my career that me and Brian spent so long trying to build. How’s that for a joke?”

Your nose crinkles as your hands stretches out to point towards Bruce. Sighing, you run a hand down your face, rolling your eyes in annoyance. You take one last deep breath as you straighten yourself up.

“I want you to really think this through.” You deadpan, before your gaze meets Brians, your eyes giving him the memo that this altercation was done as he holsters his gun.

The two of you slowly walk back to the door where you walked in from, you looked behind your shoulder once more, analyzing the room before it slowly meets Natasha’s.

Natasha held a pleading look as tears welled up in the corner of her eyes, her nose beginning to turn a light shade of pink. The sight made you turn your head away from her, you could practically feel the intensifying cracks in your heart.

Once the door finally shut behind the two of you, the silence rattled Natasha, her shoulders shaking in quiet sobs. The tears falling down her cheeks as she cried, unsure whether it was stress or the loss of you.

-♡

You don’t know how either of you found yourselves here, it was a closed off track near the ocean, and somehow the two of you thought it was perfect to race against each other.

At first you brushed off the idea, deeming it stupid at a time lime this. But the more you thought about it, you loved night races, the view was always beautiful.

Soon enough, you gave in to Brian, shuffling the keys out of your pocket as you both head to the garage with your treasured cars. You ended up picking a random car, it wasn’t too shabby.

It was a car that Suki gifted to you, you happened to be good friends with her alongside Brian. To be frank, you forgot all the context to why she gave you the car.

The car was cute though, it was your favorite color, the interior of the car had LEDS you assumed and it also lit up your favorite color. You wondered why you never used this car more often.

Once you notice that Brian finally picked out his car, the two of you drove to the start of the track, smirks played on your faces.

“Don’t get dusted, bullet”

“Now you know damn well.”

The two of you laugh before you rev your engines, your eyes locking onto the track ahead of you as you leaned back into your chair slightly.

…3

And you two were off, you both drifted your way through the track. Taking a quick glance to your left, you see Brian with a cocky smirk on his face, the sight making you roll your eyes before you floor it.

The distance between you and Brian starts to increase little by little. Once you start to approach the corner, you drift into it, effectively dusting Brian as your view of him disappears, smoke filling the air and blocking it .

Quicker than you expected, the two of you were approaching the end of the track, and stood there was a figure not too far from the track. The minute you got closer, the striking red hair was the first thing your eyes saw.

You immediately brake once you reached the end, slouching in your seat slightly as you waited for Brian to catch up, which didn’t take long. Stepping out the car, your nose slightly scrunches up at the smell of smoke but you shake it off.

You met Brian half way and shook his hand, his eyes holding a playful look as he shoves you lightly, you roll your eyes at his action.

“Warned you about being dusted, gotta deal with the repercussions.”

“You cheated.”

“Cheated where?”

The both of you close your mouths at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Taking a deep breath, you turn your body to face Natasha, a confused expression plastered on your face as she stood there with her arms crossed.

“Can I talk to Y/n? Alone?” She gestured towards Brian, making him turn his head to look towards you with a concerned look. To which you nod with a soft smile gracing your lips.

“Wait in the car, I’ll meet you there, bullet.” Brian hesitated for a moment before patting your shoulder, walking off in the direction of his car.

Once he was out of earshot, your gaze falls onto her, a questioning look in your eyes as you mimic her movements by crossing your arms.

“Okay look. Y/n, I’m sorry. I..” She lets out a deep sigh, her hands rubbing over her biceps in a form of comfort as she musters the words to speak.

“I wasn’t sober. I was in the kitchen at first, had a glass of wine, but then he came and conjured a conversation while slowly urging me to drink more.” The words practically left you shellshocked, but you knew better than to believe so quickly.

“That’s when we ended up on the couch, originally there was space between us, but he pulled me towards him.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t pull away, you stayed like that until I walked in and said something.”

“Because I wasn’t sober! Y/n. You’ve seen me reject him so many fucking times so why can’t you believe me on this?”

“Because it’s so easy to lie with words, Natasha. But actions never lie, they never do.”

“I promise you, detka. I’m not lying. He made moves onto me while I was drunk. Please believe me.” She practically begged as she stepped closer and closer to you until she was directly in front of you.

“It’s so hard to believe you, Natasha.. You never answered my text, hell your phone was across the damn couch. You were giggling at every single word that he said.”

“I-.” “See that’s my point, Nat.”

“Baby, he took my phone.”

“We playin jokes again?” Your eyebrows furrow as your eyes narrow at Natasha, either it was true or it’s some wack ass excuse.

“No! No. Babe. I promise. It was at the table. I was gonna text you after my first glass of wine but he snatched it, threw it to god knows where. That’s why I had no choice but to talk to him.”

You sigh, shutting your eyes as you raised your hand to run through your hair while you were deep in thought, your eyes flickering beneath your eyelids. There was a few minutes of silence between you two as you pondered.

Your eyes shoot open as you slowly check the time on your phone, it was midnight. You zone out for a minute before blinking back into reality, your eyes shifting towards Natasha’s pleading ones.

“I believe you. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow once we’re rested, but you’ve got a lot of making up to do.” Your voice drops to a soft yet stern tone, trying to soothe Natasha before she actually cried.

“Thank you, malyshka. I love you.” She mumbles before pulling you into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You froze for a moment, not sure if you should forgive her that fast.

But you gave in, your arms wrapping around her midsection as they gently rubbed her spine. You were going to have a long talk with Bruce before you could forgive Natasha, but it was best to at least assure her that you don’t hate her.

“I love you too, baby.” You mumble into her hair. Bruce was definitely going to hear from you, maybe you might let Brian get some words in. You weren’t sure. That was all a plan for tomorrow.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #marvel #black widow #mcu #natalia alianovna romanova

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